Invincible Ase *Chapter one, part one*

Invincible Ase

Chapter One

         I woke up with a massive headache, a sore throat, and a taste in my mouth like death.

Now obviously, you can't expect me to be in the jolliest of moods. No one really would be, unless they were really into hangovers; like a dude with a hangover fetish or something.

I dunno what you weirdos like.

But I, like ninety-nine percent of the world, hate feeling like crap. Frankly, it makes me feel like crap.

I forced myself to pry the covers off of my head [my horrendous breath was making the air under there to gnarly for my taste anyway], stagger up, and hobble to the bathroom, checking the time on the way.

11:34.

Otherwise known as Hell.

It didn't even surprise me, ya know; didn't even friggin' surprise me.

Is this our last day, I thought numbly, or not?

I had lost count; or at least, that's what I told myself. Deep down, I knew. I knew what day it was. I knew what was going to happen later on that evening. I knew that it was, painfully, our last day.

And I knew-100%, without a doubt-that there was nothing I could do about it.

"Curse you, American Justice System." I grumbled to absolutely no one but myself. "Curse you to the bloody bowels of Hell."

And damn, I meant it.

         I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and noticed that not only did I feel like crap, I looked the part as well. My eyes were droopy and pathetic-looking, my hair overgrown and suffering from Severe Cowlick Syndrome, my lips dry.

"Denzel I am not." I sighed, as if that was my biggest problem. As much as my head hurt, my heart somehow managed to hurt more. I sort of wanted to cry, but knew the tears wouldn't come. Yes, I'm aware of how unbelievably macho that sounded, and no, I'm not just saying that to protect my 'man pride'. My body just can't handle sorrow right, so it converts and twists it into anger. The sadder I am, the more furious I get.

You'd probably cry if your cat died. I'd go and punch a tree.

No joke.

I didn't feel angry though, and not exactly sad either. More than anything, I just felt defeated. Weeks before, I had planned on doing something really cool for our last day, like go to a theme park or Mall Of America [we lived pretty nearby] and have fun, dang it-fun. But all I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and die, which I have a feeling is a lot less fun than it sounds.

After finishing in the bathroom I climbed down the stairs to the kitchen, finding Joannah jabbering away on the phone. Joannah was the only person on the face if our planet that was taller than me; which is saying a lot, since I was a few inches short of, uh, giant. I mean, when you're six feet tall at thirteen, before you even hit friggin' puberty, you can’t expect to see many heads above yours [or trees and buildings for that matter]. But at six foot seven, Joannah had me beat. Only by two inches, but never the less she reigned victorious; which ya know, annoyed me to shreds. Her black hair was short and spiky, green eyes flashing with annoyance as she argued with the person on the other line.

         "-no, I will not! I don't care about money…well yeah, of course I care…oh, you know what I meant! Is this really an appropriate time to discuss this? I mean, I'm not even home yet! This is sad, ya know? You'd think you people would give me at least a day before dropping the job-bomb on me, but I'm not even friggin' home yet. No, I said 'friggin'! I did. Ugh fine, I'm sorry mother. It's not even a swear though…"

I plopped down at the kitchen table, cradling my throbbing head. Joannah took a moment from arguing and held the phone away from her ear, her mom's yelling bleeding through the receiver.

"Happy Birthday, Ase." She said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster-which, for the record, wasn't a helluva lot.

"Yippee." I replied, my voice just as flat, twirling my index fingers around in circles to highlight my cheerfulness.

She grinned wryly.

I hadn't known Joannah very long, only about six months, but by the way we treated each other you'd never know that. We acted like an old married couple most of the time, always bugging each other about this and that. She was one of my best friends; and yes, when I say friends I mean that and that only. We weren't young teenagers in love. We both didn't secretly love each other and just never admitted it to the other or anything like that [though she might've had a little crush on me; frankly I'm hot, so I wouldn't blame her]. It's not like she's a total bitch or ugly. We got along great, and in retrospect could become a couple.

It's just I have no time for stuff like that.

Absolutely none. 

Joannah's mom was a screamer, I can tell you that much, I could make out a few words, but mostly it was just a loud droning noise, like a thousand bees buzzing at the same time. I cocked my head to look at the phone's volume level.

Low.

Jesus Christ.

Jo put the phone to her ear, cringed, then thrusted it at me.

"Here," She said, "the Crazy Women Foundation would like your generous donation."

I smirked at her stupid joke, taking it.

"-and that's another thing, Ms. Joannah; you can not expect me to just read your mind! If you want something from the grocery store, you write it down! That, or don't yell at me when I didn't get you Pop Tarts or Cappuccino Mix or for God's Sake what else you put in that body of yours. I don't know what you think I am, but a mind reader is not-"

"Uh, Lynn?" I interrupted, clearing my throat. "Yeah, uh, it's Ase."

"Aaa-ase!" She squealed, her tone changing tremendously. That always cracked me up; how adults can be all wicked and pissed off at their kid and turn around and be all nice and sweet to someone else. "How're you feeling, dear?"

Like a flaming bag of shit. I thought.

"Good."

"You sure?" She asked remorsefully, and I was once again filled with that uncomfortable feeling I got whenever Lynn acted all mom-ish towards me. She loved to worry; about me, Joannah, the other boys…it was weird to have someone do that,

It wasn't a bad thing. Just weird.

"Well, with all things considered." I answered.

There was an awkward silence until Lynn spoke again, in a voice way too cheerful to be real.

"Well, Jo told me you two had a pretty fun birthday party last night!"

Boy, did we ever. As you may've already assumed due to my lack of an explanation mark, I was being sarcastic. Yeah, I suppose it would've been fun, if Jo and I were fun drunks. Unfortunately, our 'fun' consisted of seemingly endless rounds of really cheap wine and banana cocktails at some bogus club [we only got in because we both look way older than we are and Jo's friend was cousins with the bartender]. We didn't even dance, just say there on those stools and drowned in my sorrow, drunkenly slurring how much everything sucked.

Fun.

Tell that to my head.

         And don't start making assumptions about me. It wasn't something I did every weekend or, in that case, ever before. It was the first time I'd ever gotten drunk and probably the last. Believe me here-if you were me, you'd do the same thing. I don't care how old you are, what your life had been like, what past experiences you've had; if you were as depressed as I had been that night, you would've drank too.

I groaned as a sort of answer to Lynn's comment.

"Banana cocktails + Ase = bad combination." I said simply.

Joannah-who had been rummaging around in the cabinets-turned sharply to gape at me, mouth wide open.

"Don't tell her that!" She hissed, but it was too late.

There was a pause on the end of the line, and I mentally kicked myself in the ass.

"Um yeah, you weren't supposed to hear that." I said lamely.

"No shit, Sherlock." Jo grumbled.

Lynn sighed.

"What can I do, Ase? You're not my son…though, I really wish you could be."

Another awkward silence. Our conversation seemed to be chock-full of 'em.

"You can still come back with Joannah you know." She went on thoughtfully. "We could get you a-"

"Lynn, stop." I said, sounding madder than I had intended. "I know you want the best for me and I really, really appreciate it. Honesty; it’s great that you care. But I can't. Couldn't. It's bad enough that I have to have the boys-my life-ripped away from me, but to lose my freedom too…look, not offense here, but the thought of being taken care of by you, living under your roof, eating your food….it's….it's Hell, okay? I'm sorry, but it sounds just terrible."

"I understand." Lynn said slowly. "You've been so independent your whole life, but you so young."

"I'm eighteen."

"Exactly."

All of a sudden, I got extremely annoyed. I was sick of Lynn treating me like I was her son, sick of her acting like I couldn't handle myself.

"Hey, I gotta go."

"Really? Well okay then…bye Ase! Happy birthday! Tell the boys I love them and if you change your mind-"

I hung up before I could hear the rest.

"Well. Someone's irritable." Joannah said, sitting down in the chair next to mine. "Though I must admit, it was a smart move not giving the phone back to me."

"Your mom's really irritating." I admitted. "Like, you'd think she'd know not to offer me a family right now. Never would be best, but now, of all times. A family. Oh my God, the word just makes me want to scream. Just friggin' blow a gasket."

"Forgive her, for she knows not what she does." Jo replied cockily.

"Sorry, I probably sound pretty jack-assy."

"I do detect a hint of jack-assery."

"It's just-"

"I know." She put her hand on top of mine. "It's just you're so young to her, and to me too I guess. Like, I'm about your age and my biggest problems are homework, having to drive Lynn's friggin' mini van to school, and getting a job. You on the other hand? Dude, you've been taking care of people and living on your own since you were thirteen. Hell, you've never even had parents or anything. You're not exactly your average kid; you're like…wise. Wise beyond your years."

I stared and stared at that child.

"Very deep, Jo." I said finally.

"I try."

And I suppose it was true, no matter how weird and deep Joannah made it sound. I'd never really had a family, unless you count a Foster Home [which isn't the cheery, loving, 'let's-get-out-the-board-games-and-have-some-good-ol'-quality-time' family unit you'd expect]. At thirteen, I was suddenly handed the responsibility of being in charge of four other boys. Well, maybe 'handed' isn't the right word. It was more like 'thrusted at me with incredible force with me having no choice over the situation whatsoever."

Yeah. More like that.

And I'm not taking a little baby-sitting job, folks. I mean the real deal; teaching, feeding, clothing, being in charge of these guys twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three-hundred sixty-five days of the year.

If you think that was an easy task, you're out of your mind.

In an odd way though, I sort of enjoyed it. The boys looked up to me, and god knows they didn't listen, but they at least knew that they were expected to. I took on the role of father, and for a measly, snot-nosed kid I gotta admit I did it fairly well.

A role that ends today. I reminded myself, making myself irritated all over again.