Caspar Jennings is the boys' soccer captain and school heart-throb.  His years of high school have defined his potential to be great.  Caspar changes suddenly, his senior year of high school.  He no longer dates, cheers on his team, no longer shares his musical gifts, no longer laughs or smiles.  Nobody knows what caused this change in the boy, and Caspar was perfectly content with not sharing it.

Austin Carter is the new girl, but she is nowhere near shy, nerdy, or helpless.  Austin is defiant, strong, a fighter, and a trained archer on a competitive level.  She is nothing more than a fighter in her mind, and sometimes others.  She always is in harm’s way, fighting in the local street fighting rings with revenge thirsty fighters willing to take you down at any cost.  After she was disowned by her entire family, except for brief texts to her brother, it was the only way to earn money, other than winning the occasional archery competition, which cost money to get there in the first place.  She could never give up either job, even if it could end her life.  Now, not only was she a fighter, but she held the confidence, courage, pride, respect, and competitive nature that could make her a strong leader.  She was too dense to see her potential though.

When the two meet after Austin gets herself an apartment close to Caspar's neighborhood and school, something changes for Caspar, and for the cold-hearted Austin.  Caspar, who was so distant before her arrival and introduction to his life, began to ask about the girl who was feared for her cold nature.  He could see the real her, that she thought had died long ago.  He saw the warmth her personality held, that matched her outer beauty.  Austin only wanted to break through to the boy who had stolen her heart the second he had glanced at her, talked to her, brought the real her out.  She would never stop, never give up on Caspar, until she knew him, knew the reason for his distant look, hard exterior shell, his change.

When she gains Caspar's trust, will he let her know why?  The question is, will he be capable of trust?  Is Austin going to be the same if he trusts her, lets her know?  Will she be able to take the story?  And most importantly, can they keep personal feelings out of their relationship, or will their deepest emotions, which were purposely locked out of the problem, destroy them?

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Caspar sat, alone on the bench after the game, smiling to himself.  The game had been tough, but with his leadership and skills, the Kinsville Daggers won the game.  The sweat on his brow and soaking his jersey was proof enough of the game's brutality, but it didn't bother Caspar.  He had always loved the game, and being team captain was a plus.

Sweeping his limp sandy blond, sweat drenched hair away from his face, he stood up, hearing the team cheering from their locker room.  He heard his name being chanted, the calls for their captain and champion scorer.  He could smell the sweat from outside the locker room, the sweat that proved true loyalty and effort toward their team and school colors.

"Jennings!  Jennings!  Jennings," they chanted as he entered the doorway and jogged down the hall, head held high.  The chant got louder and he could hear each boy's voice clearly.  He recognized even the coach's chants.  Nothing could match the feeling he got when he heard how much pride he brought to his peers, teachers, and school.  Wearing the black and silver colors of his school, Caspar felt invincible.

"Silver and black, the Daggers are back," he cheered as he ran into the locker room, seeing all of his team mates with towels in hand, shirts of, chanting and cheering for him.  His smile brightened the room and the cheers turned into whoops and hollers.  He was instantly mobbed with sweat covered bodies patting him on the back, embracing him, lifting him into the air.

"Silver and black, the Daggers are back," the team chanted as they dispersed and headed to the showers.  That left Caspar, his best friend Jack, and Coach Monohan alone in the main locker room, smiling like the Cheshire cat.

"Good game, Mr. Jennings.  You and Jack were amazing, scoring and defending!  Did you see the other team pout?  I think I saw tears!" Coach Monohan grinned at the thought, looking as if he was having a good memory from his childhood.  His Irish accent and young age made him seem as if he was a child, his way of expressing himself just added to the effect.

"Yeah man!  You did great!  Silver and black, the Daggers are back, with Caspar and Jack," Jack joked.  Caspar smirked at the two, who seemed more excited than ever.  Caspar was quite humble, knowing that the other team was just as good, he understood and respected each team that played them.  With the respect he had for his 'enemy', he was capable of truly knowing how to beat them.  He understood that you must respect your opponent.

"They were hard to beat, guys.  We did good, though," Caspar slurred, feeling his tense muscles more now, the effects of his adrenaline wearing off and leaving him tired.  He slumped slightly and removed his sweat-soaked jersey, tossing it onto a bench.

"Whatever you say, Jennings," Coach Monohan grumbled as he retreated into his office, cocky smirk still planted on his face.  Jack still grinned wildly at his friend before pushing him onto a bench and patting his back.  

"Marley is waiting man.  She is excited to see you, proud of the winning scorer," Jack inquired.  Caspar perked up at the sound of his girlfriend's nickname.  Marla had been dating him for three weeks now, and he liked her immensely.

"Okay, Jackson.  I will leave it up to you to deal with equipment," Caspar teased, to which Jack's smirk dropped.  "Jack, relax.  I was just kidding, but help Ollie out, aye?"  Jack nodded as Caspar sauntered into the shower stall the boys always saved for him; the one that could produce scalding hot water and was always filled with masculine scented soaps they had gotten for him.  He enjoyed the attention greatly, but refused to believe he deserved it.  He thought that Jack deserved this, or maybe one of the other boys, but he was the one voted into the position of captain.  His team mates never regretted the choice either, and gladly followed him.

Turning on the scalding hot water, Caspar stared for a second at the steam.  He could hear his friends, almost brothers, singing, teasing, and celebrating.  This was what made him happy.  His team; they tried, they were loyal, they bore the colors well for their school and were worthy of high respect.  They didn't let it go to their heads, and even when they lost, they celebrated, not for the loss, but for the enjoyment of the game and effort they put forth.  They all remained good students, most passing all of their courses with honors, and most of the courses were AP classes.

"Caspar, hurry up!  Marly is waiting for you," Jack called into the shower stalls.  Caspar quickly snapped out of his thoughts, grinning wildly.  He undresses, noticing small bruises, bleeding cuts, and dirt stains as he went.  He smiled, thinking of how he got them, becoming more and more proud.  He removed his black cleats, his silver and black shorts, never losing the grin.

He stepped into the scalding water, letting it burn his skin into a tingling sensation and relax his muscles.  He sat there, staring at the metal wall in the stall.  There, was a name written.  A name carved into the metal, with a small inscription.

'Caspar Jennings:  Beloved captain, opponent, friend, boyfriend, student, and child.  May he forever be prideful of his achievements and accomplishments.  -Kinsville Daggers and Opponents'

It might have been destruction of property.  It might have been tacky.  It might have been plain creepy.  But it made Caspar swell with not only more pride, but pure happiness that he made others feel as they made him feel.  Accompanying the original signatures, were signatures from other players, from both his team and others.  He saw captains' names, coaches' names, water boys' names.

This distracted him, long enough that Jack again called into the showers.  Caspar only grunted, knowing that he was most likely the last one in the room now.  He cleansed his hair with scents that made him sigh in relief and realize just how sweaty he really smelled.  He continued on, cleansing the cuts and bruises, dirt spots and face paint, until he was as clean as he was after his first shower this morning before school.

He quickly turned the water off, noticing how his skin had turned a light pink from the water temperature, and thanking the heavens above that he was tanned well so he didn’t look like an idiot when he went to see Marley, as he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist.  He hurried into the locker room, retrieving an extra jersey for tomorrow, his black and blue plaid button down shirt, and black basketball shorts; slipping them on along with his sneakers.

"Casp," he heard a soft voice call.  His head snapped up, scanning for the source before landing on the dye blond girl he happened to be dating.  Her outfit was a bit girly with pink ruffles and frills with high heels, but she still looked good as in she was popular and stereotypical; her blue eyes looked dazzling under her thick lashes and thin lines of eyeliner, her lips glistened with light lip gloss, and her high cheek bones held a light natural blush.  Her tanned skin made her eyes pop in the best way, making them bright and full of life, almost like they were colored contacts, and her legs look longer than red woods.

"Marley," he stated and grinned at her.  She smiled shyly at her boyfriend, blushing even more as she walked over to his relaxed form.  Caspar didn't make a move to stand from the bench as she approached, and as soon as she was close enough, he grabbed her hand and brought her next to him on the bench.  "Did you enjoy the game?"

Marley only grinned somewhat sweetly and kissed his cheek, before leading him out and to his car, having him drive to her house, before he left to his own.  Little did Caspar know, going home would change his outlook, his pride, him.  When he got home that night, no sleep was found.  The only sound was his own screams, whimpers, and cries of pain.

"We can't keep paying for your hospital bills, Austin," was the only thing her father said as he walked through the doors of the emergency room.  Austin only looked up for a second, before looking back down at her lap.  She heard her mother crying out in the hallway, most likely with her brother attempting to sooth her.

"I'm sorry," was all she managed to say.  She heard a heavy sigh, causing her to look up.

"Can you quit?"  The one thing her father said, one of the only since he came into the room, made her temper flare.  'How dare he ask that,' Austin thought, her body stiffening.

"Quit?  Quit!  How can you ask me to quit what I love, what I do," she shouted out in exasperation.  Her father took a step back, eyes widening as he saw what his daughter had become, what she really was.  He had to understand though, she was just trying to protect them.

"Who are you," he questioned.  Noticing the confusion that passes over her face, he continued.  "You are so addicted to pain, that you have lost yourself.  I cannot recognize you as my daughter anymore.  My daughter would never allow herself to be hurt like this, be put in danger, put her little brother in danger.  I thought maybe if I allowed you to try something else to release anger, stress, you would go back to the way you were.  I gave you your wish, you are a great archer!  Isn't that enough?  Grayson looks up to you!  He wants to be an archer, he wants to be like you.  But why?  I don't understand why, because you are not my daughter, and you are certainly not somebody to be looked up too."  Austin's father's voice had become weak, unsteady.

"What do you mean," Austin asked, almost fearing the answer.

"You are not our daughter, not Grayson's sister.  I am disowning you, we are," he explained bluntly, his voice still weak and it continued to waver.

"You can't do that," she whispered in horror.  Leaving Grayson, her family, her life, her boys, was enough to make her think.

"Will you quit your street fighting," her father asked, a glint of hope coming into his eye, clearly expressed in his voice.  He didn’t know how much more dangerous that would make Austin’s life.  She was feared, along with wanted, and hated.

"No, that would be worse than continuing, dad," Austin hissed, anger returning to her at the thought of hurting Gray, or even her parents.  Her father allowed the hope to slip away, and a tear to leave his eye.

"Do not call me that.  I don't know you.  My son doesn't know you, nor does my wife.  I have never had a daughter, only a monster who was sheltered in my own home.  You will pack your things and leave.  You will not be allowed to see my son or wife.  I will pay this bill, put some money into an account for you, but that will be it.  You are no longer a part of this family," he spoke, his voice cold and void of emotion.

"Dad," she started.

"I am not your father, as far as I know and care, that man is right for leaving you.  He must have known what a monster you truly were, to put your own brother in danger,” he paused, “Now you don't even have one."

The cries outside the room intensified and Grayson Carter ran into the room, gasping with unshed tears in his eyes, face shocked and panicked, with eyes as cool as ice, like his sisters.

"Dad, mom needs you," he stated coldly, tone cold, even and unforgiving.  It reminded his father of Austin, making his father wince, before leaving the room silently, without an argument, to tend to his hysterical wife.  Grayson sprinted over to Austin's bed side and dropped to his knees.  He cried, calling his 'sister's' name, refusing to believe that those words were ever spoken about her, that his father ever disowned her.

"Austin!  Austin, please don't leave me!  Please don't listen," he cried.  Austin shushed him, pulling him onto the bed with her unwired arm and, petting his onyx hair soothingly, attempting to calm his pleas and hiccups.  His sobs softened until they were mere whimpers.

"My Gray, my little brother.  I know you don’t want me to go, I don’t want to, but I have to go, Gray," she whispered in his ear as he calmed, only causing him to become desperate again, clutching onto her with all of his might.

"Then I will come with you, Aussie!  I will, I have to!  We can leave home together," Grayson whimpered, burying his face in his sister's long hair, inhaling the familiar scent of warm vanilla and harsh, metallic blood.  He choked back another sob, knowing that she was hurt and now abandoned by the people she was supposed to be able to trust and depend on.

"No.  I don't know how well off I will be, Gray.  I can't be sure you are safe and cared for properly.  You need to stay with mom and dad.  You need to have a family, have friends, and try out for sports like other boys do without having to worry about any of this.  It will all be fine.  I have your phone number," she whispered to her brother who, once again, shook with sobs, this time in silence.

"Promise me you will call?"  Austin hummed in response, running her fingers through his floppy locks, before lightly pushing him to his feet next to her.

"I will see you when I arrive home later tonight, Gray.  I need you to go home and pack my stuff," she told him, to which Grayson nodded his head, lip still quivering violently, knowing that this would be the last time he would see her like this, somewhat relaxed and friendly, see her as his sister as far as her father was concerned.  Then and there, he walked away from her, along with her parents.

Later that night, she did indeed return to her home.  She picked up her stuff, got the bank account number from her father, got into her truck and left.  All the while, Grayson cried, asking to go with her, for her to stay.  She left, though.  And it changed her outlook on her own life, her view of hobby, it changed her.

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Sitting in class, watching the teacher drone on, was not what Caspar had planned today.  It had been two months since the game, since the last night he slept without pain, the last time he smiled, laughed, and truly trusted someone.  Now, here he sat, watching Mr. Peters rant about some geometric equation while his friends threw notes at him, feeling the notes hit his head and watching them land on his desk.  He had completely ignored them, except for Marley who he sent a text to, telling her that they were over, which he thought would be the best for both of them.

"Okay, so since it is almost the end of the day, I guess we can cut today short and you can talk with friends," Mr. Peters said, smiling at his 'great' idea.  Everyone cheered, happy not only to talk to friends, but to end Mr. Peters’ dreadful, monotone ranting.  Everyone that is, except for Caspar who groaned as his own friends headed over, concern clouding their faces.  They had no clue why he was acting like this, but Caspar believed he had good reason.

"Casp, why haven't you been talking to us, man?  Even Mrs. Salem said you skipped out on your guitar concert; she said you haven't written any songs, and you love that, too," Jack asked, showing his concern clear as day, which he never did.  It hurt Caspar to see his friends worried, hurt maybe, but he was more hurt and betrayed than any of them.  They would never understand, nobody could.  No one knew his pain, and it bothered him.  He kept it all inside.

"Leave it," Caspar growled out, trying to stand up, only to have Jack push harshly on his shoulder, hitting his back and making him hiss loudly as darker spots began to appear on his black shirt.  Caspar glanced at the spot, eyes widening and memories flashing.  He knew what it was, he remembered how it was possible for this to happen.  He remembered how it happened the first time.

"No," Jack hissed at him, making Caspar’s head snap over to his direction, pupils dilated in fear.   Then, and only then, did Jack look at what Caspar had been looking at, and noticed the spot left on Caspar's shirt.  "Caspar, did my hand have something on it?"  Jack looked at his own hand, his brown eyes searching and finding nothing to explain the spot.  He patted his hand his on Caspar's shoulder, making him hiss in what seemed to be a futile attempt at freeing himself of the hand, and squirm again in what seemed like pain.  His friends' eyes showed all, telling of the concern they felt, that he rarely showed.  When Jack pulled his hand away, the concern turned to pure horror at the sight of the substance on his once clean hand.

"Is that, blood," asked Owen, one of the boys from the team as he continued to stare at Jack's now scarlet and sticky hand.  It began to gravitate to Jack’s fingers, looking like sinister tears as the dropped to the ground, making light sounds as they impacted and spread against the white tile.  Caspar recoiled from the group, as if he was burned, falling from his chair to the ground and hissing in horrible pain again.  His shirt began to darken even more as he clutched it.  Now, his own concern clouded his mind.  He hadn’t bled this bad since the first time, and that scared him, because the first time had an outcome that was not welcomed in his mind.

"No," Caspar growled, looking at his friends with such fear, such betrayal that they knew, that they had caused the memories and current pain.  "I have to go," he mumbled, looking to Mr. Peters with a hard stare, who not unlike the rest of the class, stood with a shocked and horror stricken face.  "May I go home?"  Mr. Peters took a second to process what Caspar had said, so he repeated his question, more firmly, more demand in his tone.  Mr. Peters looked to the blood-stained floor, then back to his star student.

"Mr. Jennings," Mr. Peters started.  He glanced again at the floor, wincing at the sight.  He shook his head, looking up at Caspar again and opening his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.

"May I go home," Caspar restated for the third time.  Mr. Peters stood wide eyed at the blond boy's tone, so harsh and unlike the star student he used to be.  As the rest of the teachers knew, Caspar was the best soccer team captain Kinsville had ever had, he was so kind and selfless, nothing close to cruel or cold.  This was not like the Caspar Mr. Peters, nor any other who knew him, knew.  This was a Caspar who acted like a caged animal who had never interacted with other humans, only been beaten down.  This Caspar looked terrified, not only of his situation, but of his peers and teacher.

"You may request to go home at the nurse’s office.  Please, just go Mr. Jennings," Mr. Peters whispered as the students started to talk to each other about the sudden change.  Mr. Peters hoped that the boy would stop, get help, talk to someone about his recent change, but Caspar simply hissed out a good bye before storming out of the room and into the vacant hall, leaving his friends to call after him.

He walked through the halls, feeling the blood soak his shirt, the stinging intensifying as it did the day it first started, first appeared.  He stumbled, grunted, cried out in pain, but no one dared to look out to see the source of the sound.  Doors slammed to keep students focused as he finally made it to Mrs. Sandra’s office, stumbling inside.  The elderly woman did not look up, her silvery blond hair hung around her face, escaping the messy bun at the back of her head.

“What is it,” she grumbled, not looking up.  Caspar took a step forward, clearing his throat, yet the woman still did not look up.  She repeated her rude question, getting slightly short tempered.  Mrs. Sandra was always thought of as the push over, she was elderly and everyone thought she was supposed to be sweet.  So, she had made it her mission to become the opposite of sweet, while still being kind and doing her job

“I want to get a slip to go home.  I am feeling unwell,” he stammered.  The old woman smiled warmly, she had always loved the boy who had charmed his way into her good graces, but she did not glance at him, to which Caspar mentally thanked the woman.  She was nice, at least to him, but he didn’t know what would happen if she looked up, if she made him show her the cause of the blood loss, and what she would think of him then.

“Certainly Mr. Jennings!  How is the team,” she asked, grabbing the yellow slips hidden underneath her paperwork.  She filled out his name, age, request, and the time before handing it to him.  She remained looking at the forms on her desk, waiting for a reply from the boy.

“They are doing well, they haven’t lost all season,” he stated, trying to steady his voice, although the blood loss made his already dizzy mind, a jumbled mess, causing his voice to crack.  The woman looked past the slight change, going back to her paper work.  She asked no questions, trusting the boy who was known for his kindness, honesty, and intelligence.

“Good, keep it up Caspar.  Hope you feel better, I will be sure to tell Coach Monohan that you will be missing practice.”  Caspar thanked the woman with a gentle hand placed on her shoulder before exiting the room, careful of his surroundings.  He scurried to his locker, picking the lock up in his shaking hands, his vision slightly blurred, that were going in and out of focus.

“35, 17, 27,” Caspar repeated over and over, unlocking the lock, reassuring himself that after this he could go home, to a house that remained parent free until at least 10 o’ clock.  The lock popped open, and with quivering hands, he removed him books, checking them off in his mind to ensure he had them all.  He stuck them in his black backpack before almost sprinting down the hall, knocking into walls on occasion.

“Caspar Jennings,” he heard Jack yell as he rounded the corner, almost to the slot to put in his slip.  He was so close to escaping, to getting some first aid supplies, to escaping today’s events.  He didn’t spare a glance at his best friend, only picked up speed, hearing Jacks heavy footfall approach as he slid the note into the slot, hearing the rustling papers as an office worker picked it up and filed it.  “Casp!”

Caspar rushed out of the front doors, knowing that Jack wouldn’t follow.  He ran down the concrete steps, which were cracked and worn with age, finally stopping to breathe and access the blood loss.  His shirt was nearly soaked through, not at all healthy.  Caspar sighed.  He had to be patched up, and at that, he needed to be patched up at a rate almost humanly impossible.  How did just one touch cause this?  What was under his shirt that had caused that much blood loss?  Caspar himself hadn’t seen the damage, but he surely knew what it must look like, what had made them, what had been done… who had done it.

Caspar walked along the streets, slow tears leaving his eyes, from the pain and from the reality of his situation.  He walked along the sidewalks, passing store fronts, parks, and dark allies.  He ignored the world around him, already feeling faint.  He stumbled off of the main walk and into an ally, groaning in pain at the scrapes on his hands.

“Who is this?”  The voice was far away, rough, dark, intimidating.  Caspar could barely hear it as he dropped to the ground, his eyes fighting to close, to give up.  How the blood loss had been so great was a mystery, but it was real, and it was impacting Caspar greatly.

“Some rich kid,” another voice inquired.  Caspar was kicked sharply in the side, rolling onto his back, whimpering quietly.  “Looks in bad shape.  Can we take care of him?  It’s only humane.”  The voice chuckled darkly as a cold piece was pressed to his throat.

“Nothing else to do today.  Other than check that new girl out.  Heard she was on top where she’s from,” the first voice said, and the cold piece was pressed more firmly to his throat.  “Looks like he gave up, maybe the family would pay well for the body.  Wonder what happened to him in the first place.”

The cold piece became harsh metal on Caspar skin, and he gasped, the only noise he could make.  It was a knife that was kissing Caspar’s skin, a knife that was intended to end him.  At the moment, he wanted to fight, he wanted to stay awake, alive, but he was too weak.  Chuckles were heard distantly as Caspar began to feel his blood run down his throat, they were making this long and tortuous.

“What the,” said a clearly feminine voice.  It was distant to Caspar’s ears, but very welcomed.  She could save him, she could help, and she could get hurt.  Her voice was soft and sweet to his ears, but had a sharp edge to it, an almost dangerous edge.  “What are you doing to the boy?”

“Get away lady, or you’re next,” said the first voice, the knife pressing more firmly to Caspar’s throat, making him whimper.

“Nope, you will be next,” said the feminine voice.  Caspar heard swift footfall approaching and then stopping not too far away from his limp form.  “Do you know who I am, boys?”

“A prissy little, good for nothing,” the second voice started.  It stopped when a harsh crack was heard along with a yelp of pain and a gasp.

“Austin Carter,” said the feminine voice with the edge gaining a terrifying level of fury.  “I am Austin Carter.  Heard the name?  Ever heard of the name, the one that kept most fighters, trained for true combat, in the shadow of fear?”

“Au-Austin Carter is in Chicago,” stuttered the first voice, the knife dropping from Caspar’s throat, but he hardly noticed.  He was attempting to stay conscious, his mind blacking out occasionally.  He had never heard of an Austin Carter, but these guys sure have.  They were terrified of the girl’s name, the one she uttered with such fury, almost hatred, maybe at herself, maybe at the current situation.

“Wrong.  Let me introduce myself formally.  I am hoping you will excuse my terrible manners.”  She paused briefly.   “Austin Carter, new girl, new fighter, new defender,” she said in a sickly sweet way; Caspar could practically hear her smirk.  He heard the drop of metal and rushed footsteps in the other direction before a gentle hand way placed upon his shoulder, making him shudder and wince.  “I am so sorry, boy.  Are you alright?”

Caspar couldn’t respond as he blacked out, the strange woman asking him questions.  The last thing he said was a simple request, one to leave him alone and not to remove his bloodied shirt.  One that the girl was sure to disobey, but it was all Caspar could do before he lost himself into a black and dreamless sleep.

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