Prologue

Clicking the pen for the hundredth time against my teeth, I finally gave up. With a heavy sigh, I drew the swivel seat back violently, feeling angry as I stared at the bright laptop screen glaring at me.

Dear God, not me facing another college denial for the sixth time in three weeks. Every college I worked hard to apply for in the past three months all came out negative. Where was I going wrong?

My eyes stared at the email doubtfully. It can't be! No, not again. Please.

Maybe it's some mistake? Yes, it could.  Some mistaken identity perhaps? Though I was feeding myself with doubt to yield a thin strand of hope, I had to accept reality. There was no mistaken identity, that letter was meant for me.

When the realization hit me, I just sighed with defeat. Everything was going wrong, very wrong. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Glancing back at the glaring wicked screen, my breaths went rigid. I can't spend another year at home, no I just can't. I'd die of depression. The taunts from my Father, mother would drive me mental. They've always wanted scholar for a child and that child was my Elder brother, Oscar Noel.

He always was the best in class, bagged blue ribbons at any science or literal convention. He was versatile with his college. He'd be graduating next year and oh yes, does he have awards lined up for me. To add the cherry on the ice cream as the smart kid, he's a junior professor for the college he's studying in. What would have made him less of a perfect child and my parents less proud of him?

He was always 'what' they wanted to show off. A scholar whom I've always looked up to. I've always wanted to be like him so that I could experience having my grades and efforts praised. But was I like him? No.

One would say perhaps I had less of a brain. I never bagged a blue ribbon, it was always red. I never got straight A's, but he did, even with a plus. I never came in first place in any literal contest, but he did. My grades were always on second level to his. His were always higher than mine. He always got the scholarships while I never did.

I threw my alarm clock against the room as I thought of what my parents would have to say to my three denied scholarship applications. Their taunts would be horrible and I'd have to bear statements like, "why can't you be like Oscar?... You never put in effort that's why you never get it... Oscar went to college on his first application, why can't you just learn something from 'our' boy..."

But that's what they don't understand, I'm not like him. I was never meant to be like him. I always wanted to be an artist, a painter. I was born with excellent drawing skill. I could literally draw any image, all I had to do was visualize it. When I was ten, I got a blue ribbon in a drawing contest I had secretly participated in. I wanted to surprise them with my first blue ribbon. But what did they do? They laughed at my 'achievement', calling it petty. Dad thrashed my ribbon right before my eyes. The only word for how I felt at that moment was heart break. I was forbidden from drawing and rather enforced to follow in my brother's footsteps. Though I hated science, I had to, to please them.

I glanced at my final year grade sheet. Not that my grades were bad, so why? I was going to have to wait an extra year, an extra hellish year.

I sighed in frustration and threw myself on the bed. Maybe school wasn't meant for me after all. I got up and decided to take a stroll. Some cold breeze should help my creeping depression. At least I'd be sane till when my parents return.

I took my coat and slammed my door shut then headed down the pavement. I had barely made it past a couple miles when I felt someone following me. I increased my pace, glancing back at intervals to see who was following me. Just a mile away stood a shabby looking girl who looked hollow.

"Can I help you?" I asked, feeling the cold breeze as mists with every word I said.

"Join me for a drink maybe."

I rose a skeptical brow at her.

"Stop following me!" I said in finality. I wasn't in a friendly mood, neither was I in any mood to indulge a street rat.

I had only taken a few steps when I saw her scrawny and frail form trailing me.

"Stop following me!" I screamed turning with a cold glare.

"Just have a drink with me." she shrugged her shoulders.

I scoffed. "And why would I do that?"

She shrugged again.

"Look, I have a lot of things on my mind and arguing with a hobo who's trailing me is really not on my top list. So quit it!"

She smiled defeated. "I know... I can smell the depression off you. You know, I never did really go to college too, though I really wanted to." She gave a sad smile.

And how the hell did she know that?

"So now you're watching me in my house? I'd call the cops you know." I looked at her, call me crazy for wanting to engage this girl in a conversation, but I just wanted someone, anyone to tell my shit to.

I stared at the extra bottle of beer in her hands and sighed. "Sure pass me a bottle." I snatched it from her and took a seat close to the pave-way. She looked pretty happy with the company.

"No one ever wants to have me around. They say I'm trouble. I just want someone to pour my shit to. I'm Flare by the way." She said extending her dirty shabby hands for me. I looked at the dirt wedged fingernails and dirty, holed long sleeve, and not that I meant to be rude, but she just looked down at my gaze, mouthed an 'oh' and put her hand back. I could sense her immediate embarrassment. "Um... What's your name?" She asked trying to strike up a conversation.

Would telling a dirty street girl my name hurt? "Eldse" I muttered.

She nodded in acknowledgement and looked down at the floor.

My eyes scanned her. Her appearance was a little rogue. She had a black dirty bandana tired around her dark brown hair which had taken to an uglier, thicker. It was obvious her natural hair was a light brown shade. I immediately assumed she hadn't used a shampoo in days, maybe weeks. Her body was adorned in oversized clothes - a baggy long sleeved blouse which I assumed was once a lighter shade of blue but now an unfair shade of dark brown, maybe green. Her trousers were baggy cargo-pants. Goodness, she looked awful yet not so awful.

Reluctantly dragging my eyes away from my disgust, I took a large gulp from my beer. It wasn't my first time drinking, but it wasn't something I indulged myself in. Alcohol doesn't solve problems, they just numb them for a while, my dad always said. Landing my eyes involuntarily at her choice of footwear, I was amazed as to how on earth black could ever become an irking shade of brown. Her converse sneakers were quite worn out.

She made to tuck her hair behind her ears when I caught sight of a writing that got exposed when the hem of her sleeve sagged a little. Adorning her same wrist was a black beaded bracelet. I scoffed at the intensity of her appearance. For once I was grateful that I didn't look so unkept.

I watched her take gulps of the beer and I could see her eyes shifting from left to right. It was obvious she was trying to figure out how to continue the talk and what to say. Perhaps I should make it easier for her. "I see you're more rogue for a girl." I said. I never meant to sound like poison but I'm guessing somewhere along the line, my manners betrayed me.

"Pardon?" She looked rather confused. Her brows furrowed in lack of understanding for the true meaning of what I had said. I decided to save her the trouble and angle my bottle at her in an 'up-down' manner. Her eyes followed the movement of my bottle, though trying to understand, her eyes betrayed her confusion.

"Your choice of dressing." I said curtly.

Call me a jerk for choosing to ask that rather than why she was termed a misfortune. I had heard her then, but chose not to say a word. She looked like a delinquent, her aura oozed trouble lurking. Who'd want to risk association with her? Other street rats as well maybe?

"I never really had a chance to give girly outfits a try. These were always what I was opportune to have. So I guess I kinda got used to these kinds of clothes. You only get to have clothes once in a while, selectivity wouldn't exactly do you good. When you get such a chance, its take what you can and go." She explained, never for once looking at me. I noticed the sadness behind the smile she had given towards the end of her explanation.

"And these opportunities come when?" I asked further.

She looked at me briefly and went back to fiddling with the bottle in her hands. She looked up and back down, then took a quick sip of beer before proceeding to say, "It depends. Sometimes once a month or twice in six months. If you're lucky sometimes four times a month. If you're unlucky, it's once a year for my 'hood anyways. The kind are rather competitive and the people around rarely care so..." She trailed off, expecting me to understand.

I furrowed my brows at her explanation not understanding the anger I felt at imagining little children scouring and struggling for clothes and food. I felt pity. My feelings towards hobos have been mixed. I mostly saw them as criminals. But given her explanation, I wouldn't exactly blame them. Especially the kids. I called them street rats because most were unbearably mannerless. I couldn't help but notice how well she spoke. Most street kids I've encountered weren't really good at speaking fluently.

After a moment of silence, I asked, "Did you go to school?"

She paused, shifting her attention to me. "No."

Which begged for another question. "How long have you been on the street?" I had lost interest in the beer a long time ago. Having her talk about herself drew my attention away from the alcohol and the reason for the alcohol.

She went rigid. She didn't want me to ask it but somehow expected it. "Eighteen years."

My eyes darkened at the realization of what the answer she just gave. of Eighteen freaking years of street life? Such suffering? How did she survive and make a living? Perhaps she was prostitute. Goodness knows how many diseases her little body is hosting. My mind was going places quite farther than expected. But who wouldn't think so! I found my self getting taken over by disgust once again. She could have begged rather than serving her body to men. Filthy whore! Was that why she was asking me for a drink? Was she trying to make a sale by having me here with her? No way in heaven was I going to sex a filthy whore.

"Eighteen years huh? Most have been quite a bargain." I sneered, letting my venom spill through each word. She looked rather startled a little by my sudden change in tone. Not that I was any nicer to her in the first place. I was angry, not sure if it made any sense that I was angry that she nearly played with my emotions. Getting me to feel pity for her so what? She'd whore off me? I pissed at her for nearly playing that decent girl card with me. And to think I nearly fell for it. But who was I kidding, this girl hasn't had life easy for her and here I was judging her for whatever choices she made in keeping with her upkeep. Forgive me dear lord.

"Um... Well what about you?" She asked, hoping to hear more about me apart from my name.

"What about it?" I asked.

She was quiet for a while, probably thinking of what to reply to what I just asked. She looked at me and finally said, "Well, tell me a secret you wouldn't tell anyone... Ever." She asked with a smile.

If the question couldn't have knocked my back into my depression and misery quicker than I had expected, then I probably wouldn't have spared her question a second thought. With depression and alcohol on working lethally against my sane reasoning, I turned to her and with all sincerity and heaviness said, "I'm a rich spoiled kid that can never be like my brother no matter how hard I tried. And I wished my parents would understand." My tired smiled confirmed my misery.

She pressed her teeth onto her lower lip. "Eldse..."She was going to say something but chose not to. Rather, she said something else. "Are you German?"

Smart brain she had. I am of German decent, though not fully. But people mistook me as someone with Russian heritage. I wondered how she told the difference.

"I just well...you looked a little German and your name was rather less Russian."

I looked German? Impossible. With my plain brown locks that swept down my face in a half bang, though I had majority of it pulled into a ponytail, and hazel green eyes and pointed nose. Thick lashes that framed my lids, I was easily awarded american, though I was half Latino from my immediate family.

My father was once an Italian General, he served for twenty-six years before he had to retire due to a bullet injury to the head. He's never been the same afterwards. Sometimes I wonder if that was mostly what caused his irrational behavior sometimes. My mother on the other hand was, mixed race. Being from a family where her dad was Asian, and her mother a German duchess in her time. So technically, I was not sure what to call myself.

"Kid me not please." I said in disbelief. "You speak quite well. I had thought you had gone to school."

Her cheeks involuntarily turned a shade of red. It was the first compliment I had given her since our estranged conversation began, and probably the last since there was nothing else to compliment. "Well, I thought myself all I know."

I rose a skeptical brow at her. Even the basics like reading? I was tempted to ask. I found that rather impossible to believe.

Upon seeing the disbelief in clear on my face, she further explained, "There was this local library at the other end of the second street. The owner was a charity case. I was fascinated by the books, he thought me how to read. I started going over, more and more especially since I had no home. Sometimes I'd sneak in through the back door and spend the night there. It was like my home..."She fiddled with her sleeves as if recalling a sad memory.

"What happened to the library?" I was curious.

She simply shrugged. "It's now a small confectionary store. The owner Mister Wilson passed, so the wife sold it. It was the saddest day of my life. I lost another home... Sorta." She bit her lip and turned to me, "it's getting really late. I have to check on my guys, plus I've got to arrange our place to sleep. See you later maybe." She smiled at me as she tucked in a little of her shirt into the back of her pants.

I glanced at her extended hand covered up with the oversized sleeves. I had so many questions to ask but I guessed I shouldn't. Maybe, some other time. I scoffed at that idea. There wasn't going to be a next time. I sighed and shook her hand. She smiled at me and I forced one too. She turned on her heels and made to leave.

"Wait," I stared at her as she paused and came closer. "Hold on,"

I went into my house and opened my wardrobe. I pulled out a shit and trouser that I've never worn. I walked into my bathroom and opened my cabinet. I smirked at the aligned shampoos and took one. Strawberry. It would soothe her. I cringed at my thought but waved it off as charity. It was just me being nice. Perhaps the lord would see my charity and bless me, by taking away my bad luck.

I spotted my old jacket which I never liked and delved into my shoe rack for a nice pair of shoes for her. I finally found my old baseball boots. I wouldn't exactly term them as old because I only wore them twice. Feeling satisfied, I bagged the items and headed outside.

I found her sitting by the stairs. I was a little glad she didn't leave. I slowly made my way to her and handed her the bag. She was confused. She looked at me and back at the bag. "It's just some clothes and shampoo." I simply said.

She looked at me and smiled. "The shampoo smells nice but I don't exactly have a place to shower." She muttered, handing me back my shampoo.

"That's not a problem, bathe at my house. You can't keep walking around, dirty like that. It's not hygienic and besides, females are seriously prone to infection. You reek." I casually said.

"Oh" she said as I said the last words.

I didn't mean to hurt her but it was the truth. She reeked. And I wasn't going to let her leave like that. Though inviting her into my house would be a risk because what if she robs me? But screw that. I'd take my chances.

Or maybe you're just desperate for a miracle that you're indulging charity.

I frowned deeply, letting my mind rage. I wasn't exactly desperate. Charity wasn't my thing but letting that girl leave here dirty, would haunt my conscience. I'm not exactly heartless.

She peeked at me through her lashes, her teeth pressed tightly against her lower lip as she chewed it slightly vigorously. Her eyes moved calculatingly, trying to search deep within her if accepting, would be a nice choice. It wasn't like I was going to kidnap or hurt her. What exactly could a street girl offer me?

I rolled my eyes and sighed. Of course she wants to play the safe card. "I don't exactly have all night. Going in or not?" It wasn't like she had much of a choice. It was a good offer and it would be dumb for her to reject it.  That's unless she loves wallowing in her filth.

She sighed and with a slight hesitation muttered an 'okay'. I nodded and turned on my heels; she followed my every movement, gasping and muttering impressed words which I could barely hear. It was a big house, my parents were perfectionists, so it's fair to understand the top notch glass-mahogany combo was a beautiful house, standing in all glory for all to admire.

I caught a glimpse of her walking. Her quiet steps were careful, almost ghostly. It made me chuckle quietly. "Stop 'wattling' like a penguin." She brought her gaze up to me apologetically.

"I've never been in such a fanny house," obviously, "I wouldn't want to ruin anything. The ground is so slippery, I'm afraid I might fall and ruin something."she explains in all honesty.

Thoughtful.

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness but it still doesn't require you walking like a ripped lady."I said. "Come on, room is on my left."

She nodded and followed closely behind. I wasn't exactly going to take her to the guest room. The bathroom there was complicated and she'd probably mess it up. Now, I might be a fancy kid but I know a good clean up-- my mum thought me that as a child; and I wasn't really cut out to start scrubbing a whole complication. On the other hand, my bathroom was a little easier to wash up.

I opened my door and gestured her in. I watched her go in. "You can use my room. My bathroom is the third door by your right." I said.

Her eyes were stuck to the ground. She was hesitant, that much was obvious. "Any problem?"

"Um... Not that I mean to be ungrateful but don't you have a guest room? It would be more appropriate to use a guest room rather than yours. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you or anything?" She piped in a little voice.

Decency? Or a show?

Either way, she was pulling it off quiet well. "Can you scrub to my satisfaction when done? It's a reserved bathroom. We don't just let anyone use it, only exquisite guests." My eyes landed on the bed and I immediately sighed, "don't worry, I'm not a man to disrespect a lady's privacy. Just call out if you need me." I turned and left.