~’Ello
to all of you again!! Thanx for those who reviewed the first two chapters of
this fic. I just hope that I can finish this fic before April coz I’ll be very
busy from that month onwards. By then, I’ll have to do 20-odd assignments and I
guess we’ll (my classmates and I) be given only a month to finish ‘em. Then
again, I don’t think you lot would want to hear about my school life so, on
with the story… Lyl xxxx~
“I’ll be your
dream, I’ll be your wish, I’ll be your fantasy…” Ben sang as he busied himself
in the kitchen, popping open the bottles of alcoholic drinks.
“I swear, Adams, that if you don’t stop
singing that song—which you’d been singing since the past three
hours—I’ll be force to hang your genitals in the living room!” Paul shouted
from the living room where he and Christian were playing “Tekken IV” (a/n: Is
there a game with that name??) on the PlayStation II console. Mark was sitting
nearby on the settee, flipping idly through a magazine, smiling as he came
across one article and started reading it silently.
“I sing what I want, Marazzi!” Ben shouted
back. “You can’t stop me!”
“You wanna bet?” Paul asked.
Mark and Christian exchanged glances.
Somehow, they knew that Paul’s line was very familiar. In fact, it’d just
happened in the kitchen two days ago.
“In no mood, Paul,” Ben sighed as he walked
into the room, carrying three bottles. He handed one to Paul and the other one
to Christian. They’d tried persuading Mark into drinking but he sticks to his
reasons and refused to drink, launching into a talk about disciples.
Ben turned to Mark and handed him a bottle
of Coke in which Mark muttered his “thanks” in return.
“Oh shit… shit, shit, shit, shit!”
Paul rambled as he started pressing the buttons on the PlayStation II
controller furiously. “I can’t lose at this!” After several seconds, the
unmistakeable voice of the commentator that’d been programmed into the game
told them of their scores.
“Oooh… YES!!” Christian leaped up
from his spot on the floor and danced around happily. “I won, I won, I won!”
Paul—who was quite frustrated because he’d
lost—stuck his tongue out at Christian who was smiling triumphantly.
“Pay up, Paul!” Christian said.
Paul paid Christian, frowning. “Still can’t
believe he won though. It’s like he cheated. Did you guys see how well he
controlled that Yoshimitsu?”
“Skill, Paul, skill…” Christian said,
counting his money.
“Very funny, Chris.”
“Am not laughing,” Christian grinned and
pocketed his money. “Want another round?”
Paul shook his head as he took a long swig
from the bottle. “Ain’t gonna lose to you again. It ain’t fun! Ben’s better…”
“Fine then,” Christian said as he switched
off the TV.
And so, the lads spent the night by
drowning themselves in alcohol, except Mark, of course.
~~~
“How could you aced your Music and yet you
failed Chemistry?!” his father shouted and kicked his son’s side. “I thought
you’re smart!” He kicked his son again as he tried to crawl away from
his father, away from all of this.
“Stop!” his mother cried. She didn’t dare
to stop her husband or protect her son—she could still feel the pain from his
blow the other night, still recovering from the shock of the punch. Her son
didn’t mind. In fact, he’s glad that his mother stayed out of this… he knew
he’s endangering his mother. This animal… he just can’t control himself, he’ll
hit anyone that came in the way.
“Tell me, how could you fail?!” his
father shouted again, kicking his side. He immediately clutched his painful
side and tried to roll away and avoid the incoming kick but couldn’t. He rolled
on the floor, in pain. Yet, he refused to answer his father.
He struggled to stand up and faced his
father.
“You’re gonna get nothing out of me,”
he said through clenched teeth.
Needless to say, his father was shock when
he heard his son talking back to him. This was the first time he’d heard his
son spoke up, the first time in the last 11 years. He just couldn’t believe
that’s his own son talking to him—he sounded different very different, with an
aura of confidence around him. If he hadn’t stopped himself, he would’ve took a
few steps backwards and probably collapsed on the floor with shock.
He quickly regained his footings and
collected himself together. “You’re nothing to me, boy!”
“You can’t say that!” he heard his mother
cried from a corner of that room. “He’s your son!”
“Son? He’s definitely not my son! You
slept with someone and then, you came running home, pregnant!” he shouted at
his wife.
He grabbed his father’s wrist as his father
was about to slap his mother. “Don’t you dare!” he snarled.
He shook his arm free from his son’s grip.
When his son refused to let him go, he flung his arm out and it hit his son
squarely on jaw.
He staggered backwards, one hand on his
jaw. He removed his hand away from his face when he felt blood slowly trickling
down from a corner of his mouth. He’d bit his own tongue hard enough to make it
bleed when his father ‘smacked’ him. No, I won’t cry, he kept telling
himself that but he knew he couldn’t deceive himself any longer. He desperately
wanted to cry out—something that could sooth the pain that he’s feeling from
all the abuses that he’d received for the past 12 years, ever since he’s three.
~~~
“Now, lads, I
want you all to look like you’re having fun!” the photographer—Mike—shouted
while he took the camera off from the tripod before the set.
“Okay…” all four of them said
simultaneously and at the same time, all four lit up with smiles as bright as a
light bulb, probably brighter.
“Okay, good, good,” Mike said as he moved
around freehandedly to capture the lads’ poses from as many angles as possible.
“Excellent!”
Mark, Ben, Christian and Paul sighed as
Mike gave them a short break to go to the loo, get some tea for themselves and
get an outfit change.
“Three hours, forty seven minutes and
twenty seconds to go,” Ben said as he zipped his trousers in the gents’ toilet.
“Shut up, Ben!” Christian laughed as he
pulled off his belt and slung it around his neck, getting ready for the next
outfit change.
“Yea!” Paul chirped in. “We all know that
you looooooove photo shoots!” Paul zipped up his trousers as well before
heading for the sink.
“I don’t!” Ben retorted as he stood there,
waiting for his three friends to be ready.
“Yes you do!” Mark argued, washing his
hands before flicking several drops of water at Ben.
“Oi!” Ben shouted. “Cut that out!” he
laughed.
“Why should I?” Mark asked indignantly, in
a high-pitched, childish voice.
“’Cause Uncle Ben says so!”
“Eww… I don’t want an uncle like Ben!” Mark
said immediately as he screwed up his nose, back in his normal tone. “Makes
other people think twice before they talk to you.”
“Oh yeah?”
Del knocked on the door of the toilet
urgently, saving Mark from Ben’s clever counterattack. “Five more minutes!”
“Okay!” Ben shouted from the other side.
When they’d heard Del left, all four burst into giggles.
“He’s so stressed!” Christian said.
“He is!” the other three agreed.
When the laughter had died down, the four
lads made their way to the changing rooms, their personal stylist already there
with their clothes.
Nearly fifteen minutes later, all four ran
into the room where they’re supposed to have the photo shoot. Mike was sitting
there, sipping his cocoa quietly and raised to his feet as soon as he saw the
lads entering the room.
“These are the photos from yesterday’s
shoot,” Mike said, reaching into his bag and took out a pile of photos and
placed them on the nearby table. “Choose your favourites.”
“I can’t believe that cheek!” Ben exploded. “I just couldn’t believe we’d just done an autograph session for 6,000-odd fans! Tim or Del or whosoever that’s together in that bloody photo studio should’ve at least told us about!”
“Relax, Ben,” Mark said, shooting a look
that said help-me-out-here-guys to Christian and Paul who were relaxing on the
settee, watching telly.
Paul rubbed his sore wrist slowly before
speaking up brightly. “At least the photo shoot went well!”
“Very funny, Paul.” Ben said icily,
plopping down next to a-very-sleepy Christian who was about to fall off the
settee.
“Paul, get your shower now!” Mark barked. “Or
else, you’re always diving in whenever I want a shower.”
“Right, Mom!” Paul grinned as he got up
from the settee and ran off to the bathroom.
Little did they know, Mark had just saved
an argument that was bound to happen if he’d kept Paul there with them. Paul
and Ben always had their clever comebacks and it might be a huge
argument if Paul had stayed.
~~~
“No, please, get
away from me!” he heard his mother cried.
He tried covering his ears and run away
from all the screams and cries but he knew that was an almost impossible thing
to do. There’s nowhere to run in that house. Sure, his father’s quite well-off
but he just couldn’t stuff clothes into a bag and jump out of the window… he
couldn’t leave his mother behind, not when she tried her best to ease most of
his suffering but those efforts always end up without the any satisfying
results. He refused to get any help from his mother at all.
It’s time that all of this stop… he thought as he got up from his
position on the cold, marbled floor of his bedroom.