HOME | Levi Ackerman (I, II)

Chapter 1

*(Levi was 15 when they first met, now she is 16 and he is 17)

*Please, be patient with the writing, it gets better.

     I had still not forgotten about the boy that saved me. In the last two years, I grew to be more confident in my fighting skills. And with the help of the man that I spared back then, I owned a new house where I started my new life. My father's ashes marking a new beginning for me. Daniel found me the day after the fight and helped me heal my wounds.

     I found out that he had a family and the only way he could make money was through the gang of thugs, even though he didn't like what they did to earn money. His only role there was as a thief. He apologized and came once in a while, to bring me food when he was lucky enough to buy more than usual. I did not sugarcoat things for him and asked him to start again and have a honored work.

     I lived in the same zone as where I had last seen the raven-haired boy, but I never saw him again. Instead, I spent most of my time alone; hiding with a new identity from the cops and living as a thug. Seeing that it was the only way I could survive, I was alone and no one was depending on me.

     I often got into fights that were never easy, but I won enough times to survive and started being known in the streets for the worst reasons. I had new ways of getting what I needed, though starvation was still a cruel reality for me and for everyone around town. I was prone to stealing rich families. I liked to take back what they took away from me.

     I felt lonely all the time and sometimes I fought people just for the attention it earned me. I knew that was bad, and I knew that I could get in big trouble for it. But depression and loneliness made me feel claustrophobic and tongue tied. I just needed human interaction, no matter which type.

     My body was sick from living in the underground. It used to be worse but I still felt my legs go numb sometimes. That earned me a lot of black eyes during fights. My only purpose for getting up every day was the wish to go to the surface.

     When I started to think more about life, I'd always think back to the boy that saved me. I thought about him many times and fell in love with the idea of him, knowing he was a stranger. I wondered how he would be by now. Had he grown taller? I overthought every other thing about him, since the only thing I could do was overthink about the people around me or from my memories.

     I was that lonely.

     I learned a lot from that day. The moves he used during the fight became my favorite ones. I wore a black cloak like the one he used and carried a knife everywhere like him. The white weapon part was necessary for my survival around the dirty place.

     I wasn't afraid of fighting like I was before watching him. After a lot of punches and kicks, I learned how to think fast and make good decisions. I learned that if he could fight those men without any problem, maybe, I could do the same. I fought and bled a lot, incapable of being as stylish as him.

     I would think about him when there was nothing else on my mind and I knew it was because he played part in my biggest trauma. I wanted to see him again, just for the sake of it, and make sure he was doing great within the possible.

     I was out that day, looking for a bunch of thugs owing me money, when I came across this group of men beating two kids that asked for water. They were lost, or abandoned, and were starving to death. It was evident. I couldn't bear watching everything without intervening.

     Those were just kids... How could adults treat them so poorly? Adults being irresponsible cowards to the point they could harm someone that innocent was really what upset me the most in life. I came near and punched the man that was kicking the boy to the ground.