Warnings: This story contains slash, graphic abuse, graphic rape, non-con incest, possible threesome, possible cross-dressing, and violence. You have been warned.
The POV is Xemnas.
I guess you could say I'm prejudice, but I'd like to think we all are in some way. Though I've been trained not to, I stereotype like everyone else in this world. I assume things with face value; I just don't voice these assumptions. I'm not supposed to be judgmental. I'm supposed to be open-minded and caring. But I'm human just like everyone else, so I can honestly say I never saw him coming.
The first five years of my career in education were spent at a drop-off center for intercity kids. I was young and there was no way I was going to get a teaching position straight out of college without paying my dues. I wasn't a teacher at the drop off-center, I was more like a counselor. I spent my afternoons and evenings talking and hanging out with kids of all ages, races, sizes and with numerous emotional problems. I was uneasy with them at first, which is understandable because I come from a pretty well off family and emotional l problems just weren't an issue growing up. Over time, however, I grew to love and cherish those kids. They were stronger than I will ever be. Some were homeless, some were foster kids, some were abused and neglected and some were simply depressed. But they were wonderful. Despite the issues life had thrown at them, they all touched me in different ways.
I remember sitting down with this one kid, Roxas. He was angry teen and often started trouble at the center. It took me awhile to get down to the bottom of the problem. I was expecting so many things, but I wasn't expecting what he told me. When he told me he was dying of AIDS it took all my inner-strength to stay strong for him and not break down. He had no one who cared about him. People treated him like an animal at school and it was starting to break him. I formed a bond with him and it nearly tore me apart when he died that cold night in December. I stayed with him until the end. Through the raging fevers, night sweats and delirium, I held his hand. When he finally passed, it was almost a relief but it tore me apart. I couldn't return to the drop-off center, not after that. So I packed up and moved to suburbia, where I wouldn't be reminded of Roxas every moment of the day.
I moved in with my best friend from college, a doctoral student of psychology named Saix. There had always been a little flame between me and my friend. There's always been an attraction, but neither of us has acted on it for fear of ruining our friendship. Some day's when we're lonely we find ourselves wrapped up together on the comfy living room couch, but we always pretend it never happened.
Saix and I live in a big mansion on several acres. He's the son of a highly successful investment banker who recently passed away leaving his only child his entire fortune. Saix used to be a typical wealthy snob, only caring for himself and taking pleasure in his money, but that all changed after he was abducted and held for ransom during his freshman year of college. The depression and post traumatic stress that followed is what urged him to become a licensed psychologist, despite the low pay. I never found out what happened during his two weeks of captivity. He's never spoken to me about it, but he still suffers the effects. He is quiet, often skittish and rude, though he doesn't mean it. I know he's just being defensive and he has a right to be. I still find myself wanting to know what happened, though. I guess he'll tell me in his own time.
I started teaching at Shay Cobbeslstone Academy, a private school for boys. I wasn't very excited about working there, and I'm still not today. The school is obviously for wealthy boys and it shows. The teenagers are ungrateful, rude and cruel. There are several teens here on scholarships, and they are bullied mercilessly. I try to alleviate it and stand up for the poor kids, but the problem stems from the administration. The rich kids rule was the summary of the principles reply.
I teach math classes at Shay. From very basic algebra to advanced calculus, I do it all. Most of the students are bright, but they're also slackers. It's discouraging to know that they have the ability to do the work but choose not to. But I guess since they're already financially set for life it doesn't matter.
It was in one of the basic algebra classes that I noticed him. It was the second week of class and everyone on my roster had been attending fairly regularly, except one. Zexion Patricks. At 17, I was surprised and confused at his placement in my class. I figured it was a misprint and he was in someone else class, so I had him removed from my roster. But I was wrong, and today he finally decided to show up to class.
After spending five years with potential and actual abused children, I knew from the minute he walked in the door that something wasn't right either at home or here at the school. He was bruised, horribly so. His left eye was a deep purple color and was nearly sealed closed. His small wrists that he kept trying to tug his too small school jacket sleeves over were the same color. It was if his wrists had been tied by a thick rope. He walked with a limp and he held one of his arms at an awkward angle. His nose was starting to bleed as was his busted lip. And despite all of his wounds, he was beautiful.
He stumbled into the classroom, his non-bruised eye wide and frightful. The class of boys turned around at his loud entrance and snickered, a couple of them muttering the words "fag" "homo" and "shit stain". The teen ignored them and immediately locked eyes with me.
"I-I'm so sorry…I'm sorry. I'm Z-zexion Patricks…." He kept muttering, visibly shaking by the large oak door. I immediately took pity on him and waved away his apology.
"It's fine, just have a seat up here. I'll speak with you after class."
He nodded, stumbling to the front of the room to the desk right in front of my own. None of the other students wanted the spot directly in front of the teacher, and being a kids once I can understand why. I tried to focus on my lecture but my eyes kept wandering back to the beaten violet haired teen in front of me. He was busily trying to copy down my notes on the board, but his hand kept shaking and his writing came out sloppy or illegible. Though I couldn't keep my eyes off him for long, I didn't fail to notice the students surrounding him. I didn't miss the pencil being jabbed into Zexion's back or the little pieces of paper that randomly hit him in the side of the head 40 times. He was one of the bullied children. I assumed he was on a scholarship to this school. His clothing, though the standard uniform, was worn and too small. I overheard the cost of the uniforms one day in my office and wasn't surprised to find out they were several hundred dollars. I assumed maybe Zexion's family couldn't afford a new uniform for him.
When class finally ended, he remained like I asked him to. He nervously stood up and walked the two steps to my desk and anxiously rubbed his swollen and bruised wrists.
"Sir um…I really am sorry. I was…in a car accident and I couldn't come the first two weeks…" He told me stumbling over his words, several times.
I nodded and paused for several moments, thinking over what I was going to say. "Do you have a doctor's note…?" I immediately regretted the question, knowing that these injuries were from an attack and not an accident. He tensed and slowly shook his head no, his eyes fixated on his small hands. It was then that I noticed how small this teen was. He wasn't more than 5'5 and looked to weigh less than 100 pounds. It wouldn't take an expert to know he was underweight though. His arms were so skinny I swear I could wrap my fingers around them twice. The thought of holding his tiny body close to mine flashed through my mind, which left me reeling. Because of this, I didn't say anything after he answered my question and his eyes started to widen in fear.
"I'm sorry, Sir…I really am. I'll make it up, I'll do anything." He begged me, looking at me frantically.
I was still so disturbed by my previous thought that I didn't even consider my horribly stated question. "What exactly do you mean by anything?" I mumbled, rubbing a hand through my silver hair. Saix and I often playfully joked and openly flirted with each other, and this scenario was familiar. He'd often play the innocent troublemaker and say the exact same words Zexion said. My normal, flirtatious answer was the same answer I gave Zexion. I'm not sure why my mouth decided to run away from me at that moment, but it was horrible mistake that I wish I could take back.
It was if time stood still for a second. He looked at me with those big frightful eyes and then glanced at the door. I knew something bad was about to happen, but I just couldn't place what it would be. The shock that ran through me when he started pulling at his clothes nearly took my breath away. He was stripping. It was so fucking wrong I could barely stand it.
"Whoa! What the hell, stop it!" I yelled at him, standing up quickly from my desk. "What the- what?"
I immediately regretted my tone of voice when the poor teen stumbled back against the first row of desks. "I…" He gasped out, quickly shrugging back on his jacket and started fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
"What…?" I gasped out, toning my voice down so as not to scare him anymore. "That's not…that's not what I meant…god, are you…" I couldn't make a proper sentence; the shock coursing through me was suffocating. This teen, this legally still a child teen was about to initiate sex with me. The fact that he was initiating sex wasn't the scariest part though. It was the ease at which he did it. The normalcy in his eyes. He had done this before. It was terrifying to think of and so very, very wrong.
Before I could open my mouth to ask him about it, he took off. He ran from the room, almost forgetting his worn messenger bag in the process. I didn't try to follow him. I was too shocked to even function well.
This event keeps replaying in my mind and I can't seem to rest. It's been several hours since, and I still can't fathom it. Part of me is angry about the situation. I moved to the suburbs to get away from the hells of the inner city. I moved away to be free of the horrors some children of the world have to face every day. I wasn't expecting to run into what I did. I wasn't expecting to find this obviously abused child among the wealthy.
It's stereotypical and wrong, but for some reason I believed abuse didn't occur among the wealthy. I assumed since the parents had money and since the children went to good schools, bullying and abuse didn't happen. I feel stupid now. Utterly stupid. I feel horrible for thinking such things about the world. The world is an evil place. Abuse is rampant. Abusing is not something only a certain group of people do. I should've known better. I should've known.
And for the first time in months, it's not Roxas that I think about at night. For once, my grieving for the small blond boy of the city is put on hold. All I can see is Zexion. All I can see are his gray-blue eyes as he starts to remove his clothing.
Broken, ashamed, humiliated, beaten, lonely, desperate and lost.
I think I have several sleepless nights ahead of me, because I'm not going to let that image go.