I get the feeling that my friends are trying to push me out of the group. I only have like, three friends, and one has moved away. I feel like the ones who are left are trying to get rid of me. I get it, don't get me wrong. I'm constantly broke, and I whine too much. They have more in common with each other than they they do with me.

It's just kind of shocking how much it hurts. I wasn't aware I was that close to them. We're always joking about shoving one another under the bus.

I guess this is pretty much my fault. I've been too self-absorbed. Too busy with school, complaining about my mental disease, too busy with the girls, no money. Whatever. I'll have a job soon, and then I'll pay them back the money I owe them (One, about $50, the other, about the same) and we'll be done. No more obligations.

I'm just...I'm just shocked at how much this is hurting. I think I'm going to cry. And no, I'm not kidding. I think I am. Oh gawd, I am such a fucking idiot. I hate being sick, but I hate that it's helping to ruin my life.

I want a house. I want a small, me-size house if there are no children in my future with a garden and pets. And very bright colors.

But I've been thinking about children a lot lately. I certainly don't want to give birth. I like my body, thank-you-very-much. Pregnancy leaves stretch marks, muscle tears, and some very painful damage to other *ahem* "areas". Uh, no. Ain't happening. Tattoos and piercings and peroxide on my scalp are one thing. Pregnancy is a whole new level of pain.

And I don't like young children, like anyone under five. So lately I've been considering foster children and adoption. I like older kids. And I think I could be a good caretaker, if they don't need a new parent. I'm a good person, I'm responsible, I can relate to people and I'm not looking to indoctrinate or abuse anyone. I just think it would be important to give someone a place where they're safe and looked after.

That, and I don't exactly hate children in that age group. They're nice.

So this is all speculation. For all I know, I'll be dead tomorrow. Or I'll never have enough money to support another person. Or I might change my mind.

But it's a nice idea. I don't really want a spouse. So this could be a way for me to build a family for myself without having to do the whole "blah, blah settle down, get pregnant, blah, blah, blah" deal.

I don't know. Maybe my friends wherever I settle will be my family, will be enough. But I think I might still feel that I should help where I can. Give a little and all that. So we'll see.

A/N *Grin* Voilà, the first masterpiece of the Rabbit-Who-Names-Her-Livejournal-After-Her-Future-Book. The Rabbit is a borderline-rabid shipper of the hetero, fem, and slashy pairings she deems to be true, from EvoVerse Tabby/Amara, to Storm/Wolverine and Remy/Rogue, all the way to EvoVerse Toad/Nightcrawler and Pietro/Evan! The Rabbit is fond of criticism from her betters, for one day she seeks wealth from her writing. (Very fond) (I am a masochist, tà)

So onward and forward to my first dive into this fandom!
(No, I don't always talk like this, I just like to make an entrance, la)

Title: Runaway
Rating: PG
Warnings: Strong language, mentions of substance abuse
Summary: Kurt feels it is what's right. Todd thinks that the bitch can go fuck herself.




“I am looking for Ms. Tolensky?” The voice was male and accented, German, she thought.

“This is her. Who is this?”

“I know your son.” She nearly dropped her pen, grocery list forgotten.

“You know Todd? You know where he is?” She clung to the phone like a lifeline. All these years, and nearly every inch of hope had been slowly chiseled away. Even the police had told her that her son was most likely in a shallow grave or on a slab in a morgue somewhere.

“I think this would be better in person.” She agreed, and he told her to meet him in the coffee shop three blocks away.

When she got there, she spotted him quickly. He was a handsome young man with indigo-dyed hair framing his pale face. “You are Ms. Tolensky?” German, she was sure of it now. She nodded, and sat down.

“And who are you?”

“It is probably better not to say.” Puzzled, but too desperate to question it, she accepted the answer.

“Is my son alive?” The young man nodded. “Is he okay?”

“Ja, he’s okay. Very bad-tempered, and very foul-mouthed, but he is okay.” The boy was trying to make a joke. “If he knew I was here, he would kick my head in.” That one seemed more directed at himself, as he wrapped his long-fingered hands around his coffee cup.

“He knows I’m looking for him?”

“After I told him. I found the flier by accident. He was…angry. He does not want to see you.” The condemnation was a punch to the gut, and it pained her to admit that she understood why he felt that way.

“I’ve been sober for four years.” In truth, it was him running away that made her clean up, the Final Straw. She was such a horrible person her own baby didn’t love her.

“He said that he is,” He seemed to struggle for the correct words, “not giving you any more chances.” She closed her eyes. “He does not want contact. But I could not let you just keep suffering, not after I found out.”

“Are you a friend of his?” She asked, after a moment. The boy froze, chewing his lip before he answered.

“I am his boyfriend.” Thunderstruck, she stared off into space for a moment before blinking back to reality.

“Have you been together long?” She finally choked out, determined to grasp onto any bit of information she could get about her son.

“Nearly a year.” The boy replied, staring at his coffee. “But I’ve known him for several years now.” She nodded.

“But Todd is a…” She let the sentence trail, sure that he already knew. How could Todd hide his tongue, his eyes, and the webs between his fingers?

“So am I.” He reached out a hand and touched hers. She was shocked to feel three furry fingers instead of five smooth ones. He pulled back and pointed to his watch. “This hides it. I look the same, really, only blue and fuzzy.” He laughed softly. “Your son calls me Plush Toy.”

She tried to smile, but it was a lot to take in. “He’s okay? Really?” She asked at last. The boy smiled, and dug a few pictures out of his messenger bag. He passed them over to her.

The first was her son, a few years older, a bit taller, hair longer. There were shadows under his eyes, and his skin was a bit pale. The boy who sat across from her had an arm around his shoulders, making a peace sign at the camera and grinning so hard that his eyes were shut. Her son was smirking, seemingly indulgent of the antics.

The next was obviously on the same day, but this one was her son sprawled out in a tree’s branches, the picture taken from above, a higher branch. He was dozing, the sun dappling over his face and clothes.

The last one was just a profile picture of her son, sitting on the railings of a porch with peeling paint, the nighttime sky beyond him, a cigarette dangling from two of his fingers. His face was slightly turned toward the camera, the eyebrow she could see raised in surprise.

“Could I keep…?”

“Ja, ja, I brought these in case you wanted them.” His phone rang suddenly, and when he checked the ID, he blanched. “I have to take this.” She nodded, staring fondly at the pictures. “Hello? No, I’m uh, in the city. No, I just wanted to go buy something.” She noticed a shopping bag sticking out of his messenger bag. A cover story? “No, I’m not.” There was a smile playing on his face, and her suspicion aroused. “It is not for you. Am I not enough? Well, then you failed the test. No present.” It was flirtatious.

Oh God, that was Todd on the phone!

Before the boy could do anything, she snatched the phone away, the boy trying to get it back without making a scene.

“Yo, Fuzzy, why you quiet?” She breathed, listening to his voice. “Fuzzy, that you?”

“…Todd?” There was silence on the other end, then,

The phone clicked off, and before she could redial, the boy had it back, though how she didn’t know. The phone was seemingly snatched by air for a second before he was stuffing it in his bag and leaving.

“You should not have done that.” He said hurrying away. “He’s going to be so mad! Agh! He will not speak to me for weeks! You have ruined everything!” He accused.

“I wanted to speak to him!”

“You are not listening! He doesn’t want to see you or speak to you! I just wanted to let you know he was okay, but you took it too far! Do you know how hard it is to get him to trust people? Me?” He walked out, and when she rushed onto the sidewalk after him, he had disappeared.
The photos were waiting for her, the people inside making it a point not to look at her as she gathered them up and left.

________


“Go the fuck away!” Todd, high up in the tree, turned his head.

“She was worried! I didn’t tell her where you were! I didn’t even tell her my name! I just let her know you were safe!”

“Which is more than she ever deserves to know!” He threw an acorn down at Kurt, who dodged easily. “You just don’t listen dawg! I. Don’t. Want. Her. Fucking clear enough?!” Kurt climbed up into the tree, until he balanced beside Todd.

“She’s sober.” Todd shook his head. “I won’t go again. I just didn’t want her looking for the rest of her life.” Kurt reached out to touch his arm, but Todd shrugged his hand away. Kurt climbed over to Todd’s branch, crouching in front of him.

“You didn’t tell her nothing?” He asked at last, sounding resigned. Kurt shook his head. “Well, Boss-Lady is out of town for tonight.” Kurt grinned, a smile tugging up the corners of Todd’s mouth. “What’d you get me from the city?” Kurt smiled indulgently and fished a CD out of his side pocket.

Todd was still mad. Kurt was still apologetic. Mystique was still going to come very close to killing Todd if she found out. Kurt’s parents still had no idea he was involved with a boy. Todd was still a runaway, a member of the Brotherhood and a chain-smoker.

They kissed, up in the tree, happy and light and in love.


End

A/N Questions? Comments? Declarations of devotion? Contracts taken out on my head? Inform me, please! 

I am getting more and more involved in several underground scenes, as I get older. I'm honestly enjoying myself too. The thing is, I kind of want to go to a goth club, now that I'm eighteen.

Because yes, I'm now eighteen, with a fresh bit of ink in my body and a lot of new oppurtunities. I can get into Yaoi Panel now. I can go to several venues that were previously closed to me. (Actually, DC clubs are open to all ages)

I can go to a goth club, at last.

At the same time, I'm really scared of going. What if I don't fit in? What if what I thought was _my_ scene, aka the Goth/Rock scene, is really not my scene?

This terrifies me.

So what have I done?

I've researched local goth clubs. I'm going to my second concert at the 9:30 Club. I'm considering my next tattoo and what to do about my red eyebrow piercing.

I'm defintely going to go to one, I know that.

But . . . I'm still bringing a friend, just in case I'm too scared to play with the grown-ups all by myself.

The scholarship people hated me.

Fuck.

On the other hand, I kicked ass on the SAT.

Progress at last! I finally worked out the snarl in my plotline!

I believe school stimulates me. Over the summer, I became lethargic, and by August was unable to write a couplet much less a chapter.

Now that I am back in school, my Muse is speaking to me again. Not quite as avidly as normal, but getting there. I'm even writing fanfiction again.

(smiles)

Let's see what I have done in the matter of finishing either book . . . nothing.

I do not enjoy these periods of block. I have key points already planned in the fantasy book and most have already been drafted. The teen book is . . . well, I type a sentence a day on average right now, and I rewrite that sentence about thirty times. (rubs head)

Even music is failing to inspire me. I've listened to Pat Benetar, Three Days Grace, Three Doors Down, and Vanessa Carlton, music that has a tendency to motivate me, yet even they have failed.

I'm going to go lie on the couch and sulk now.