Constantine Ashe: Does anyone notice?

That wasn't the last date Anastasia went on with mister Scott Davis who was, to Constantine's surprise when he found out who the mystery man was, a popular sort of person. He was on the football team, for one, a jock in every sense of the term, and was surprisingly handsome and wholesome-looking for someone like Ana to be attracted to.

Then again, she didn't spike her hair, when she went out with him, and left behind the worst of her chains and studded collars, so aside from the neon red hair, she almost looked normal, too. During lunch periods, she would sometimes sneak away from sitting with him to meet Scott for a few stolen kisses behind the gym. Constantine sometimes followed her discretely, just to make sure she was all right, but she and Scott were very absorbed in each other and didn't notice him. And, though she was still as rude and painfully honest with most of the world, she actually seemed... happy, in a strange, cynical fashion.

And Constantine, being the loyal little brother, as well as the paranoid little brother, wanted to make sure she stayed that way.

They usually planned their class-ditching together-- usually during tests in Constantine's classes-- so as to meet up just off-campus. That way, Anastasia could have a cigarette and Constantine wouldn't be alone. Today, however, Constantine ditched geometry by himself, after two weeks of watching the happy couple. He found the right class to camp outside of and lay in wait there for Scott Davis and his small pack of friends. The bell rang, but they didn't notice him as they surged out of the classroom, laughing and joking. That was no surprise-- he was used to it. This time, though, Constantine didn't want to be ignored, and with a scowl of frustration, took off at a jog after them, trying to catch up.

The whole pack of them were chattering about various things, all at once. Only bits and pieces of each train of words reached back to him:

"--practice tomorrow, I really don't want to go--"

"--can't believe how much homework he gave us! It's more than--"

"--that new movie? Heard it's pretty gory, but the preview--"

"--can't believe I've got her, craziest girl in the school--"

That was Scott, all right, and he had to be talking about Anastasia. He strained to hear more.

"--coach will flay me alive. We've got the biggest game--"

"--I don't have time for all this! How does he expect--"

"--great cast. Even has that hot chick from--"

"--but she's got the most amazing set of ti--"

That was more than Constantine needed, or wanted, to hear. He broke into an angry run, yelling, "Hey! Hey, Scott Davis!"

No one stopped. He yelled louder. "Hey, Scott! Hey, don't you talk about my sister like that! Hey, jerk!"

He'd come up even with the group, now, but they all continued to ignore him. He thought, however, he saw a few eyes flicker towards him. They heard him; they had to. "If you ever hurt my sister, asshole, I'll kill you!" he threatened.

The group just walked on. Constantine stood still, catching his breath and trembling with fury at still being ignored, glaring after them.

Then, to his surprise and with sudden cold wash of fear, one of them turned around, grinning fiendishly at him, and mouthed, "You're dead-- and we're gonna get you." Then the youth casually flipped him off, turned around, and sauntered off with the rest.

That night he tried to convince Anastasia to stay home-- though he couldn't bring himself to tell her what he'd heard her so-called boyfriend say about her, he did tell her about the boy who'd looked at him-- but she wouldn't listen to him. She was enjoying being a normal senior in high school, for once, with a normal boyfriend, who did normal things. People were noticing her, and she liked it. So Scott came to pick her up in his fancy car, and Constantine lay on his back on his bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling rotten.

When their father came home an hour later, drunk and bellowing for Anastasia, Constantine fled even the sanctuary of his room-- which wasn't much of a sanctuary. His father had more than once tried to kick him out, force him to room with his sister, turn the room into something else, but Anastasia had argued him down again every time, just for him. He hardly felt like his room was even his, after hearing the old man roaring about how he didn't need it anymore. It hadn't even changed since he was small, not since he was so sick when he was eleven. Even Anastasia's room had changed some.

Neither of them liked their father at all, and Constantine couldn't even remember their mother anymore-- there was just a vague sense of dark hair and starless eyes, and the knowledge that she'd named him and his sister very strange names. So, that horrible, usually drunk, loud father was all they had, and they usually tried to pretend that he didn't exist. It wasn't particularly difficult. Constantine and Anastasia usually escaped together, when he came come screaming, Constantine with more annoyance than fear and Ana with more fear than annoyance. Tonight, though, Ana wasn't there, and the fear of being alone wasn't enough to keep him there for that.

So Constantine left the house, making sure to slam the door. As he started down the driveway, he caught sight of his father's puzzled face peering out a window at the otherwise empty yard, and he hunched further, hands in his pockets, for once glad to be ignored. And he walked. He didn't really care where he went, he just wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, else. He had his gun in the back of his belt, and his knife in his boot, which was better than nothing, but he didn't intend to go anywhere they might be needed, anyway. He stuck to the crowded streets. People ignored him, drifting out of his way like fog, or like ghosts. He never got jostled, he never got bumped, he never got a "hello", a "good day", or even a "get lost!" It had long since ceased to be eerie, and was now just normal.

What was eerie, now, was when someone did look at him-- and not just the ones who stared and threatened, either. Those weren't eerie, they were frightening. Every now and then, though, someone normal would glance at him, look away, and then quickly glance back, as if unsure of what they were seeing. Sometimes they just stood there and stared-- not with that threatening glare, either, but with something like confusion-- and sometimes they hurriedly kept walking the other direction. Once or twice someone tried to follow him, but he always made sure to lose them.

Today was one of those rare days when someone did that double-take. This time it was a policeman, standing idly outside a coffee shop, leaning on his cruiser. He took a sip from his styrofoam cup, eyes rolling over passersby and drifting on Constantine, for a moment, before moving on. Then they darted back, and a small frown appeared, causing a wrinkle between two bushy, blonde brows. Constantine felt the stare with distinct discomfort-- did he notice the shape of the gun in the small of his back? Was that why he was frowning? Nervous, he walked faster, eyes on the ground.

The policeman watched him until the crowd blocked his view, but Constantine kept walking swiftly on, deftly avoiding people as they unobtrusively avoided him and not caring just where he was going. Something about that stare disturbed him, and he wanted to leave it as far behind him as possible.