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[/fancypost][ tw for blood, mentions of rape + abuse ]
If there was one thing no one knew about Alfred Jones, it was that he was a twisted little sh!t. He was pretty good at hiding it, honestly, but sometimes he just kinda snapped and needed someone to put him back in his place, though good luck trying.
And now seemed to be one of those moments.
He'd gotten over his case of amnesia from his fight with a drunk f#ck, and upon realizing that no one had done so much as to offer him a hand, he f#cking lost it. Maybe he just felt neglected again, or like he wasn't being viewed as a member of the clan as a whole. And to be fair, RiverClan had f#cked him over like that in the past, so he did have something to go off of. And even past that, he...had his reasons.
-----
It was cold. Cold and dark. He didn't have the energy to turn his light on, and honestly, it hurt more than enough to breathe. He could barely move without feeling like he would die, so he didn't. He remained on the floor. His floor. His room.
Most people enjoyed their rooms, it was where they could sleep and enjoy some privacy, maybe stare out the window at night and watch the stars. To him it felt like the starts were watching him. Watching and keeping note of everything that happened as if one day they could tell someone, but they couldn't. They couldn't because stars were just stupid balls of gas millions of light-years away. No matter how coldly they stared down, nothing would happen. Nothing would change.
He was alone here, with just his bruises and what felt like a fractured rib or two. Alone on his cold unforgiving floor. Alone with the mother who could barely look at him without seeming disappointed and the father who's idea of parenting was breaking his body down with everything from his now bruised knuckles to anything he could throw. Alone, alone, alone. Was that how it was meant to be? Was he just going to fight through life constantly neglected and beaten down when he so much as asked for a little love and attention? That's what it looked like. School was hell, home was hell, life was hell. People were cruel. Love was only for the more fortunate, the happy, the ones who were already loved. Wasn't it? Or maybe it just wasn't for people like him.
-----
It was memories like that running through his head that made him paranoid. Paranoid and angry. Why? He didn't want to be left behind anymore. Twice in his life he lived a lifestyle that he didn't chose to be in, and no one f#cking helped him out of it. He got himself out of both situations. And while they did mess him up big time, that couldn't be helped. He didn't even notice, in fact, he just thought he was getting stronger, finally seeing the world for what it was.
Cold, f#cked, and heartless.
He tried to be nice, you know? He tried to get along with people and have some hope left in his heart. Maybe that hope ran out through the cracks and crevices of a heart that had been shattered and crudely repaired so many times. He'd been abandoned, beaten, dragged through the mud too often to keep up this act of his. It was like wearing a mask, and that mask had been destroyed by the abuse he always seemed to be facing. It was covered in the mud he was dragged though, the blood spilled out of him, and the darkness that he could feel just clawing at his mind. While normally he'd tell it to sit the f#ck down, he didn't have the will or energy to do so.
And when he did stop fighting, it got worse. His mind was an evil thing, that was something he quickly learned in time. He wanted to do bad things. He almost craved it. His mind, his mentality, it screamed at him to f#ck sh!t up in return for the pain. Revenge without actually ever getting revenge.
A good example? Jester. Jester. He knew what some people said. He knew what words came out of mouths of dumb sh!ts who had nothing better to do than gossip and spread rumors and lie. He had run away. He had left Cassius. He was cheating. Those were the things he heard, and even Pixel confronted him about trying to leave. No, no they were all WRONG. But what did they know? They weren't there. Jealous and idiotic f u c k s.
No, it wasn't that at all. He crawled back here for Cassius, not for this clan. He came back battered and beaten and just violated. But did he get any help? No. And why? Because he didn't f#cking ask for it. He didn't want help. That wasn't the issue. The issue was what he got in return. Rumors? Sh!t? A demented ball of pink that never stopped harassing him? Yeah, looking at you, Pixel.
No, did they want to know? Here's some hints. Jester used his body to his advantage. He beat him, enslaved him, raped him. Did that sound like something he WANTED? Did that sound like he was being just so UNFAITHFUL?
But no, that was all in the past, right? RIGHT?. Leave the past in the past. Wasn't that what people said? Were those words of wisdom or was it all just a pathetic cop-out so no one had to face up to past mistakes?
The echo of broken glass was followed by the harmony of agonized and angry swearing, the shattered pieces of what was once a mirror glaring back accusingly at the white German shepherd as he stared his broken up reflection in the face, growling at the glass strewn across the floor as he stood fast, ears pinned to his skull and teeth bared. One of the few times he acted like the dog he was. The dog that to anyone else stared back at him from the glass. But no. He didn't see that. You know what he saw? A man.
A man who from a young age was reminded how cruel the world was, a man who was taunted and mocked for who he was as a person to who he found comfort in, a man who at age 18 was shipped off against his will to fight the German war machine. A man who never came home.
He still saw him somewhere in those blue eyes of his.
The eyes were the windows to the soul, were they not? Well he had shut and barred those windows from the others, they would see nothing. They saw nothing from him. And he didn't have to cover his face. He just...was. He existed. But he felt he didn't even get the acknowledgement of existence. He wasn't worthy enough, was he? Was he?. He knew how this would end. One day he would snap and do something sh!tty, or maybe Cassius in all his glory would realize how he had a sh!t of a boyfriend and move on to someone else. Someone Pixel approved of, right?
No, Cass wouldn't do that. Besides, they needed each other. He knew that. Cassius knew that...or so he hoped. And even if he didn't, he wouldn't leave would he?
Alfred only had room in his broken mess of a heart for one person. And holy sh!t did he love Cassius.
But he knew what some people thought. He knew what Pixel thought. He was abusive, sick, and twisted. He didn't "deserve" him. What, was Cassius some prize to be won? Some object that people "deserved"? What the hell? What was this? No, he didn't feel worthy enough to be in anyone's eyes, to be their one and only. But oh god, he couldn't deny that he loved it. He almost forgot what hating himself felt like.
And yet, that wasn't enough? There was always someone glaring, and he felt someone else was trying to pull them apart. No, they couldn't do that to him! Was that just everyone's goal? To try and make him miserable in their own pursuit of happiness or in some twisted way to "help"?
No, he was just being thrown around. People wanted to see him down. His whole existence was just people abusing him in every way imaginable. And he was cracking, breaking.
Stumbling out the door of his home, bleeding from long lacerations up the unbandaged part of his arm, Alfred let out a serious of swears and choked sobs, sounding pitiful and angry and just...agonized.
"I hope you all f#cking DIE!"
[ lil vent thing i guess + ic opinions ]
[size=5pt][color=transparent]© counselor dreamíe
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