Shugo Chara

Crooks, Babes, and Bullets

Summary: With Ikuto's abusive mom, killer friends, and company that plan to use him, his life is only worth finding the embryo. But along the way of his adventurous journey full of crooks, babes, and bullets he finds something even more worth dying for.

ShellyCullen: Well, my first story about Ikuto's side of the story. I mostly do Amu's POV, so I'm hoping I can relate to a guy just as well.

Ikuto: Great, now your doing my side of the story. This is going to be crap.

ShellyCullen: AH! I worked HARD on this. And I must say, I can somewhat relate to your story. (Well, not really)

Amu: ShellyCullen does not own Shugo Chara. She owns some dental floss though.

Chapter One:

Crooks

"Damn it," I whispered, clutching my head. The pain of the hit crawled over the back of my scalp, running over my skin like fire. My vision was blurred, and I assumed that the kick had been hard enough to give me a concussion.

"You can't hide forever, Ikuto!" The low scowl shouted a few feet away. The screaming only caused me more pain, as I tried to keep my senses sharp. I could hear Ryo's footsteps several feet away, waiting for me to dive back in. Today was not my best day.

"Ikuto, you coward! Where are you?" He asked in a taunting voice. It grew louder toward the end, breaking the long silence of the empty school grounds. I carefully stood up, keeping the pillar behind me for support, and listened more closely. I could hear Ryo grow impatient as his breaths came out harder, wanting my blood on his hands. He'd rip me apart if I had ever given him the chance, but he was very predictable in his actions, and despite his attempt to tip toe around, his steps were loud and clear against the concrete.

I peeked over my shoulder, to see Ryo staring the other way, checking just behind the dumpster for me. It was my chance. I dashed to the side, sneaking toward the locked doors of the school. My own steps were followed by silence. Quiet as the dead of night.

My heart pounded and harmonized with the feel of my throbbing head. The bastard had gotten a lucky shot at me when my guard was down. And to think he was my best friend in junior high. Times sure change.

I kept my breath low and sharp, trying to escape from Ryo. I'd put up enough with his crap and even though the thought of getting him off my back sounded great, I wasn't exactly prepared for a fight with him. Nor did I have time. Ryo's footsteps came closer, checking the spot I had just been and turning around. I grabbed a pebble from the ground and threw it a few feet away from me. Ryo heard the sound and headed in the direction of the rock, opposite of me.

I took a deep breath and ran down the path of the school. I ran swiftly past the front entrance and toward the houses on the other side of the street. Just as I made it, I was able to hear Ryo's scream of fury. I smirked and clutched the white bag, continuing down the road.

Walking along the neighborhood sidewalk, a cop car suddenly came down. I hid behind the nearest tree, which had been Mrs. Mashiro's blossom tree -or more clearly stated, divorsed Mrs. Mashiro's tree- and sat along the hollow base. I waited there for a long time, trying to find a comfortable position to place my head, before the lights of the house flickered on. I quickly shot up, checking for that cop car again, before moving. It was almost midnight and I was sure they wouldn't allow a sixteen-year-old out alone. I'd be questioned again and God knows what my mom would do.

After they did their rounds around the block, I darted toward the street, two blocks away from my house. It was an easy sprint, making it only a few short minutes past midnight. Hopefully mom had fallen asleep, her own cigarettes and alcohol making her dead tired.

The white two-story house appeared before me. Worn out and shabby looking, everyone seemed to know whose house this was. This was the house of the high school drop out mother, always drunk and probably high in the day. She put all those stereotypes true to their word, and made herself seem even more worthless than she was. I sighed, walking down to the screen door.

The lights were all out inside the house, but the TV was on in the living room with wide open blinds. I remember being afraid of coming home when I was younger. Lights off usually meant mom was too hungover to bother, and I was safe. Lights on typically said she was sober, but usually in deep thought. TV on without lights was the worst, though. That signaled she was too out of it to bother with the lights, but awake enough through her drunken state to hit me.

I opened the unlocked front door and closed it quietly. Mom lay on the couch with a half asleep expression on her face, reminding me of all the zombie movies I used to see. I walked toward the staircase when she sat up.

"What the hell are you doing coming this late?" She asked in a threatening tone. Her long blonde hair was ruffled, spread out so it stuck out strangely. She wore a purple v-neck dress, one that just told anyone she had been out for all the wrong reasons.

"I had…business to take care of." I answered lamely. Either way she wouldn't believe me. Excuse or no excuse.

"There's curfew for kids under seventeen, you know." She stated matter-o-fact. And how would you know? I wanted to ask her, but some comment like that would only lead to more pain.

She grabbed a new cigarette and flicked her lighter on. She stuck the stick in her mouth while cupping her hands around the flame, lighting it. She took it in and breathed out puffs of smoke, filling the house with its unappealing smell. I held my breath.

"You should get back on time, and you were grounded for a month, remember? You forgot to get me a new pack of cigarettes," she said, holding up the box and shaking it. I frowned.

"Sorry, mom. The drug stores just don't understand why an underage, sixteen year old boy would ask for a pack of squares." The sarcasm ran thick in my voice as she glared, letting out another breath of smoke. She stood up and walked up to me.

"Smart ass, huh?" In defense, instinct, I drew back to the wall. I measured her own frown, challenging her. She smirked at my bravery and placed the cigar between her two fingers. "You know, I always wondered what would happen when someone touches fire."

She grabbed my arm as I lashed out to pull it from her grasp, but already she took my hand and faced it to her palm up. She flipped the cigarette over and crushed the ashes and fire to my skin.

It stung and burned against my flesh as I winced and pulled it away. The cigarette fell to the ground and without notice, my mom slapped my face so hard it turned to the side. She made sure to use the back of her hand so it wouldn't leave a mark.

Now my hand burned, my cheek stung, and my head throbbed with pain. I tried to get rid of the dizziness from my head, placing my head against the wall to keep it steady.

"Oh, that's right. You get burned." She hissed and pulled out another cigar. I stood there, motionless. She glared at me.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" She asked, irritated. I bit the inside of my cheek, hoping to eliminate the pain from everywhere else. It was one big collision of throbbing and stinging.

"Here." I threw the white bag onto the table, where a box fell out. Inside it contained a silver circle necklace. "Happy birthday." I muttered under my breath, going up the stairs.

Inside my room I groaned in agony. I examined my hand, the flesh ripped and red with slouches of blood. I walked over to my cramped bathroom and ran it under the water, wincing with every touch. I opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a small Band-Aid.

I took it out and tore it open with my mouth and finger, placing it over the burned skin. Then I sighed and got ready for bed.

I laid awake, staring up at the pale ceiling. I could hear the TV sounds and mom's strange laughter, which was hoarse from all the smoking. She often coughed through them. I closed my eyes shut and imagined myself in another world. Another family. Another life. How I wished it could all be different.

How everything could just…disappear.

ShellyCullen: I gotta say, that mom did NOT deserve a birthday present. She should get a worst-mom-of-the-year-award!

Ikuto: I hear ya. *Peace sign.

ShellyCullen: Please, Please comment on how I did! I could really use criticism on how I did Ikuto's perspective!

Ikuto: More like on your life's perspective.

ShellyCullen: What was that?

Ikuto: I'm having educational sex with Amu.

ShellyCullen: O.O

Ikuto: Yeah, thought so.

Shelly