one.

 

Chapter 1,

 

Pierre was seven when she was taken away from him.

He was seven when his mother was literally taken from him. The difference came when instead of struggling, she gave in.

She ran away. With another man, to a distant place. Somewhere he doesn’t know; a place he gave up figuring out where after quite some time.

Pierre was seven when he started despising her; he was that young when he started wishing for something he thought he’d never regret. Not during those times, that is. Not when he’s still hurting for what she did. Or for what she wouldn’t be able to do as a mother now that she’d gone.

As he went to sleep that night, he wished for her death.

 

<:>

 

“You have a way with your words, Mr. Astaire. But indeed, the words you speak are blunt and…disrespectful. If you can tone it down a bit and choose your words, I guess we can work things out between you and your teachers.” Principal Princeton’s voice was raspy as he settled his eyes on the figure in front of him.

He was seated for the third time that week inside the suffocating office of the principal, but like the first two days, Pierre was thinking of something other than the equally suffocating look of pity the old man was giving him.

“If Mrs. Stone told me beforehand that she didn’t want to hear the truth then I might’ve kept quiet. And you know, it wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t caught cheating…her husband was. It just so happens that I was the one to break the sad news to her.” He held the older man’s gaze, giving him the look that would’ve scared others and have them turning their heads away from a troubled teen that he is.

Besides, it wasn’t his fault that the truth came out of his mouth. He was provoked by the lady anyway, so he retaliated by talking about what—or who he saw with her dearest lewd husband—a week ago.

A defeated sigh escaped the older man’s mouth, and disappointment masked his features. That sorry expression he wore as he sat there that day made him age a bit, at least by Pierre’s standards. Having to deal with the pressures of being a principal of a big school is already exhausting his energy, but having to deal with Pierre and the complaints of his teachers is another thing.

Perhaps he was aging fast; all that because of the same person he’d been ‘inviting over’ for the past three days of the week. And the months before this.

Pierre ran a hand through his hair, controlling the urge to slump to the table in front of him as he thinks to himself what he did wrong. He was only being honest, and even when he was younger, he was thought not to lie.

And growing up, he realized most people would love being lied to than to face dreadful realities that await them.

And for Pierre, it was pathetic. It’s either you lie, or you keep quiet. He learned to apply the latter to his own life. He knew it wouldn’t make things right, but it would make it easier.

Or so he thought.

But he couldn’t keep quiet that morning; seeing the smirk on Mrs. Stone’s face forced him to blurt the truth out.

Another defeated sigh escaped the old principal’s mouth as he rubbed his temples—it was the sign Pierre was waiting. The gesture meant one thing; the conversation has come to an end.

But the two men know it wasn’t the last they’ll be having.

He stood up from his seat, the one he always occupied. The only decent chair he chose to sit in. As he neared the door that’ll lead him out of the place choking him, he heard Princeton call out, “There are boundaries we shouldn’t cross, Mr. Astaire.”

‘Boundaries my ass,’ he thought.

The teen scoffed and went out.

- - -

 

“I heard you were called to Mr. Princeton’s office for the third time this week.” The tone wasn’t mad, but it wasn’t amused either. Fifteen minutes after she got out of homeroom, Liv found Pierre seated by their usual spot underneath the tree situated in front the wallowing school field. She didn’t ask why he was out early because whispers about him walked with her to their shared place.

“You got that right.”

“And you’re proud of it?” She settled by his side and raked a hand through his messed up jet-black hair; an act she had been accustomed into doing ever since they were little. He did his best to feign irritation and to dodge her hand, but he knew she can see right through him.

“What can I do? The old man loves me so much he can’t get enough of my face.” He looked weary, and the pride in his voice wasn’t there anymore. He waited for Liv to talk, but as he glanced to his side, he realized why she didn’t. Her knees are bent and chin nestled into it, her thumb wedged on a battered paperback.

Ah, a girl and her paperback. Pierre thought, amused at how fast Liv can shut the world out and live on fictional characters’.

“Hey,” a strong surge of wind slammed on his face and Pierre stopped for a moment to rub the particles brought by it to his eyes. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Liv’s head snapped from the paperback to her best friend who now looked expectant. She rolled her eyes in that same amusing manner Pierre admired and chuckled before saying, “Do you need me to talk? You know how far I can go when I start talking.”

He thought for a bit and said, “Okay don’t bother. I just need you here.”

And she so she stayed. They stayed seated quietly next to one another, and if books allow Liv to shut the world out, seating next to her does the same thing to Pierre.

At the corner of his eyes he caught Liv’s gaze at him, when he meet those glinting orbs, she went back to reading as if trying to avoid conversation.

“Don’t hold it in—I know you want to say something.”

She bit her lower lip before saying, “Maybe you could give the school a chance.” Liv couldn’t help but be concerned over the fact that he got in trouble again. She couldn’t help it, and knowing Pierre she’s sure he wouldn’t even bat an eye if Mr. Princeton decides to kick him out of school already.

It’s already a miracle he’s still attending classes.

He should’ve known this is where it’s headed; he smirked and ruffled her brown locks, earning another ethereal chuckle from her. She beamed and tried to fix her hair but failed. It was another thing that amuses Pierre; how she manages to make things alright for everybody but most of the time ends up failing to do that to herself. A sign was her still messed-up locks.

“Maybe you can stop thinking about my matters with this school.” He creased his brows and looked at Liv, his mouth twitching as if to test her.

“Who says I was?” She shrugged her shoulders and buried her head back on the book. He smirked and rested his shoulders at the trunk of the tree behind, head rested on his hands.

Pierre watched as scenes unfold in front of them; at one side of the vast field of their high school, a couple was enjoying their solitude, but in a lewdly unpleasant manner. He looked away before he ends up puking. On another side was a disturbing group of girls and boys with guitars slung over their shoulders and music sheets in front of them, singing incoherently, their faces amassing a group of equally unpleasant emotions. Pierre couldn’t blame them; if he was exposed to the scorching rays of the sun grilling the group that moment, he knew his expression would be anything but pleasant, too.

But he doesn’t need to—be exposed to the sun, that is. In a way, he knows someone who emits warmth is seated next to him.

And that, for him, is enough.

Most of the time Pierre would let his mind wander over those scenes, trying to unravel good thoughts to compensate for the numbness he feels, but today he was just tired to even care.

“You know, the only thing keeping me from not going to this hell hole at all is the fact that I get to be with you on certain hours of the day.” He didn’t know why he said it, really, but it was nonetheless the truth.

If he was looking, he might’ve caught how her shoulder’s tense at his words. She regained her composure and said, “You can always come by our house, you know. You just don’t want to.”

It was true; he most certainly can, but seeing Liv’ dad—Mr. Greene—reminds Pierre of his own father. And most of the time, he felt sour at the sight of the creases in the old man’s eyes whenever Mr. Greene would offer him a genuine smile.

He knew it wasn’t Liv’s dad’s fault, but he just couldn’t look at him in the face and be happy at what he sees. At Mr. Greene’s eyes, Pierre sees the late Robin Astaire; he sees the father who died a few months after his mother abandoned him.

He sees the father that couldn’t be.

Mr. Greene, on the rare occasions when Pierre would actually visit Liv at home, always has a smile ready to give. An arm always spread wide to welcome him. And every time, Pierre will do nothing but nod and look away immediately, cutting possible conversations before it even begin. The older man would then lay his arms down, but it never discouraged him from doing the same gesture over again the next time Pierre would visit.

He keeps a blind eye on the smiles the older one casted, even on the squeezes he places on Pierre’s shoulder. Perhaps being disrespectful is in his nature, and it isn’t improbable given the fact that he grew up abandoned by a seemingly useless mother and a dead father.

Bottom line is, nobody inculcated the sense of respect over authority to him. And over the years, it’s what gets him in trouble.

“You can come by our house tonight; dad said we’re having take-out. It’s Mexican tonight,” She sealed the bribe with a wink, and for the first time that day, Pierre felt like smiling for real. But he still wouldn’t budge, and Liv knows of this.

She rolled her eyes when her bribe was met with nothing but a smirk and silence, “Okay I’ll save some for you and bring it tomorrow. I’m sure dad won’t mind.”

“And for that reason, I choose to stay in school and be with you.” Liv didn’t push the topic further. Her lips curved in a knowing manner and softly she shook her head before delving once more in the lives of book characters. Pierre knew the girl understands.

She’s the only person who does or even exerts the effort to, anyway.

 

- - -

 

“Don’t forget about my Mexican food tomorrow, lady. And oh, remember not to pack the leftovers like you did the last time.” Pierre instructed. They were still inside Pierre’s car, the streetlights outside was dimmed unmatched to Liv’s glittering eyes. She flicked his forehead and beamed at him before saluting, “Yes sir!”

Before he can grab her to retaliate, she was out the car, already trudging towards the porch of their house, her back pack bouncing behind her. She collapsed to the waiting arms of her father, and Pierre took that as a sign and sped off.

Liv glanced at the retreating car, and soon she met the knowing stare of her father. She wanted to think that he was just in a hurry, but she knows better.

And the forced smile on her father’s face says he too, understands the situation.

And she wished Pierre—her Crimson—believes they do.

That they really do.