Tape 2, Side B

(Especially sad. Avoid if possible ;)

"Deathbringer?"

He wanted to curl into a ball and sleep, but it was impossible. All the tapes were making him dizzy. He really didn't want to talk. "Leave me alone!" He yelled.

Quickstrike tried to open the door, but he had already been prepared for that. It was locked and impossible to open because the bed was pushed against it.

"Deathbringer!" Her voice started to get sharp. "come out here right now, young man!"

He blinked for a few moments, leaning his head against the door, his lips tightly pressed together.

"No." The word sounded bitter in his mouth. He had never said no to Quickstrike. Even when she said no to him every time he asked for something. He had always told himself it had to be that way. Resisted the temptation to throw tantrums. Their family was poor. He had to accept it.

But now, he didn't want to smile when he didn't feel like it and obey his mother when she was wrong. He didn't was to hide like a small child.

He was big now. Perhaps not enough to stand from his own mother, but enough to make his very own decisions.

He was tired— oh, so terribly tired.

"What did you say?" He felt bad for affecting her when he was the one in a bad mood, but he really wanted to be alone— no, needed to be alone.

He needed time. Time to digest. A break to take everything in. A small moment of peace a d muddle of complicated thoughts.

Then his anger exploded, spitting and twisting in fury, hot with dissatisfaction.

"I said no!" he screamed. Then the words flowed out, splashing everywhere like a waterfall. He paused for a moment, tasting the word in his mouth.

Even though he could not see his mother, he knew her face was contorted with surprise.

He couldn't stop. "I always said yes, every time you asked me about something! I tried to be a good son! For you..."

He gasped for breath. His chest raised and fell, and his eyes ran through his room like he was desperately trying to find something important. His heart hammered in his chest. "But you always say no. Do you know how many times I got ridiculed and laughed at because of you?" —He wanted to stop, but he couldn't — "I always thought we were a poor family. I tried to accept that. But then I realized, it wasn't because we were poor. It was because...because you don't like me. You don't like me because you didn't like my dad, and don't get me wrong, I don't give a crap who he is. All I ever cared about is you."

He gripped his doorknob until his knuckles turned white, and his eyes blinked shut. Shut safely, against this dangerous, hateful world. "You don't like me, but you feel sorry for me. So you kept me, but every time you see me you see my dad. Don't you think I caught you looking at me with that expression? You wish I wasn't born. You like Morrowseer enough to get everything he would ever want, but you don't like your own son—"

"Deathbringer..." Quickstrike was sobbing now. Yet, she did not deny anything.

"And you got tired of Morrowseer asking things for you, didn't you? But you're to scared to say no to him. You're a coward. You just want someone to take care of you. You want someone to clean the mess you made. But, guess what? It's not going to work. It never works."

He finished, gasping. Ever word he had squished deep down in his heart had came out. He realized tears were flowing out of his eyes like waterfall, and he silently wiped them off. He didn't want Quickstrike to think she controlled his emotions.

"I just wanted to please you," he whispered hoarsely. "I loved you. But when did you ever love me back? Outside, you act like a mom, but inside...when nobody's watching...you hate me. "

His mouth felt dry. "You hate me. Wait, that's it, isn't it. You— you hate me." He fell against the door, his eyes clouded with pain from deep, deep inside. "You hate me."

He cried. He cried out loud, because he had to, to get everything out, or he felt like he would die. He inhaled deeply. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for...for everything."

He opened his eyes, not bothering to wipe the tears. So, so weak.

An agonizing, silent pause dragged out afterwards. Both mother and son leaned against one door, both unable to avoid the truth.

Then, Quickstrike only said this before she left: "I tried my best, Deathbringer."

And that was the last time he ever heard anything from his mother.

It was raining and stormy outside. There was a big storm coming up. Deathbringer watched from his window as his mother's car slowly came out of their driveway.

Then she went fast. Probably eighty miles per hour. Rain was coming hard, lightning was flashing.

Three minutes later, in her car, she got hit by lightning.

And died.

Her last words repeated in his brain, over and over again:

I tried my best, Deathbringer

~

Her funeral was horrible.

Morrowseer wasn't there, and Deathbringer was one of only five people that came.

Quickstrike's parents came, and her two friends. They were silently crying. They didn't even glance at him. It was like he didn't exist at all. Not that he cared.

What he cared about was that he couldn't bear to look at her face. Her peaceful expression was wrong, so wrong. He just kept thinking— the last thing she said to him...and the lasting he said to her.

He slipped away by the door, his eyes tearless and blank. Everything weighed down on him, and he couldn't bear it.

Nature— and fate— was cruel.

So, so cruel. His mother didn't deserve any of this— him, Morrowseer, the lightning. She didn't deserve this. She wasn't the one that screamed at someone just because she was in a bad mood.

It was him.

Nature was cruel. So, so cruel.

~

He didn't know what to do, or didn't care. He just wandered in the streets, hoping someone would jump on him and end his misery.

Nobody did.

He did the only thing he knew to do: He pushed Play.

It was cruel that I liked beautiful boys. This one had white hair and blue eyes, cold and merciless. You were surely beautiful, yes; but, as people say— sometimes, the outside doesn't matter.

It seems that it mattered to you.

"Welcome to your tape, Hailstorm Dickinson"

Deathbringer faintly remembered his name— he had went to the party where Glory met him, trying to get the courage of asking her out, but failing when Hailstorm appeared. He seemed so perfect compared to Deathbringer. And it didn't take long for Glory to realize that.

I wasn't exactly considered pretty in any matter.

I mean, there were many girls that would liked to date you. I admit that. Scarlet Burn. Lena Swisher. Jacqueline Koler. All the popular girls in our school.

Everyone liked beautiful boys.

You, of course, were a beautiful boy. Your soft white hair and sparkling blue eyes. Your perfect smile, your fit body. Tall and muscular.

You were in the varsity football and basketball. You were like our star, our god.

And, somehow, you showed interest in me.

I was careful, of course. I had learned my lesson when I dated Riptide. I wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

But, it turns out, you were a total different matter.

You liked to control things. Try to urge things to go your way.

I do give you credit, though, Hailstorm — you were good at it.

It was probably a dare. Maybe a bet. But when you showed up to a lame sophomore party, we treated you like a god.

All the pretty girls tried to flirt with you. You didn't even glance at them— but, somehow, when you saw me, you smiled.

A smile, which is quite dazzling with your handsome face. I didn't have time to think if it was fake or not.

We talked. You had me at your fingertips in three minutes.

Somebody didn't like that.

Scarlet.

You guys used to date, I heard. But then your brother, Winter, talked you out of it. It was probably wise.

But it didn't stop her from spreading rumors about me.

That night, I didn't mind. Spending time with you was magical to me. You probably don't even remember me, but I remembered you.

Do you remember?

Time seemed to go fast. After a couple days, we had our first kiss, which seemed like a miracle that time. We went to the movies. We went ice skating together.

You were kind. Funny. Charming. Not like any of the other jocks, who cares only about who slept in who's bed and who was dating who.

You were different.

Or, correction: you seemed different. But to state the truth...You weren't different. You were worse, even.

When you held me in your strong arms, I felt safe. Secure. I could throw all my fears at my back when I was with you.

But as we grew on each other, you started to change.

Maybe you were tired of acting gentle and wanted to go a step ahead. Maybe you wanted to get the relationship over with so you could date someone else. But this was what I saw:

Inside the beautiful smile, the beautiful blue eyes I always admired, was the cold and anger.

When we kissed, it became more over the top. You controlled everything. It was like I was a doll. A doll you had wanted, but was getting tired of.

Your eyes showed their insides.

When you controlled everything, dear, dear Hailstorm, you didn't want to lose it. So when we kissed, and you controlled it, you made sure I didn't speak out.

You gripped my arm so tightly when we did that. Sometimes you would just watch me with your blue eyes. Making sure your doll was safe, safe from everyone else.

Inside the Perfect Boy— was a monster.

Then, a day before Christmas, you threw me away.

Maybe that was your technique. If you were bored, you would get lower girls that looked at you like you were a god. Someone that nobody believed. Someone that believed that you were a monster, but nobody else would listen to.

As always, you were in control.

I had tried to tell people Riptide had ditched me. That Scarlet had lied to me. That Kestrel bullied me.

Nobody believed.

So when you threw me away, you did it hard.

"I liked our time together," you said. "But, honestly, it was kind of boring. I mean, you weren't the brightest person in the world. I think it'll be best if we broke out relationship now. So one of us don't go to waste."

Maybe you tried to say it as gentle as possible. Maybe you were just plain dense. Maybe you were an idiot. But every word you said— everything you were, to say the truth— marked my soul.

You taught me something, too, Hailstorm—

I learned not to trust beautiful boys with pretty smiles.

Because, it seems, outside isn't everything.