Unexpected

Chapter 1 ||To Love What is Wrong||

My Art

|| Unexpected ||

I didn't fall for you, you fucken tripped me

"Here's to the kids who were never the first choice. To the ones shoved in a corner and shunned. Told they were never good enough, to those who silently cry out for a hand but no one aids them. The ones who are too fat, ugly, weird, or not good enough." I flipped the page; "Here is to my child self who felt as if they were never good enough because all people saw were my mistakes, my flaws instead of seeing me. So, I dedicate this to the losers, weirdos, and freaks of the world. May our cries finally be heard and for one day this world to change in the hope of giving us a better chance at living in this hell-forsaken world." I took my chair as the teacher smiled; "Thank you, Ms. Lucien, now Isobe please continue the next phrase." Turning my head to the window, I began to zone out. I didn't need to hear this story again, I've read and studied this literature for years. To Love What is Wrong is an old story that was written by my Mother. After she passed, Dad found it with her other writings and decided to publish it for her. It speaks of what she hoped for the world to come to. Even went through some of her past life and described her time before she lost her sight. Sadly, she never got to visual see me and my brother and never lived long enough to meet my adopted brother. But, it's been so long to where her memories no longer pained me. I relished those memories of her teaching me brail and how important it was to love someone's soul and not their face. She'd always say, 'You are a soul, you have a body. And that body is beautiful, no matter how or what you look like. Because you are what you wear, the ink on your skin, the makeup you choose your hair. What you love is what makes you beautiful. Your interests, hobbies, skills, and the things that define you. Because you are so much more than a body.' I remember my ugly sobs that rang through my voice and how she codled me like the child I was. I was always independent, I'd take the front of any pains my little brother faced and this included the backlash of my mothers' blindness and why my father was with her. I was glad to finally rid of that small town and move here to Japan. But, homesickness crept up my spine like a snake. Slithering its way into my body and mind. I couldn't say that I didn't miss the smell of the fresh rain that littered the floral area or coming down to see Raiden and Dad joking or setting up some plan to make me smile in the mornings. Or even Azriel's grumpy words of how early it was to see how focused he got on his job. He was an inspiration and I looked up to him for how hard he worked. Raiden was a rising influencer, yet still was a valid Victorian entering his first freshman year. He was planning to major in business and his backup was music, he could pick up any instrument and master it easily. They both were confident in their abilities and knew when they sucked at something. Honesty and trust were important in our household and we pride ourselves on being responsible for our mistakes even owning up for the smallest ones. Then Dad, though we barely got to see him, he ran his own company and if we were in a larger state he'd be classified as a CEO. With his military background, he taught all of us basic combat and I loved learning new and strange weapons that weren't machinery. He'd always bring up the time I had a knife as a child and him running after me before I got hurt. He would always describe Mom's laugh in such detail you could paint a picture of her with his words alone. A deaf man knew he was still in love with her, even after all these years of her passing. After all, we're only human.

The bell chimed, dragging me from my daze. My body was slow as I lazily set the book away. Though a part of me held it with care for the truer sentiment it held. Pulling the satchel over my shoulder, I stood brushing the long ivory hair I inherited from my Mother behind my ear. It was a wild mess today and refused to be tamed by any hair tie or clip. My bright blues drifted back to the window, looks like there's a nice wind today. "Excuse me, Lucien, before you head to your next class may I have a word?" My teacher spoke, turning my head I nodded, approaching the woman as she gave me a friendly smile. Students held idle chatter, but most had left for a break or some were like me and had a different teacher after her. "I understand this is your Mothers work, so I assume you've read this before?" I raised a brow at the woman but nodded softly. "Yes M'." My accent kicked in as her smile softened, "Then instead of rereading the literature I'd like for you to do a project. You may choose how you go about it, but I'd like to receive a paper of inspiration, view, or even how you perceived her work. I'll type out and print the formal copy but first I wanted to see if you'd like to do that instead of reading her whole book again." She waited patiently, giving a smile that warmed your soul. "Would that be fair to the other students ma'am?" She nodded, "Yes, everyone will be getting assigned this project. But I wanted to give you this early considering your relations." I tilted my head, my gaze shifting away as I knitted my brows together. "Yes..." I trailed meeting her charcoal eyes; "It would be better than spacing out during class. I could do something productive instead. Thank you, Mrs. Yagami." I cringed at my poor pronunciation making her chuckle softly; "Of course, now let me write you a note so your art teacher doesn't write you up." I gave a polite bow, thanking her. Mrs. Yagami was my homeroom teacher and the first person I met at school. I came during the middle of the year and because of my artistic talents, I am typically excused from choir along with other activities like study block to head to the auditorium and help theatre kids with set pieces. Though, sometimes I do find my way to the art room sitting on an easel as I paint to my heart's content. One of my pieces was actually hung in the school, my art teacher was baffled at my talent and was even more astonished as to how quickly I mastered a piece with such detail. I will always be taken aback by any compliments I am given for my art. Back home, there were others who were far better than me some paintings looked alive for how detailed they were. On top of that, I was never given much praise unless it was from my family and some of them were the sassiest things I've ever heard.