Teenagers and Feelings

❀❀❀

Tristan pinches the bridge of his nose.

He never got the chance to explain what happened. Not only that, but tension in the city has gotten worse. All the beautiful escorts and sparkly drinks in the world can't cover the disarray underground.

A world that the general public knows nothing about, despite passing by it each day. Where people can be bought and rights are nothing but a dream. Morals are at an all-time low and power is everything. The privilege people take advantage of everyday keeps them far away from the ugly, unsettling truth right in front of them.

An example would be the kind, sweet co-worker seen each day in the morning. Only to turn a cold-hearted kidnapper at night, snatching people off the street to sell their organs. There are a few powerful people willing to pay any price, and those desperate enough for money.

The real monster here are the manipulators. They play with people as if they're dolls, not out of need but out of pure boredom.

It's sickening.

Tristan yawns and pulls out his earphones. One more love song and he'd be sick. He puts the nail file away, satisfied with his neatly done manicure. Still no response from her? Ah, whatever. If she isn't with his cousin by now she's probably shopping the day away.

If Isabelle isn't hopping from one store to another, she is out trying recipes and causing a mess in the kitchen. All with a smile, looking like an angel.

Sometimes they'd talk on the phone for hours, ranting or just talking about nothing in particular. He enjoys her company, nothing more and nothing less. When they met years ago, he had a huge crush on her. But the more closer they became, the weaker his crush for her became. Eventually, he realized he liked Isabelle more as a friend than a lover.

Honestly, lovers don't last forever. But a friend? They'd stick around.

Isabelle took care of him whenever he made rather stupid decisions, which meant she came by often. There was one instance where she brought him food when he had a fever and nursed him to health. The memory makes his face burn with shame.

Stephen has returned from Europe, so his apartment is barely used now. His aunt and uncle insisted they all live together, no excuses.

The smell of sunshine and warm greetings.

Xingchen reads a book with Amelia seated on his shoulders, who is trying to braid his hair. She seemed to be talking but to Tristan's ears it makes no sense. He couldn't imagine Stephen acting like that as a child, regardless of what his aunt and uncle constantly said.

His bestfriend has soft, silky strands. It's no wonder why Amelia is fascinated by them, as if she found a gold mine. At home, he caught her trying on Stephen's ties once and putting on his cologne. It was adorable! He could tell she loved him dearly, even if she did act like a total brat most of the time. A royal brat, he may add.

She complains about her new school, with all the plastic wrappers and humidity. Just like her father. His cousin wouldn't admit it, of course. But the way his expression changes at an inconvenience says enough.

"You need more ribbons." Amelia happily clips on more sparkly bows onto Xingchens head.

"Do I? I look quite dashing already." He replies, allowing her to do anything.

In the workplace and at the gym, Stephen was was ideal. But when it came to women, his cousin has no hope. A lost cause, a hopeless romantic.

Tristan often pitches in out of goodwill, but he couldn't help someone who refused to acknowledge the problem. First of all, the lack of appeal.

Tristan chuckles at the thought and enjoys some tea. The crisp, early morning is refreshing. He wouldn't allow his dear friend date his cousin if he could help it. Stephen simply didn't deserve her! He is ready to knock him senseless if he even thought of playing with her. The height gap would be difficult, but no matter. He'd get around it, somehow.

He takes out his phone and snaps a quick picture of the pair.

"Tristan?" Xingchen asked. Amelia keeps braiding, humming a song as she stuck flowers and sticks in his hair. That'd be a pain to comb out later.

"Isabelle isn't responding."

He takes the little one off his shoulders and gently set her onto his lap. In response, she pouts and crosses her arms.

"You're ugly. I want to be with Uncle Xingchen." Amelia frowns.

Ouch.

That parenting book was a lie. She was more calm and easier to please with his bestfriend around. With him, she's a ball of energy running around the place.

"She isn't helpless, Tristan."

What if she fell down a hole? Had she taken a wrong turn? Maybe she lost her cellphone. What if her phone got stolen and she was lost?

Tristan runs a hand through his hair. She may act mature and level-headed, but she has her head up in the clouds most of the time. Even when scared, Isabelle found time to daydream about his cousin.

He bids them goodbye and leaves.

Something isn't right.

❀❀❀

❀❀❀

10 YEARS AGO

Tristan slams his fist against the door. The worn-down building would serve as their hideout for now, with most of the group too injured to do much.

The constant run-ins with other gangs were wearing him thin. If this continued, they'd be wiped out. It didn't help that he had to keep everything together, unaware of the leader's whereabouts.

Where was Ash when he needed him?

Tristan slumps in his chair, staring at an enlarged map of the city. The attacks, by whomever they may be, knew exactly what they were doing. He makes eye contact with Josh, a senior by two years. It's thanks to him he's caught up in this mess.

Is there a spy among the group?

He kicks his sneakers off and reclined on the couch. His group exchange looks, but don't dare disturb him. Try it, Tristan would beat them up black and blue.

If the gang didn't find him first, he'd be placed on the death row for his crimes. Yes, because escaping his father's clutches is considered a crime. If that's illegal, Tristan considers himself a felon following in his fathers footsteps. But he has a good reason, that had to make him different than a murderer. If the result is good, then the means are justified.

The smell of iron and cigarettes fill his senses. He puts on a hat and leaves without a word, carrying his trustworthy pistol in his pocket. As he walks past people, he puts out his cigarette and glances around.

Another tail? Troublesome.

He takes a sharp turn and tosses a silver can in the air. Before it touches the ground, he sprints past an alleyway and leaps into the fire escape. A tap on the window lets him inside. Tristan watches the stalker whip their head around and slamming a cardboard box before running off.

It never ends.

He waits at the agreed rendezvous, the alleyway on 5th street. He leans on the wall, right underneath an unlit street light. He came too early. The sun starts to set, painting the sky a vibrant red.

Maybe this was the only kind of light he could enjoy without guilt.

In his peripheral vision, he finds a girl feeding a stray cat. The girl had long, dark hair and wore a school uniform. She picks it up and caresses it in her arms, which the cat didn't seem to mind. She has such big, beautiful eyes that shone with love for the creature.

"You look so cute today, Connie!"

She cooes and rubs her face against it. She put the cat down and waved at him. He pauses and lowers the brim of his cap. Maybe if he ignored her she would go away.

Silence. He counts to thirty and lets out a sigh. He looks up and she is right in front of him with a huge smile on her face. Tristan takes a step and stumbles, hitting the ground with a thud.

How long did she stand there?

"Don't do that!" He exclaimed.

"But I waved?"

He scratches his nose and dusts himself off. God, this is humiliating. Tristan minds his own business, why couldn't she do the same?

"You okay? You look constipated."

Tristan bites his tongue. Quite the conversationalist. Would she give him medicine if he said yes?

"I'm fine, miss." He said.

"Don't you go to Vanguard High too? I see you around sometimes. I'm Isabelle Cross!" She smiled.

The feline rubs itself against his leg. Vanguard? He barely attends classes. Either she is mistaking him for someone else or has terrible memory. How was he supposed to talk to her? What if she's some spy?

"Tristan Pierce."

"You smell like the sun. Just like Connie!" She pointed out. She has this aura of warmth and light-heartedness.

"Connie?" He asked. The cat pulls on his pant leg.

"I had to bribe him with treats so he'd let me touch him." She explained. The cat meowed in response. Isabelle hugs Connie once more and he climbs up to her shoulders, a content look on his face.

"Weird name for a cat, Miss."

Isabelle pouts and kisses the feline's little head. It appears to enjoy the affection, bumping it's nose on her cheek.

He tried to get her to leave, but she insists on staying. Isabelle wouldn't stop with the barrage of questions. Not that they were relevant to each other, but it's a start. One minute she'd ask if he's hungry, another minute she'd talk about leather boots.

Weirdo.

She pokes his arm and he swats it away. The sky turns blue as street lights turn on. Tristan chews his lip. He glances towards the street and sees the group approaching.

"Cross. You need to leave, now."

"Why?" She tilted her head. Connie jumps off her shoulders and stands in front of her. Even the cat?

"My... friends are coming." Tristan hesitated.

They were far from friends, but he couldn't tell her the truth. Would it matter? He may not cross paths with her again. It's better she would not know. Ever.

The joy reflected in her eyes is a nice change, rather than the stoic and unreadable look from others. With her around, a barren street feels like a meadow teeming with life just waiting to be explored. But that's too good to be true.

"What? I'd like to meet them!" She said. She twirls around, her skirt lifting up with each spin. He placed her hands on her shoulders.

She needs to be more careful!

He didn't look directly, but in his line of sight he saw a frilly pink thing when she spun. Isabelle simply could not meet them. They'd tease him non-stop, but they could harass her and hurt her.

Tristan didn't want to start another turf war, the complete opposite of what he needed. They all agreed to meet to discuss the next course of action. Bringing a girl would mean he'd need to look after her and himself.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Get lost!" Tristan yelled.

Isabelle's eyes flash a look of hurt. She looks down and walks away. Connie hisses at him and scratches his shoe before following it's human.

❀❀❀

The meeting drained him of all energy he had left. It doesn't help that he is the youngest guy there, filling in for their absentee of a leader. Seriously, where did he run off to this time!?

Tristan sets an alarm for two hours from now. Maybe if he attends class tomorrow, he could see her again. Wait, would she even acknowledge him if he did?

He was rude to her earlier.

He tosses and turns in his bed. No, no. That's what she got for pushing it. She deserved it. He pulls the pillow closer and sighs.

"You hear? Red is comin' back." One of the boys gushed. The group mutter amongst themselves. Tristan's ears perk up.

Why do they talk about something interesting just as he tries to sleep?

"He is?" Tristan said. He stares at them, expecting an answer.

"I saw him with my own eyes!" Another boy intervened, raising his hand. Tristan listens to the story eagerly. No one really knew much about him. However, he has a reputation with the name to match.

They called him Red, with the signature flash of said color before taking down his opponent. All

Tristan knew was he wore a leather coat and has a scar on his nose. An urban legend in his own right. A rumor spread that he saved his second in command that tried to kill him and took down a whole organization single-handedly, using his bare hands. Other rumors say he had become a private hitman, taking requests from powerful rich families and is living the high life.

Tristan has idolized him for as long as he could remember, enjoying the stories from older members and rumors. He wonders whether it was all true or if Red really was just an urban legend.

If he could, he'd want a signature and a photo for proof!

His buddies would envy him for days, he could tell. Bragging rights for the years to come, he couldn't wait. Maybe he'd get lucky and sell the signature for good money.

They wrap up the discussion and go their separate ways. He goes out for a nightly stroll, though dangerous, it's relaxing. To watch the world fall asleep before his eyes with the moon to keep him company. All he needs is one hit and he'd be fine. Tristan lights a cigarette and leans on the railings.

Today is a present he doesn't want.

The overpass is different at night, with the stars to keep tabs on him. The white smoke fills his lungs as the taste wraps itself around his tongue. He closes his eyes, allowing his bad habit to drown out his worries.

He slides down the railings and hits the ground. He wraps his arms around himself. Not again.

Tristan holds his breath, listening to the sound of the wind. His silent, wordless wish went unanswered yet again. The sound of police pull him out of his trance. Without a second thought he makes a run for it.

❀❀❀

Tristan throws on some clothes and leaves. He checks his uniform, the collar being rather annoying. When he told everyone he'd attend class today, it became dead silent. They insisted on accompanying him but that simply wouldn't look good. A whole crew of older boys around some scrawny, intimidating kid?

Forget it.

The motorcycle attracts enough attention. It's awkward attending classes, being avoided by most of the students.

Of course, who'd want to mingle with a delinquent?

The cafeteria is the same. Everything is covered in plastic, he might as well eat the wrappers as well. The chocolate pudding isn't half bad, for a free lunch. He watches everyone else have their own little group, exchanging magazines or video games.

It must be nice, not knowing the dark side of society.

Why was he here, again?

The sound of a crash catches his attention. His eyes land on a girl, kneeling on the floor with a helpless look on her face.

Isabelle shakily tries to tell people not to step over her papers, but they don't seem to hear her.

Today, she wears white ribbons in her hair. He clears his throat and pinches himself. He straightens his jacket and swallows, mustering his courage.

"Hey!" He calls out. Curious pairs of eyes stare as whispers spread throughout. Tristan clenches his fists. "Did you not hear her? Move!"

At the sight of his face, the two students run off. He bends down and picks up the scattered papers and some notebooks. He skims through one and saw familiar topics.

Was she submitting homework?

"Are you alright?" He asked. She picks at her fingers, not looking at him. Why is she shy all of a sudden? Isabelle didn't seem that way yesterday.

Oh. Right, he was mean.

Isabelle nods, still seated on the floor. He offers his hand and she gladly takes it. They brought the notebooks into the faculty.

They stand in the corridor in silence. He didn't know what else to say.

Apologize? For what? She was the one who didn't listen.

Isabelle's soothing aura and her cute face made him feel all fuzzy inside. It's foreign to him.

He avoids eye contact.

"See you." He walks past her and she gently tugs on his sleeve.

"Wait! Let's eat lunch together." She said.

"I'm not hungry."

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles.

Damn his sore luck! Why did it have to sound like a dying whale?

She giggles and taps his nose.

"You like the rooftop, yeah? Let's go!" She said.

"I can walk!" Tristan complains. She drags him, anyway. For some reason, he didn't mind getting stared at now. Turns out she had prepared a packed lunch for him too, which tasted great. He was allergic to garlic and shrimp, but it was too good to refuse.

Buttered shrimp and soft, white rice? He must've died and ascended to heaven. He hasn't had a decent, hot meal in ages. It's enough to bring him to tears.

"Your face is turning pink." Isabelle pokes his cheek.

Tristan coughs and waves it off. If this'll be his last meal, it's all worth it. It was brought to him by an angel.

"It's nothing." He croaked. His voice sounded raspy. Isabelle's eyes widened.

"What's wrong?!"

Isabelle cups his face in her hands, leaning forward. Tristan turns away. Too close for comfort!

"I just... need to sleep." Tristan nods. It wasn't a terrible reaction, he just gets itchy until it's out of his system. In other words, he'd need to lock the bathroom later.

"You sure?" Isabelle sniffles.

She's on the verge of tears!

She wraps her arm around his and leaned on his shoulder. He sneaks a glance and she's asleep. She smells sweet, faint vanilla with a dash of strawberries.

He pats her head and dozes off.

The next few weeks went by rather fast. Balancing school and gang affairs wasn't easy. Isabelle helped him catch up, updating him on schoolwork and lessons. It helped that she made tasty snacks for him, like cracker nuts, to munch on as she tutored him.

She isn't half bad at all.

He gradually began to like school. Thanks to Isabelle, his classmates weren't as distant to him like before. There were some stubborn kids that refused to acknowledge him, but it didn't bother him so much.

Could he be friends with her, even with what he does?

Maybe it was because she's a girl, but her mere presence made him calm down. Tristan would become vulnerable, because of her. That small crack could be the death of him.

Then so be it.

He splashes his face with water and snuck outside the building.

Would she run away in fear, once she saw the blood on his hands?

Tristan leans beside an open window, listening intently. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but his curiosity ate away at him. Because of him, rumors about Isabelle spread. Some said he influenced her, that because he's a delinquent she is no different.

Tristan has no right to do that to her.

"You dating him or something?"

That voice sounded rather familiar. If he remembered right, it's one of Isabelle's classmates. Now would be their schedule for home economics, which is basically just cooking class.

"He's a friend, Jasmine." Isabelle responded.

"Uh, no. He's a delinquent." Jasmine scoffed.

Tristan rolled his eyes at her reply.

That's rich, coming from a spoiled brat whose father is dealing with the white stuff.

"Tristan looks scary, but he isn't a bad guy. I like him." Isabelle explains happily.

"Whatever. Hey, you made an extra cupcake."

"Oh, this is for Tristan." Isabelle laughs.

He doesn't deserve this. He waits for her class to finish. Isabelle wrapped the treat in a cute manner, with rainbow sprinkles atop the frosting. Without thinking, he hugs her.

"Thank you."

"You like cupcakes that much?" Isabelle jokes. Tristan let go and shook his head. He usually walked her home, since they head the same direction.

A constant reminder that his time with her had a limit.

"My big brother compliments me all the time! He's finally visiting after so long." Isabelle pressed her hands together, a dreamy look in her eyes.

Big brother this, big brother that, what's he like anyway? She never talks about him like that.

"What's he like?" Tristan asked. He had grown up alone, so sibling relationships fascinated him. Did they look similar, too? He tries to imagine Isabelle as a boy but nothing came to mind.

"Jake? A total oddball. His friends call him JC, which is weird. But he's so cool! I wish I could be more like him." Isabelle blurted.

"Could I.. meet him?" Tristan asked slowly.

"I don't see why not. See you tomorrow!" She smiled and waved. Isabelle steps inside a white gate.

He isn't sure there'd be a tomorrow for him.

❀❀❀

Tristan limps, leaning on a wall for support. Cowards. Four men versus one kid? He didn't think they'd be that desperate. He lost them for now, but he needed to get farther away. His phone is snapped in half and the police is a big no.

He grimaces. Sure, they were older than him but still packed a punch. Tristan coughs, wiping blood onto the pavement. A gasp makes him freeze and he slowly turns around. Soft brown eyes stared straight at him, accompanied by dark hair tied in a ponytail.

No.

He looked down. Damn it! She isn't supposed to see him like this. Isabelle helps him up.

She's not running away?

"There he is! Get him!"

Tristan whips his head around. Shit! Isabelle narrows her eyes. She drags him by the hand and runs. He tries to keep up as much as he could, following her lead. He finds himself in an apartment complex, this isn't her house.

Where had she taken him?

She hurriedly opens the door and pushes him in, slamming the door behind him.

"Close one!" Isabelle let out a breath.

The space wasn't too small, nor was it too big either. Isabelle dashed towards a cabinet and took out a medicine kit.

He reluctantly sat down as she treated his wounds. It hurt, but it's a necessary pain. Afterwards, she wordlessly brought him some food and drink. Isabelle smiles sweetly at him.

"Just rest for now. Okay?" Isabelle asked. She then began chopping vegetables, standing atop a small footstool. Tristan closes his eyes, allowing his body to rest. The door opened, followed by the jingle of keys and a voice he didn't recognize.

"Jake!" Isabelle ran to him, embracing him in a huge hug. He greets her by patting her head.

"How's my lovely little sister?"

"I brought home a friend." Isabelle pointed out.

Jake Cross has a rather intimidating aura. He had a large scar across his nose, barely missing his eyes. He wore a long, red leather coat. That color and the symbol on his back, there's no mistaking it. At the sight of Tristan, he waved.

"A boy? Don't tell me he's--"

"He's not my boyfriend! Ew."

Tristan's heart rate skyrockets. He looked exactly as he imagined! Despite his scar and tattoos, he is good-looking. No, he looked even better because of them.

"You're... you're Red!" Tristan exclaimed, smiling wide. Isabelle pouted and went back to cooking. Jake smiled sheepishly.

"Is it true you've come out of retirement?"

"I don't know where you heard that, kid, but no." Jake took off his coat, revealing a sleeveless turtleneck and black slacks.

"What?" He said.

"I've left that life behind." Jake shrug his shoulders. He helped himself to a glass of juice. Tristan slammed his hand on the table. Isabelle jumps, nearly dropping the pot she was holding.

"But...you're a living legend! You can't give up!"

"All I did was breathe. Anyway, why don't you stay for dinner? Isabelle is a great cook." Jake suggested. He sat in front of Tristan, totally relaxed. Isabelle beams at the mention of her name.

Tristan lowers his head.

"I can't believe you!" He ran out the door. He stomped his way out the complex. Tristan heard Isabelle call after him, holding his sunglasses. Ugh.

"You left this." Isabelle held it out in her hand. Tristan pushes her away, making her land on her bum. She looks up with wide eyes.

"Stay away!"

After that day, Isabelle's attitude towards him didn't change. Weird. She seemed to become even more kind, which he didn't think was possible.

Each time he got beaten or merely wanted to rant, he ran to Jake's apartment.

Jake didn't scold him as he expected, but listened and even offered advice. Tristan felt, for the lack of a better word, uncomfortable. The apartment had a warm, welcoming vibe to it compared to the cold, hostile environment he's used to.

He knew he didn't deserve it. He then spent more time with both of them. Tristan grew to love the two odd siblings, filling the void in his chest. Maybe that was all he needed. Someone to listen and care about him. Now that he did, he didn't want to let go.

Tristan visited once again. But this time is different. Firstly, he wasn't bleeding. That was a huge achievement! Isabelle greeted him with a hug and they all sat next to each other on the couch. Jake insisted to be in between them, for whatever reason.

"Hey Tannie, remember when we slept together?" Isabelle nibbled on a biscuit.

Jake coughed on his drink as Tristan's eyes widened. She was going to be the death of him. He wasn't religious, but he'd like some help now. Things had just started going well.

"I.. I can explain! It's not what you think!" Tristan dove under the table. Isabelle looked at the two, completely oblivious. Please, please take that back.

"We did it on the rooftop after lunch. It felt amazing!" Isabelle gushed.

"No!" He cried. Jake's utensils snapped in half.

"You did?" He asked, a sickeningly sweet expression on his face. Tristan's chest twisted in cold fear.

"Yeah. He fell asleep on my shoulder." Isabelle tugged on Jake's sleeve.

Tristan let out a sigh of relief. He's saved! Jake chuckled and twisted his ear. He protests, trying to swat his hand off as Isabelle laughs wholeheartedly, clapping her hands.

"You're not helping, Iz." Tristan whined. He rubbed his ear and smiled. Their laughter was contagious, alright. Isabelle had left the apartment and head home. Why didn't they all live together? He set the dishes onto the drying rack and stretched.

"Jake, I'm thinking of leaving the gang." He said aloud, wiping his hands on an apron.

"You prepared for that, kid?" Jake asked, a cigar in his mouth.

Tristan nodded. He bid goodbye to Jake and set off into the night. Here goes nothing.

He threw hit after hit, but here were simply too many. Before he could defend himself he got the air knocked out his chest. He crumpled down onto the floor, getting beaten relentlessly.

❀❀❀

Maybe this is how he would die. Tristan sputtered out blood. Someone landed a kick with a sickening crunch. He had no strength left to scream. Looks like he'd break his promise, after all.

Sorry, Isabelle.

His vision began to blur as it became difficult to breathe. As he closed his eyes, he saw white smoke surround him followed by yells.

Tristan's eyes fluttered open. He tried to move and nearly lost his balance. Was he.. being carried?

"Have a nice dream?" Jake asked. He looked scuffed up as well, but his smile didn't look as if he was in pain at all.

"You.. why did you.." He coughed and grimaced in pain.

"I wonder. Why did I?" Jake teases. Tristan buried his face into his back. He sniffled and sobbed into his shirt.

"You're such a--" He hiccups and sobs.

"I only beat up a couple kids and ran off! Don't worry 'bout it." Jake mentions.

Jake brought him to the hospital just in time. Turns out he had broken bones and internal bleeding. Up until his recovery, the Cross siblings paid him constant visits. They never forgot to bring him things. Isabelle, of course, insisted she feed him.

He ended up spending his 16th birthday in the hospital and got discharged the same day. Isabelle insisted they celebrate and eat out together. Tristan had never celebrated his birthday before, so everything was quite new to him.

"Should we go shopping?" Isabelle asked, holding up a pamphlet.

"No!" Tristan and Jake said in unison. They all agreed on eating barbeque instead. So, this is what being loved felt like. Tristan pulled them in for a group hug as they got their picture taken.

He wouldn't trade them for the world.

A couple months after, his parents brought him wonderful news. They wanted to reconcile with him. He was skeptical at first, but Jake encouraged him to give it a shot.

Tristan saw less of the siblings after that, but their bond didn't falter.

He held his little sister in his arms. She was only ten years old. They weren't related by blood, but he finally understood how Jake felt about Isabelle, now. Their family patched up after that. It clearly wasn't perfect, but at least they weren't at each others neck all the time. Melody lit up any room she walked in and is the center of attention.

Though she got away with things Tristan couldn't, he loves her all the same.

❀❀❀

❀❀❀