the only card i need is ( private for mr. bread loaf ) the ace of spades

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    [fancypost borderwidth=0px; margin-top:-20px; text-shadow:3px 3px 3px black;][color=#A9D0F5][size=28pt]aster "hawke" rede[/fancypost]
    [fancypost borderwidth=0px; margin-top:-23px; letter-spacing:2px;][align=center][font=arial][size=6pt][color=#000000][shadow=darkred,right][b]27 YEARS OLD - ANGER ISSUES - SCHIZOPHRENIA - MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES    [/shadow][/fancypost]
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    [justify][sub][color=black][font=georgia]sometimes, it might just be better to go fucking jail. I mean, I'm only in this place, helping these kids, because it's my own kind of rehab. I've been in their situation before -- doing whatever I could for money and blowing that money on whatever I could use to get away. Get away from everything. Get away from everyone. [i]fuck. I hated it all. The people and their feigned smiles. Their forced laughs. Their masks of easily-detectable lies.


    A giant façade was all this was.


    When I was ten, I was in a car crash that orphaned me. Not only did it kill my parents, but also physically and mentally scarred me. It fucked up my brain and made me hallucinate. It split my emotions into their own separate personalities. It just... Shit, it fucked me up something fierce. And now I couldn't change anything. Literally. It was almost like they removed a part of my brain that regulated change, because, seventeen-years later, I'm the the same.


    My drug addiction started when I was ten. It started out as huffing gluesticks and sharpies. Then it became stealing cigarettes from my foster parents. Then it was stealing liquor from the liquor cabinet. Then it was stealing weed from the high schoolers. Then it was stealing money to buy crack. Then it was selling my body for meth and heroin. Then it was risking my life to get lsd and acid and ecstasy.


    I became incredibly violent. I lashed out at anyone and everyone. I went from being the smartest ten year old, to being an object that nobody wanted to go near. From the age of ten, to when I was eighteen, I had been through nearly one hundred different foster families. They all thought they could handle me. They couldn't handle shit.


    I've done my fair share of jail time. Gone to my fair share of rehab places. Nothing seems to work. I couldn't even do probation correctly because I would end up wandering off and doing something else. So, as an alternative, the judges did something a little different in my case.


    In the summertime -- from June until September -- I was sitting in jail. From the end of September to the beginning of June, I was in a rehab place, trying to help the other people there. It was like a job. I even got paid for it. So, while school was in session for all the kids who went to college and highschool and everything below that, I was stuck helping skinny, twitchy, whiny teenagers. Sometimes I got people my age, but it wasn't very often.


    Right now, I was in the back of a police cruiser. I don't understand why they flipped their shit. I mean, the guy hit me first. He started the fight, and I made damn sure I ended it. Was he dead? Maybe. Probably not. I hope not. I don't want to go to jail for murder, in top of everything else I've done.


    I was escorted out of the car and into the rehabilitation center. Oh great, the group circle was just getting started. Mrs. Hart, the lead person and owner of the center, was explaining the rules if a game they were playing. If you tell something about you that no one else knows, and cooperate, you get a piece of candy! of course, since most of the people were teenagers, they immediately were drawn in to the lure of sweets and false competition.


    The police unlocked my handcuffs and waddled away. Just like every time I come into this room, I took my seat across from Mrs. Hart. There seemed to be one guy who looked like he was above eighteen, which was good. Mrs. Hart smiled at me and threw a tootsie roll at me. I watched it land in my crotch before I picked it up and unwrapped it, popping it in my mouth and staring at the wrapper.


    Mrs. Hart pointed to the man who looked to be somewhat near my age. "Okay, your turn!"


    (( eyy guess who sucks at starting posts oops


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    [size=6pt]★ trek

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    [I cant sleep gdi so I'm gonna do my thing bby *smooch*]







    Vinny had been... what, three days sober so far? That was the longest time since middle school that he hadn't at least even taken a hit. Being under temporary arrest was a bitch, truly. Having surveillance just about everywhere, the paranoia withdrawal gave him, dealing with the sacks of shit called people around him. He was a pretty hateful guy, okay? Vinny never was on to trust others so easily since his brother had gotten a death sentence for attempted murder back when baby V was just a fifth grader. Of course, his big bro was ten years older than him and his future was going downhill, but he had never understood.




    His drug and alcohol abuse began in the prime of sixth grade. A few of his older brothers buddies would come by to check up on him for his parents who worked double shifts just to pay out the rent to their tiny house on a hill. During these little check ups, they would get high on pot and little V got the grand idea to ask for a puff or two. Sure he ended up throwing up the first time, but it became a steady schedule. Go home. Do homework. Wait for the boys. Then boom he would get high as a kite and go out for McDonalds and hang around until bedtime.




    It was great! Who would wanna let up hanging around with high schoolers? They always referred to him as their own kid brother, and brought him to visit his actual kin multiple times before it was off for the electric chair. Then eighth grade graduation swung along. What did he do? Well, with his parents unable to pick him up, he called his boys and they brought him to his first college party. The night he lost his virginity, and tried cocaine. He couldn't remember in which order for the life of him though.




    That was pretty much how his life went. Dropped out of school at the age of sixteen and started trafficking to help pay off the mortgage. Bought his mom pretty diamond earrings like she deserved, and helped his dad upgrade to a better car for work. His excuse? As far as they knew he was in some local landscaping business that paid well. When he wasn't out at the corner dealing, he was out drinking and doing whatever bag of drugs were tossed at him. He would crash for the night at some girls house and repeat the next day. He didn't see nothing wrong with it; his family was living better because of him now. They renovated the house, refurnished all the rooms, got TV's that had more than just fifty channels on it. They were better off right?




    Well, his little haven had been put to a stop when police finally came down on him. He wasn't afraid of being arrested. He had been multiple times but that was usually for the underage drinking when he wasn't legal and he would do a month or so of community service. He was an adult now though, and they had more on him.




    Now he was stuck in this trashy rehab siting next to a ghostly pale girl who reeked of weird spices, and another macho man who looked ready to either cry or kill himself right there.




    Okay, your turn! Jesus Christ could this lady be any more annoying? He scowled and caught the lollipop thrown his way and tore off the wrapper, lazily rolling his tongue around it as he held it in his mouth. He definitely took his time to answer, leaning forward in his chair and rubbing his hands together.




    My name's Vincent. He began, trying not to roll his eyes at the droned 'hi Vincent' he got in response. They tell me I'm addicted to heroine and cocaine. And have alcoholism. His expression was as blank as his tone, which he could tell unsettled... what was her name? Mrs. Harp? Hart? Either way it amused him, but his attention was brought to the guy that had entered before. Someone possibly around his age and looked just as bored out of his mind as he was.




    I really don't need to be here. He added with a snort, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. It caused some glares sent his way but he shrugged them off. He had better things to do than waste his time in some stupid fucking circle while he 'talked about his problems'. He didn't have any! He loved the life he had before this shit went down, and now he was stuck in between two meth addicts he could care less about.










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    [justify][sub][color=black][font=georgia]omfg I love Nick Bateman so much bby skfjakfj ))


    Ooh. Enriched cornflower. My favorite. I chewed the chocolate candy for a bit, reading all of the ingredients over and over and over until I was pretty sure I could spell out every ingredient, letter by letter. More than half of these ingredients just looked painfully similar to what you would find on the back of cleaning acids, like bleach and Windex. It didn't sound like they should be going into your body.


    I didn't pay attention to anyone when they went around the circle. Well, apart from the man about my age. My god, he sounded ready to either kill himself, or everyone else in the room. I would help him with that, if that was the case. I know my job is to help these people, but I'm really more of an inmate than a helper. Oops, did I say inmate? I meant visitor.


    Alcoholism? Cocaine and heroine? Sounded like my kind of party. I've pretty much tried every drug under the damn sun, really. I even tried huffing fermented piss. Yes. I inhaled piss that had been sealed in a bottle for years. I have literally tried it all. Well, almost all. I'm sure there are new, foreign drugs that I have yet to try because they're only in different countries or whatever, but still.


    Vincent sounded like a riot to be around. Cocaine and heroine were some pretty serious shit. I felt almost honored to be another cocaine and heroin user, because I'm sure nobody else in this fucking place had touched the stuff. I don't blame them. Cocaine and heroin are nice, but they're expensive and wear off fast. Marijuana was personally my favorite, because it got you high, and it stayed for a long ass time. Plus, it was cheap as hell.


    I heard Mrs. Hart chuckle softly. "Well, you're all here because you're trying to get better! Isn't that right?" Only one or two people, tops, agreed with her. I finally let the mashed-up tootsie roll slide down my throat, feeling the residue stick to my tongue. Since Vincent was older than everyone else, I would probably be paired with him. I wouldn't mind. [i]he was hot.


    A jolly rancher hit me in the head and I frowned. Green apple? This is some serious bullshit. I only ate the cherry and the watermelon flavored ones. Looking up, Mrs. Hary had her signature, toothy, obviously fake grin on her face. Her obnoxiously cherry red lipstick smudged on her teeth a bit. Ugh. She was so well-put-together from a distance. Up close, she was smudged makeup and dull eyes. I knew what this second piece of candy meant.


    "Your turn!"


    I twisted the jolly around in my hand. "I'm aster," I said, surprised at how gravelly and scratchy my voice was. It was normally pretty hoarse, but it usually didn't sound like this. Oh, because I had been screaming earlier. Right. Before the people could slur out the greeting towards me, I continued. "this is my fifth, wonderful year here." I could hear little scoffs from around the room and hums of distaste.


    I gave a small scowl when Mrs. Hart spoke up again. "And~? Why are you here?"


    I leaned back in the chair and stretched my legs out, crossing them at the ankles. That's a good question. Every time I came here, it seemed to be different. In the past it was mainly because of cocaine, heroin, alcohol, ecstasy, acid, LSD, and every other drug I've tried. This year, though, they decided that drug rehabilition wasn't working. Besides, it was easy to pretend I was sober. They don't really do drug tests in here unless you're acting suspicious, or look suspicious.


    "Aster?"


    "apparently, the judicial systems thinks I'm overly aggressive and violent. They stopped trying to rehabilitate my drugs addictions last year, so this is their excuse to send me back here." Mrs. Hart laughed nervously. It was true that I was aggressive and violent, but it would be impossible to fix that. The drugs could be changed in due time. Trying to fix my aggression was like trying to grab a lightning bolt -- it wouldn't work and you would just get hurt.


    "Well, aster, you did almost beat someone to death. Repeatedly." It was meant to be a joke, I know that, but it still pissed me off. Mrs. Hart cleared her throat and I looked up at her, forcing a small smirk onto my lips.


    "well, I didn't much care for the way that they breathed. Repeatedly."


    Mrs. Hart forced out a laugh and continued as if that conversation hadn't happened. She began listing off activities for the rest of the week and I zoned out again, crinkling the wrapper of the tootsie roll a bit and just kind of enjoying the way that the skinny, anorexic girl sitting next to me scooted her chair away from my body.


    Bitch.


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    [size=6pt]★ trek

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    [hnng sorry for the late reply. I had one earlier but the tab refreshed and I lost it and cried]




    As Mrs. Hart finished her cheery speech on how everyone here was in these seats for a reason. How may before all of them had sat in the exact same spot and recovered, moved on to better parts of their life and were successful. Personally? Vinny couldn't help but feel a little bit offended. He wasn't successful? Getting twenty-five grand a week and giving his family the life they dreamed for? He made his parents happy. He himself was happy and content with how his life was going.




    Now he was stuck in a plastic chair listening to peoples sob stories about how they weren't good enough. How their problems were someone or something else's fault. No, this wasn't a rehabilitation center. This was something people came to so they could push the blame for their own actions. Why was it so hard for these people to understand its their own fault? That if they didn't like what they were doing the first time, they could've backed out the chance they got it?




    The spice girl next to him had mascara running down her cheeks as she gave her little tale of putting herself into prostitution so she'd feel better about herself. But it didn't work apparently. Vincent wanted to ask so badly; Why the fuck did you continue doing it then? Because it didn't take a genius to know that some ex-boyfriend was not the reason someone would sell their body. No. Bullshit.




    The steroid junkie on the other side of him looked ready to blow apart. Muscles tense, eyes shifty. Sweat at his brow. Vincent almost felt bad for him if it weren't for the fact he blamed his issues on not getting a scholarship for football. Again, pushing the blame elsewhere. Meanwhile everyone else had similar problems as well. Using their daddy issues as an excuse to for the things they'd done. No, kids failed SAT scores were not the reason he started doing drugs, he just convinced himself that was the reason why.




    Now it was the Aster guys turn. Huh, an interesting guy he was according to the little to no information given. So he had some anger issues and was an addict? Well at least he didn't give a whiny excuse why he was the way he was. He didn't give a shit about this place either? Nice. A smirk once again formed across Vincent's features as he leaned back in his chair and watched Mrs. Hart become squeamish at Aster's words. He couldn't help but let out a short snort of amusement. This guy was killer!




    Ah, and then it was the end of his fun. With a tiresome sigh he grabbed a paper that was handed out and rose from his chair, leniently strolling his way to the older fellow. Upon closer inspection, V got a better look at the guy. Hm. He had some really nice eyes. He started to trail his gaze down his body before the wonderful intrusive thought made him look back up.




    Vincent that is gay as fuck. Right, right. He was a complete hetero; what would his boys say if they found out he was fucking some guy? Wait, no that's getting way too far ahead. He just found him attractive. That wasn't bad, right? Just innocent... appeal?




    What's up? Two words. Two words was all he could manage while he fought off those gay thought. They wouldn't catch him this time. Not today.







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    [justify][sub][color=black][font=georgia]randomly switching to third person because ajfjskf y the fuk nott?? ))


    aster took the paper that was passed around, looking at it. Hmm. Interesting, interesting. He didn't care, but, you know. He could at least pretend. The circle was spitting out the same stories, one after another. Got dumped by the love of their life, didn't get a scholarship, didn't make a team, daddy doesn't love them, mommy is a whore. Blah blah blah. Aster has pretty much heard it all in his short, yet long, time being alive.


    On the paper was the rules and regulations for the building, as well as a personalized introduction where the secretary just wrote your name with a pen on the paper. She didn't even try with aster's name. It just kind of looked like "asses". Which was fine. Aster quite enjoyed butts. They were fun to play with, fun to touch, fun to brutally [i]mangle. In a sexual way, of course. Or murder. Either one.


    The group split apart and began finding the volunteers that would be staying with them. Technically, aster was a patient here, but he was also a volunteer since he had been here for so long. He knew how the building worked and he often compared it to jail. You had designated rooms with designated people. You were locked in your rooms at night. You had schedule meals and activities. The better you behaved, the more privileged you were. Rinse and repeat.


    Standing up from his chair, aster glanced over to the voice. Well, hello there... Vincent seemed to be even more attractive up close. Perfect. Not that aster would do anything. Probably. The other male looked super straight. Sure, aster looked straight too, but whatever. There was a very low chance that Vincent was actually in to dudes, and he probably wasn't a sub, from the looks of him. Oh well. Aster can always find someone else to take out his sexual aggression on.


    Aster turned his oddly minty green gaze down to the paper. It was funny, he remembers people calling him the devil because of his unusually colored eyes. Because, what with his darker tanned skin, and the fact that both of his parents had brown eyes... How does one get bright, practically white eyes from dark brown, nearly black eyed parents? Aster got his tanned skin from his Hebrew mother and African American father. A biracial beauty, according to some.


    Aster glanced over to Mrs. Hart, who was smiling brightly at him. She gave him a small signal, which be knew meant, "go show him to the rooms!" So... He just assumed the two men were roomed together, since all the other volunteers seemed to be talking with their patients and getting to know them.


    "trying to decide if it would be worth the jail time to slaughter everyone in here. What about you?" he returned, beginning to walk. He motioned for the other male to follow him, reading over the paper. They changed the font. Interesting.


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    As he stood Vincent dug his teeth into his lip, looking up at Aster and trying to be completely calm and cool. Wow, okay what was that feeling? He wanted to say he was intimidated by Aster; which was true. But it was another feeling added onto that which made him feel nervous for some reason. His palms started to get a little sweaty moms spaghetti so he took them out of his pockets and tried to not look like an idiot.




    He never had this problem. Even in situations where everyone around him had a gun and all that was in his pocket was a box cutter. No, he was entirely different. Maybe it was the fact that he found himself drawn to Aster and his confusion was doing weird things. Yeah, that had to be it. Why wouldn't it be? Because he was straight and he was not going to fall in love with a guy. Which he was ninety-five percent sure was straight too.




    He couldn't exactly say anything either. What would he just approach the guy and say; 'hey, I'm pretty sure there's these weird hormonal changes going on in my body. Do you know anything about that?' Sure, see how far that gets him here, considering he's trapped for the next nine months in a creepy building with staff that look like they would rather be dead. He didn't blame them though, because he would much rather prefer to be dead right now too.




    What a rollercoaster ride this has led off too! First he gets arrested for having an unregistered firearm, four ounces of weed, and getting high on cocaine. Then his judge tosses him to the side for rehab with parole and watches his parents cry as their last surviving son is taken away like the last. Vinny was sure he'd end up committing suicide in this place or something within the first month.




    After being motioned to follow the older of the two, Vinny followed Aster at his side with matching pace and strides. He laughed a little at the response he got, shrugging his shoulders. I feel that. I've been here an hour and I'm ready to bitch slap the next person I hear try to say that I'm here to 'get better'. He scoffs, shaking his head. Bullshit. He added in a soft muttering tone. He was a little paranoid about the security in here, and didn't want anything he said taken to the extreme or something.




    Aster, right? So how is it you've managed to survive five years? Please tell me it gets better than that shitty attempt in breaking the ice back there. It really just made me not care for every single person there even more.







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    [justify][sub][color=black][font=georgia]as aster walked, he crumpled the paper in his hands. He'd been here for five goddamn years, he knew this fucking introduction better than he knew what shoe size he was. Speaking of which, he didn't actually know what shoe size he wore. He didn't know what any size of clothes he wore happened to be. He just always kind of looked at the clothes and if they looked big enough, he bought them. Hmm. He should probably get that worked on. It might come in handy to know what size clothes you wore. Maybe.


    Aster came to the staircase that lead up to the dorm-esque rooms. They didn't put elevators in here because [i]exercise is good for you! as aster trudged up the stairs, he grew increasingly irritated. Not at anything in particular, just in general. He went through mood swings like this all the time -- he could he laughing and be somewhat happy one second, and then be in a murderous rampage the next second. Rarely did he know what set off his anger. Usually it was a single word that enraged him. Why? He didn't know, honestly. The pills didn't do anything except make him sleepy. They were borderline sedatives, honestly.


    Stopping at the top of the staircase to push away a sudden feeling of being lightheaded, he glanced back at Vincent. "fuck if I know. Honestly, I believe that this fucking place is cursed. I've tried to kill myself in here god knows how many times, yet... You know. Unfortunately, I'm still here." he began walking again until he stopped at a room at the end of the hallway. He fished around in his pocket for the key card and unlocked the door, pushing inside.


    The room was basically a glorified hotel room. Small kitchen, small bathroom, two separate Queen sized beds which were evenly spaced and nearly made. It seemed that the room was metaphorically divided in half. One half of the room, which contained the bed closest to the door, was untouched and clean. The other half of the room, which was near a crudely barred up window, was obviously aster's.


    Surprisingly enough, his space wasn't at all cluttered. There were papers hung neatly and evenly on the wall, written in various languages, there were maps hanging on the ceiling above his bed, which had seemingly random places marked, there were pages with random phone numhers and notes like, "she's a whore", "will steal your money", "expensive as fuck" written on them in amazingly neat and clean cursive. However, the most prominent amount of space on the walls was taken up by pages and pages of complex, alien-looking mathematical equations.


    Aster sat on his bed and popped his neck, watching Vincent carefully. " I mean... I guess this place isn't so bad. Not when you're paired with me. Yeah, there's a lack of privacy and whatever, but that's because every other patient here has to be monitored 24/7 by the person helping them. They don't want them to be smuggling drugs in here, you know? Luckily for you, though, I don't give a shit. Chances are I won't be entirely sober every day, so..." aster shrugged and gave a small smirk. "but, my rule for drugs in this room is that I'll share what I have, and you have to share what you have. Otherwise, I'll confiscate yours and keep it for myself. Good?" he stretched his legs out against the carpet. "good news about that is that I already have some weed and alcohol stashed away in here. Bad news is that weed and booze is pretty much all I'm able to sneak in. Since you're a patient, you're not allowed near the front door without me being there, so..."


    The man leaned back on his hands, still watching Vincent as though the younger male could possibly pose a threat. "however, I'm forced to bring you some bad news, too. I'm here because this is basically my probation-slash-community service. So, at the end of nine months, when this hell hole let's out, I actually have to bring the judges legitimate, justifiable proof that I helped you get better. Otherwise, I get more jailtime and more years here, and you have to come back next year. That doesn't sound too bad for you, but I can guarantee that if you land me in jail more than I already am, and I see you again, I will personally twae you apart, got it?" it wasn't supposed to be a threat as much as it was a promise.


    Attractive or not, if this guy makes aster get an even bigger sentence, he'll fucking kill the man.


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    [size=6pt]★ trek

    The post was edited 1 time, last by pixel trap! ().

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    Combing his fingers through his thick hair, a disappointed sigh left his lips. He was probably being way too paranoid right now but he wouldn't put it passed this place to have some strange curse either. He raised a brow at Asters commit of attempting suicide before, a little shocked himself. Vincent might have just been saying it just to let out how much he hated the place, but pity struck him as he looked at the other. This place must really be some shithole then. Was he prepared for it? Probably not. Would he try to make an effort through it? Who knew; he'd have to wait and see how this plan would go through he guessed.




    Well, I guess I could be thankful they didn't work. Pretty sure I'd be paired up with some guy who didn't even know how to take heroin. Did that come out right? He meant it to be a good thing, like a moment of gratitude for not having some creep so hopefully he took it that way.




    Walking into the room, he looked around. Scanning the place and admittedly, he was impressed. It looked nice, like some master suite or fancy resort room. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad getting a nice comfy mattress and soft covers to sleep in. The barred up window was something he could look passed. Maybe when he got his things later he could start making his side of the room more... homey. Get a bit more comfortable if he were to stay here for almost a year.




    Fantastic. To Hell if I'm going completely sober. He sneered, scowling as he took off his jacket and tossed it onto the bed. He sat down at the edge of it, testing out its buoyancy with a few bounces. He looked at Aster's side of the room, letting out a long exhale upon seeing all the writing. It reminded him of when he tried LSD for the first, and last, time and they ended up drawing out these weird graphs and portraits of strangers they had seen that day. It was weird after coming down from that, which is most likely the reason why he stayed away from that stuff. The feeling it gave him was on another level of intensity he just wasn't quite used to.




    Vinny nodded slowly at the simple rule given. That wasn't bad, he usually didn't have fun alone anyways; that was just boring. That's fine. I'm not that picky, really. So long as there's something to eat too. He figured that would be a problem with the door, but it was something he could work around. Probably. It was a good thing he thought for his parents to pack up his stuff, though. V was sure his friends would try to sneak a little bit into his bags and God knows they'll be searched for with dogs if they could help it.




    And then there was the worst of what he had to say. He wasn't all that comfortable being the source of someone's freedom but it seemed, like the rest of this place, he didn't have much of a choice other than to deal with it. What kind of physical proof would he serve as though? Would they drug test him, and have to prove he was clean? Easy, he's dodged tests before by waiting out a month. Would he have to bullshit his way through and make a heartfelt speech on how Aster turned his life around? Would he have to wrench the juries hearts and make grown men cry with how he thought his life was over, but Aster came and saved the day? He couldn't possibly see how hard it would be to do that. After all, he went through most of his life so far by just winging it.




    No problem. He smiled, then leaned back into the bed until his head hit the pillows. So we're not... completely stuck here right? We're allowed outside? I'd hate to stare at these walls for the majority of my road to recovery. He scoffed, folding his arms behind his head. I could actually go for something to eat right about now. What about you? He turned his head to look at Aster with a questioning expression.







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    [justify][sub][color=black][font=georgia]aster's eyes locked into the floor near his feet. His bottom lip was latched between his teeth and he chewed on it slowly, rolling it back and forth. He was still paying attention to Vincent, but he honestly couldn't stand to look at the other male. Being the pervert he was, aster's mind had begun to blink up little images of things that would never happen between him and Vincent, but... Fuck, they were hot nonetheless.


    Why couldn't aster get paired with some skinny, twitchy, emo-looking guy? It would be so much easier to ignore the other patron in the room, and aster could easily look for someone else. But, just his luck, it seemed that aster had to be paired with the most attractive -- and unavailable -- man on the planet. It wasn't fair! And now he had to be stuck with someone who his brain wanted to make up weird fantasies about. It was bullshit.


    Looking up a bit, aster watched Vincent smile and lay back. His eyes slid back to the floor, though, staring at his boots. This place wasn't so bad, in all honesty. Well, rule wise. You could wear your own clothes, you were allowed to have your phone -- though there was purposefully no signal so texting or calling people on your phone was impossible. The only way you could call someone was from the landline here, and they listened to your conversation both ways.


    Aster laid back in his own bed, parallel to his pillows. His arms stretched up and grabbed the edge of his bed above his head. Pulling a bit and arching his back slightly as he stretched, he grunted and huffed, flopping back on the bed and looking upside down at the window. Outside? Sure. Kind of. Everything you did was monitored -- but thank God they didn't put cameras in the rooms.


    [b]"kind of. There an outdoor and an indoor swimming pool and a field that's, like, half the size of a football field for physical activity... However, the entire place is surrounded by fifty-foot-high, electrified fences. This is basically a prison for rich people," he ran through all the different activity rooms in his mind. "also, thank god, there's a full salon and spa. However, to get into the salon and get your nails and hair done, you either have to be ten-thousand percent stereotypically gay, or, you know, a female. Which sucks because I have no idea how I will survive if I don't get my mani-pedi sometime soon."


    Aster sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, huffing again as he stood up. "good news is that everyone is allowed in the spa. I mean, its a Korean-type spa, so you have to be completely naked in there, but whatever. Nobody except me really goes in there because apparently they're all too scared about being judged or something. I don't know." aster clapped his hands in mock excitement, mimicking mrs. Hart's grin and voice.


    "let's go get something to eat, shall we?" he grabbed his key card and glanced at the kitchen in their room before shaking his head. The only thing aster really had in the kitchen was an unhealthy amount of ice cream, whipped cream and hostess snacks. Unlocking the door, aster hummed softly. "from what I saw on the schedule for today, the only thing we have to do is go outside to swim with everyone else at, like, seven or so. We're not technically supposed to be outside our room, but Mrs. Hart gave me a master key card because [i]she trusts me." aster began walking back down the hall and the stairs, linking his arms behind his head.


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    [size=6pt]★ trek

    [I apologize for disappearing!! I got really sick all the sudden and I couldn't move without it hurting and every time I even looked at my computer screen I got nauseous ;-; but I'm better! ill put up a post right now]

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    [I'm all good! Turns out I get really super bad migraines o.o thank you parents for passing those genetics to meee]




    Swimming pool? He could enjoy that. In the short time he wasn't corrupted, he was on the swim team for his middle school. He wasn't any good, but he liked the feeling it gave. Either floating, or being weighed down. His brother used to drag him to the public pool and use him to pick up girls by showing off. Tossing V into the deep end and laughing when he would pop up and spit water at them. Sometimes when they played he would latch onto Vincent's ankle and drag him down all the way to the bottom, and he's pretend to drown just so he could catch up some conversation with the lifeguard after 'saving' him. They were a team. He got one-nights, and Vincent became 'cool' to all the other kids around him.




    It didn't gain him many friends, though. Which later looking back on it was because they were all scared of them. Him and his brother were inseparable and it intimidated people. They must have looked ready to carjack someone with how they walked, talked, and generally looked ready to go off at the drop of a pin. Vincent would go through old pictures of him and his brother and just think how great it could've been if he hadn't been snitched on. They would still go to arcades and break the games so tickets wouldn't stop coming out and get ice cream from the shop next to it.




    I'm gonna get depressed here. V thought with a frown, hating the fact he was thinking about his brother in such a melodramatic way. He made a mistake and it cost him his life. It happens. Aster was still talking though. Dammit he zoned out. I'll go to the spa with you man. He said with a chuckle, just barely catching onto what he said. Getting naked though? Sure, he'd love to see if any of the girls there wanted anything from him.




    Then it was off to find some grub. Thank God because he had refused to eat anything offered to him at the prison. He would rather starve himself out than surrender to being treated like that. At least this rehab center gave some more freedom to everyone. Even better? His roomie had a master keycard, and there was no doubt in his mind he'd be asking to abuse that power. Vincent could only assume Aster did anyways. He seemed like the kind of person who would take someone's trust to its extent. From a person like Mrs. Hart, probably.




    Rising up from the bed, he caught up with Aster and looked around the hall. What do they expect us to do in our rooms most the time? If they're offering up video games to waste time I'm up for that. Who wasn't entertained by games? Especially if they're ones you favor. Vincent was more of an RPG game kind of person. When he wasn't interested in those, it was games with good stories and not cliché bullshit that anyone could think up of. He liked interesting turns and plot twists. As long as it all made sense.




    Going down the staircase, he looked at Aster for a few moments. That feeling dropped in his gut again and he felt awkward. He didn't want to say anything weird, or make an ass of himself though. But then again, why did he care? The confusion clouded his brain and he didn't know what to make of what was happening, or what he was even feeling. It was just... strange.













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    [justify][sub][color=black][font=georgia]aster didn't remember much about his childhood. He had pictures of his parents; always smiling and laughing. Aster looked like an adopted child, compared to his parents -- since his father was a dark ebony and his mother has the skin tone of a Hispanic latina. Aster shared his father's dark hair, his mother's skin tone, and a combination of their personalities. His father was gruff and crude; often making dick jokes and being touchy feely with his mother in public. His mother was soft and sweet; the epitome of a princess personality. She was so different from aster's father, and yet they were madly in love until the day they died.


    It just went to show that sometimes opposites attracted.


    Aster remembered the first time he discovered there was a spa in this place. He didn't mind being naked in front of other people, but he sort of forgot that his naked appearance was... Well, it was frightening, honestly. Aster wasn't ugly, by any means, nor was he lacking in any downstairs departments. In fact, he was unusually gifted. It was a curse, sometimes, really. What scared people wasn't the rigid muscle lining his body, or the fact that he was virtually godly. No.


    It was the scars.


    Aster's entire torso was scarred in one way or another. His back was the most scarred; with shiny, stretched, taut, fibrous burn marks that covered his entire back. The burns went on to his shoulders a little bit, and even down past his hips for a while. On his left abdomen, there was a large, three inch by three inch circular scar that went all the way through to his back as well. There were little gashes all over his chest and body. On his stomach and legs, there were bite wounds and claw marks from when he had veen attacked by animals. There were circular cigarette burns dotting his skin. Stab wounds. Razor cuts. Road rash. You name it, aster had a scar from it.


    And, despite not really caring that he was naked, he really didn't like people staring at him. He didn't like seeing the pity in their eyes as they trailed over each and every little wound. He didn't like having to tell people he was fine. And he especially didn't like people touching his back. His back was ultra sensitive, and the lightest brush of your fingertips could make his knees buckle underneath him.


    Entering the main kitchen of the building, aster glanced around, using his keycard to open the fridge. They had to lock it because sometimes the prisoners here would try to make drugs out of whatever was in the fridge. You know you're desperate when you start trying to get high on a mixture of ketchup, milk, and cheese bits. Aster gave a small huff and opened the freezer, frowning. They needed to restock the fridge. The man had taken all ofbthe whipped cream from this place; because he was admittedly addicted to the stuff. He would just sit there and spray the diabetes into his mouth.


    [b]"well. There's not much in here, but it's better than nothing. Just... Take something. There's a pantry over there, too." aster pulled out a carton of cookie dough ice cream. He didn't really like cookie dough, but ice cream was ice cream. He hopped up on one of the bar stools and grabbed a spoon, indulging himself rather quickly.


    (( omg
    fucking genetics
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    [size=6pt]★ trek

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    The lack of sound made the building much more unlikeable. There weren't any groups of people like before, conversing and trying to make at least one friend to keep from being bored. there wasn't a crying mother and consoling father at the front desk while their kid sat in a plastic chair with a frown and crossed arms. The front desk lady just clicked away on her computer, and the quiet hum of the air conditioner filled the rest of the space.




    He avoided looking at any passing security. One or two would nod their heads in his direction but he wouldn't respond. Vincent didn't like people of authority. He didn't like anyone that would dog pile him for a bag of weed, that is. He's seen people come out of those with bloody noses and broken bones because that crazy amount of weight just... breaks them. If he had to have one major fear, it would be that. The cramped feeling. All those bodies on top of him, sweating, screaming, and moving around. Boots kicking into his head. It would be an absolute nightmare.




    Would that happen here? If it did, he might just go to prison for attempted murder because he did not do good in any sort of situation similar to that. Mainly the reason why he didn't do fights in large groups either; too many bodies. He wouldn't be able to breathe in that kind of tension. The air would feel like smoke and have a difficult time processing. Vincent could feel it just at the memory of the rare times it occurred. Truly the only time he could say he was scared. Terrified, even.




    If, and when, he and Aster go to that spa, scars wouldn't be comparable. Vincent had maybe a few burns, cuts, and stab wounds. One bullet wound on the back of his left shoulder but that was it. Only littered around his body and not painted on lie a canvas for the other male. If he were to see it though, and being the obnoxious asshole he was, V would be asking about every single one. Want to get in every story, every detail. People went through crazy shit, and that kind of information was entertaining to him.




    Cant pass up these rice krispies. He laughed while he looked through the pantry Aster had pointed out. He took out the entire box along with some chex mix and sat next to Aster. So, that guy you tried killing. Why'd you want him dead? He asked nonchalantly before stuffing a handful of food in his mouth.







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    [justify][sub][color=black][font=georgia]aster was used to silence. He was used to people avoiding him and never engaging conversation with the man. Aster was intimidating, that was for sure. He was harsh, rude, sarcastic, and basically every other negative trait under the sun. An asshole, through and through. But that's just because he's terrified of opening up. It was one of his biggest fears.


    Now, with Vincent around, aster realized how much talking he had been doing in these last few hours. It was almost like Vincent couldn't stand the silence that aster absolutely loved. Vincent seemed like the kind of guy who could initiate a conversation though, which was good. Because God knows that aster rarely ever speaks unless spoken to. He just thinks too much.


    Feeling Vincent sit in the chair next to him, aster contemplated offering the chunks of cookie dough to the other man. However, Vincent probably wouldn't want to eat soggy balls of sugary cookie dough that had been mushed around in aster's mouth. Now that he thought about it, of course Vincent wouldn't want that. That sounded pretty gross, actually. Not even aster would want that.


    Aster gave a small snort. [b]"which one?" he muttered, only half joking. He's gotten angry enough to kill at least a hundred people, but he always manages to pull himself away by some unforseen force right before they took their last breath. Vincent must be talking about the most recent on, though. The one that Mrs. Hart mentioned. The actual story behind it would probably make Vincent laugh.


    Giving a small sigh, aster rubbed the back of his neck, mentally preparing himself for the laughter that was sure to come. "it... It's stupid, really. Borderline retarded, actually, but... Uh..." aster stared at the carton of ice cream and dug a hole inside of it with his spoon.


    "I was visiting my parents graves. I don't even know how he found me. I didn't have money to give them proper burials, so their graves are just in a field, marked with some sticks... But while I was there, just kind of talking to them, this guy comes up and starts yelling at me. I'm not religious or anything, but I liked to think that my parents are actually there when I talk to them. So, I didn't want to, like, upset them by doing something to the guy. So I just started telling him to fuck off. He started making fun of me, which was fine. Im used to that. And then he..." aster's fist grabbed the spoon tight enough to bend it under the weight.


    "he just fucking dropped his pants and started pissing on their graves. Like [i]literally urinating. And I just got so fucking mad. Long story short, I broke his legs, nost of his ribs, his left arm, his jaw. I stabbed him in the eye with a stick. Cut part of his stomach open. And then I just started hitting his head against the ground until he stopped crying and just kind of passed out. By then, his screaming had alerted someone and they called the cops and right when I was about to fucking finish the job, I'm being tased and shot and beat with batons."


    Aster's grip loosened on the spoon a bit and he sighed. "the guy isn't dead, unfortunately, but I got charged with aggravated assault and attempted manslaughter or some shit like that."


    Aster tensed his body, ready for Vincent to laugh. Because, after all, who got so pissed because some drunk dude peed on the ground? It didn't seem at all manly, to aster.


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    [size=6pt]★ trek

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    As he chewed what was in his mouth, he prepared himself for a funny story. Bar fight? Whore wanting too much money? Vincent couldn't really tell with aster. Hell he only knew him for a few hours but could tell he was the unpredictable type. The fact he made a rhetorical 'which one' comment said enough.




    But it was more than Vincent himself was, which kind of freaked him out yet made him like the guy more. In a total friend way because as he had to keep reminding himself for some reason; he was not gay. A guy like him couldn't be gay. He would be laughed at and turned way like some stray dog. He valued the life he built up before this to even think if he liked men.




    Not exactly paying attention to Aster, but listening to the story, he unwrapped a rice krispie and broke it in half, biting down into it. His arm was propped up on the table and his fist was used as a resting place for his jaw while he chewed on his sugary snack. He stopped mid-chew, looking at the other the second 'graves' came out of his mouth. Not exactly a look of pity in his gaze, but further interest. What could happen at some graves? Some dumbasses thinking about grave robbing?




    The fact he couldn't afford a proper burial for his parents was kind of sad, but he refrained from saying anything. He let him continue, trying not to make the crinkling of the bag get too loud as he dug in for more. That's what you get with Vincent. He may have a good heart at times but he can still manage to act like a jackass.




    When the story started to get a little more tense, Vincent could feel his anger. He felt himself get a little worked up just thinking about that kind of disrespect happening to his family. Shit if he saw anyone to that to his brothers grave he would have shot them before they could even get their pants back up from their ankles.




    Well, if you want, he began with a smirk, patting his hand on the others back. we can finish what you started when we get out. I don't mind giving you a piece to shoot down the miserable son of a bitch. He deserved it. That kind of shit is done by only the worst of people. Never treat a dead man like that... Vincent wasn't so hungry anymore. He rolled up the bag and closed up the box.




    I understand that though. A lot of people tried talking shit on my brother after he got the chair. Got in a lot of fights, spent time in juvenile detention because of it. But you know, it was kind of worth it. You get a different kind of satisfaction when it comes to defending something or someone you have history with. He put is hand on Aster's shoulder, hoping that maybe it would give some... bro appreciation or whatever.




    [/fancypost][/fancypost][/fancypost][/fancypost]
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    [align=center][img height=180 width=155]http://40.media.tumblr.com/a2c…ssvyAgns1uqlfhoo1_500.jpg[/img] [img height=180 width=155]http://41.media.tumblr.com/tum…nnweH6bf1qmn8b3o1_500.jpg[/img] [img height=180 width=155]http://estaticos.elmundo.es/as…/02/04/13915283736891.jpg[/img]
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    [fancypost borderwidth=0px; margin-top:-20px; text-shadow:3px 3px 3px black;][color=#A9D0F5][size=28pt][i]aster "hawke" rede[/fancypost]
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    [justify][sub][color=black][font=georgia]aster have a soft snort. At what, he didn't really know. He was just trying to break the silence, he supposed, which was a first, honestly. He honestly didn't expect the silence that followed. He didn't expect the words that came out of Vincent's mouth. He didn't expect the reassuring hand on his shoulder. Honestly, it made aster uncomfortable. He wasn't used to someone being so... Understanding. And when aster was uncomfortable with something, he panicked.


    He hoped his actions weren't taken to heart, because aster stood up rather quickly after Vincent placed his hand on his body, grabbing the carton of ice cream and leaving the bar to put the carton back. He put the spoon in the sink, not looking at the other as he did so. Part of him wanted this to be a bonding moment between the two men; they could open up to one another.


    But the other part of aster wanted to cry at the thought of letting Vincent in. It would be so humiliating to tell Vincent all of the things that he's done and the things that happened to him. He didn't want to be thought of as weak. Didn't want Vincent to be taking advantage of him. He didn't want to be walked all over again.


    Clearing his throat, aster sniffed and shook his head. [b]"uh, anyway..." he sucked at changing the subject subtly. Or really doing anything subtle for that matter. He just wasn't a subtle type of guy, you know? If anything, he stuck out like a clown at a funeral. He tried his best to fade away from view of people, but he ended up being one of the most identifiable men on the damn planet, it seemed. Which wasn't what he wanted.


    The door to the kitchen open. If ever aster was happy to be interrupted, it was right now. It was one ofbthe security guards, who stuck his nose up as though the two men in the room were in the middle of getting down and dirty. "You two are supposed to be outside in the pool. Get moving." He ordered. In his hands, he held various prepackaged, new pairs of swimming trunks in different sizes.


    The man set the clothing on the counter and exited without another word. Aster sucked in a small breath through his nose and looked at the differently patterned trunks. He made his way over and looked at each of them, shaking his head softly. What was so hard about getting his perfect size? They were always either too big or too small. This time, they had both sizes above and below what his actual size was.


    He settled for grabbing a bigger size that was plain black. As much as he loved showing off his ass, he would rather not. Giving a small shrug, aster forced a small smile. "see you out there, I guess. The pool's just outside the glass doors on the right. I'm gonna go change." aster ducked out of the room and wandered around until he found a bathroom he could change in.


    (( sexy shirtless times ahead


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    [size=6pt]★ trek

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    thanks for trying[/fancypost][fancypost bgcolor=none; border: none; font-family: timesnewroman; color: #4B4A4A; font-size: 34px; font-style: italic; margin-top: -10px; margin-left: 45px; text-transform: lowercase;]✗✘ bouncer[/fancypost]
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    [fancypost bgcolor=none; border: none; width: 410px; height: 10px; padding: 0px; font-size: 10px; font-family: Garamond; color: black; margin-top: -3px]hidden scroll (c) anna[/fancypost]
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