A/N: Vi-chan's first (official) story!! I'll never get this thing done if there aren't people out there practically forcing me to, so I'm hoping someone will like it enough to do that for me. I'm a seriously lazy person, I'll admit.
Slash warning and all that (though not in this chapter). Pretty minimal abuse in this one.
Tuesday, November 2—Entry 1
Uhm... dear Diary, I guess.
My name is Lester Samuel Dufresne (yes, actually, I am aware that my initials are LSD. I would say they did it on purpose, but I don't want them to get too much credit) though I usually go by Sam—the only normal part of my name. I don't even know where my last name comes from. Not like there's anyone to tell me. My grandparents died a few days ago (mom's side) and the councilor at school seems to think that I'm utterly depressed about it, since they're dead and all, so she decided to give me this "diary" so that I can vent my "frustrations". She says she won't read it, but I'm not sure yet, so I'm keeping this thing utterly PG until I'm sure. Because if she asks for it, I can't say no.
I'm really bad at saying no. Pffft. That made me think of those "Just say NO" posters on the wall.
PG stuff... PG PG PG PG... Uhm, hey Mrs. Rachel, if you're reading this. Uh, sorry for not believing you—but I was right about my distrust for you if you are. So there.
I sigh and close the notebook Mrs. Rachel had given me and look back up at the board. Math stuff. Yay. Notice this is sarcasm. I really dislike this class.
But it's the only class I have an A in, apparently. I'm just good at uninteresting things, I suppose.
I take a glance at the clock behind me. Fifteen minutes until I have to go home.
...Can I stay in math class, please?
I suddenly feel a hand drop on the top of my head. I yelp and flinch away from the offending appendage, which, of course, ends up with me on the floor staring up in fear at the owner of such a wandering appendage hissing slightly at the pain running up my back. If you can't tell, I have this dislike of being touched. I'm too lazy and stupid to look up what that's supposed to be called. It's like, Don'ttouchmeopobia, or something.
Mr. Lu, the math teacher, is standing at my desk, his hand still outstretched, looking at me weirdly.
"Uhm... sorry," I say lamely. Did I mention I have no conversational ability? It just adds to my overall awesomeness, right? Whoopdedoo.
Mr. Lu scratches his head and sighs, deciding to ignore my small spastic outbreak he says, "Jesus, Sam. You're the only junior in the senior math class; can't you at least do the assignments?"
"I... yes, sir." I actually did all of this week's assignments on Monday, so I'd have the rest of class to attempt to understand the rest of my subjects. Science, History, Gym, English... all barely scraping by. And yet, here I am, top of the class in mathematics. Weird, right? But that would take up way too much energy to say, so I'll settle with a "yes sir" and hope he leaves me alone.
The teacher looks at me a few extra seconds then moves on. But of the class are still on me, still sitting stupidly on the floor. I blush and get back in my chair, glaring sullenly at my desk as the seniors eventually turn their heads back to their own work.
Except for one. There's always the one, isn't there?
"Hey, didn't you do this assignment yesterday?" asks the guy next to me. His arms are laid over the desk with his head resting lazily on them as he stares at me with bright blue eyes. Oooh, pretty. I let myself stare for a bit (shut up, I'm easily distracted) until my preoccupied brain comprehends the question. He's obviously taller than I am, with long legs spread comfortably beyond the confines of the high school desk. His hair was that golden-brown color that kind of reminds me of burnt French toast. And he's all tan and outdoorsy looking and has the kind of face where you can hardly imagine ever with a sad expression.
He noticed that? Weird. I nod mutely and fiddle with the sleeves of my way-too-big, green sweatshirt. It was the only thing I could filch off of the local Goodwill, but it was effective in hiding my bruised arms and probably malnourished body. Whatever body is left, anyway.
Sparkly-Eyes grins at me. "You think you could help me, then?"
I stare. What the hell? "I don't think..." Geez, talking is way too much work. I try again in as few words as possible, "...not a very good tutor," I manage. I sound like an illiterate idiot. Oh well, it's nothing new.
Sparkly-Eyes hmms in acceptance, but then states bluntly, "Yeah, but I'm not a very good student, so I think we'll get along just fine." He winks- no, I'm serious- the guy winks at me and proceeds to beg, "C'mon, please? I'm barely getting a D in this class, and I really need to pass with at least a C or I can't get to college. I know I'm guilt-tripping you, but seriously! I'll do anything!"
I could've blushed at his earnest ranting (it was so… cute?), and nod hesitantly. Remember what I said about saying no? I hope no one decides to ever offer me drugs.
Not that I'd be allowed to say no at that point.
Sparkly-Eyes smiles in relief, "Oh, I'm Kio, by the way. You're Sam, right?" I nod and he grins wider. Aw, I guess I can't call him Sparkly-Eyes in my mind anymore. Too bad. At least his name is cute. "Awesome. So when's a good time for you? After school?"
I shake my head immediately. After school would not be okay, unless I wanted to wind up found floating dead in a river somewhere.
"Well, that's okay," says Spa—Kio, "I have basketball practice after school most days, anyway. What about during lunch? If that's okay. I don't want to take you from your friends or anything."
I attempt to conceal a snort. Me, friends? Right. I nod assent just as the bell rings. Time to go. Yay.
Kio moves to put a hand on my shoulder, but seems to think better of it and stops. I like this guy already. "Well, then. Start tomorrow? We'll settle a price then."
I nod again, then slink out of the room and head to Hell.
~Breakage of Page~
The walk there is about five to ten miles, I've never bothered to measure. But I keep my backpack in the lockers at school so it's not so bad. As I walk the crisp buildings and prim yards gradually crack and get weedier and dirtier until I'm walking through the acrid stench of what can only be the slums of the city.
I turn into an alley between a rundown apartment complex and a soup kitchen and walk through the narrow passage until I find the door to our apartment. Does anyone else find it dodgy that I live in an alley? I do.
I turn the knob, unsurprised to find that it's not locked—it's not like we have anything to steal, anyway. Not even food. I enter cautiously and listen out for any sign of inhabitance. None. Which means Mary Jane's not home, meaning I have a bit of time to myself until she gets back. In case it wasn't clear, Mary Jane is my biological mother. But I won't be caught dead calling her "Mommy". I don't usually call her anything anyway—not like I ever want her attention.
I pull off my sweatshirt and shirt and make my way into the grimy bathroom (not like we bother to clean it). I stare at myself in the mirror to evaluate the extent of my injuries. Bruises, scars, and hickeys—everywhere. I had tried to cut my own hair a few weeks ago. It came out like crap, but it looked better as I let it grow out. Now my dark brown hair hangs in my eyes and I have to regularly brush them away in order to see. My black-rimmed glasses are old and beat up- kept together by a ton of school tape. They cover hazel eyes that look rather sunken in my face because my bones like jut out to say hello when I don't eat enough. I look myself up and down, and spot two scars that seem a little infected. I look under the sink for Neosporin and bandages only to find that there was something worth stealing in this house after all. Great. I glance over at my shirt.
Well, it was pretty much rags anyway. I take the shirt and start the slow process of trying to tear it up into even pieces.
When I was done, I put the remaining shirt scraps under the sink for future use and admired my homemade medic skills. They really weren't that bad. I put my sweatshirt back on and headed to the couch by the door to try and sleep while waiting for Mary Jane and whoever she manages to pick up tonight.
~Breakage of Page~
I wake up to a knee in the stomach and open my eyes to see a furious lady with monstrous boobs nearly popping out of her skimpy shirt.
Ah, Mary Jane. Lovely.
She has hazel eyes like mine and dyed red hair hanging down past her shoulders. I don't even remember what color it was originally, she's always dyeing it different colors. She's short and thin (except for the chest) and looks like the wind could snap her in half.
Yeah. I'm willing to bet she could snap the wind in half. She sure can do it to me, anyway.
"Up, little shit," she snarls and I cringe. I guess her "date" didn't go all too well this time around. "He didn't want me 'cuz I'm too skinny. Your fault! It's your fault!! If you didn't exist I'd be beautiful! Dammit!"
I try to stay quiet. I know my voice only provokes her. And I have to think of my own survival. Don't get me wrong, I love her. I would do anything for her—and I do, but I know I'm not my fault. I'm her fault. I understand I'm a worthless waste of space, but my worthlessness is because of her. But I know she's a worthless waste of space too, and that's my grandparents' fault. They even named her after drugs!
We're all totally worthless. I pity us, but that doesn't make me like getting beat up.
She pulls me off the couch by my hair and drops me on the floor. I hiss and immediately curl into fetal position as she begins to kick me wherever her foot takes fancy. I let my mind drift to where I'm outside of my body, staring at myself getting mutilated. I think I see a few tears on my face. They're unfortunate, but inevitable all the same. Mary Jane doesn't like me looking pitiful when she's busy feeling sorry for herself. I watch me get a nasty kick to the head and wince. I'll have to check that later. But for now, I let my consciousness turn away and escape the grimy walls.
~End Chapter One~
SO? Comments? You like? Hate? Oh noes! Don't hate, please!! I was kind of proud of myself...