|A Teenage Assassin Executing Some Fun
Author: Addsername PM
A story about the saint as a high schooler. Won't be a one-shot if I ever remember to update it. A little bit of SaintJesus possibly slash as the story progresses. Rated T for Jimmy being Jimmy and all the stuff that goes along with that. I reviews!Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Hurt/Comfort - St. Jimmy - Chapters: 5 - Words: 3,897 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 6 - Updated: 03-01-13 - Published: 04-29-12 - id: 8069578
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"James Vincent! Get your sorry, tired little ass out of bed RIGHT NOW."
Uaghhh. It was Jay. My pathetic, controlling, pain-in-the-sorry-tired-ass stepfather Jay.
I really didn't want to get out of bed. I rolled over, put my pillow over my head, and closed my eyes, willing myself to go back to sleep.
I heard a click as the handle to my door slowly turned as the door was thrust open.
Crap. I forgot to lock that before I went to bed last night. Good thing Jay wasn't in a particularly bad mood or god knows what kind of shit would've gone down.
"JAMES THE FUCKING VINCENT. GET OUT OF BED BEFORE I COME OVER THERE AND FUCKING DRAG YOU."
Auhhhhguhhh. I'm so comfortable. Please don't make me move. Please don't make me get up.
Light streamed in as Jay flung open the heavy wooden blinds, stinging my tired eyes.
"JAMES, I WILL COUNT TO TEN AND IF YOU'RE NOT UP BY THE TIME I COUNT TO TEN, SHIT WILL HIT THE FAN."
Wow. Ten. I didn't know he could count that high. Groaning, I rolled over and sat up, sharp rays of sun streaming directly into my eyes, searing my brain. I felt Jay's heavy glare directly through me as I kicked my legs to the side of my bed and pulled myself up, stretching my arms above my head. Jay stood by my door, tapping his foot impatiently.
Ahem, some privacy please?
He finally got the idea and trudged over to the door, slamming it in his wake. "Be down for breakfast in five, or else crazy shit's gonna happen, got it?
Sure. Whatever, Jay. I don't take that long to get ready in the morning. I'm not a fucking girl. I stretched my arms one more time before scampering over to my stereo and shuffling through my iPod until I found a song that I wouldn't mind listening to. I hit play as The Clash blasted through my speakers, sending syncopated vibrations through our cheap home's thin walls. I pulled on an inky AC/DC tee shirt with numerous rips, snags, and threads modifying the sleeves. My expert fashion sense urged me to pair it wish destroyed, raven-colored jeans and a midnight black drawstring hood. I finished off the fashion statement with a pair of charcoal Chuck Taylors.
Same as every day.
Shuffling over to my bathroom, I quickly brushed my teeth and splashed some cold water on my face to wake me up. Sure, I needed a shower, but that wasn't to say I couldn't go one more day. I smelled like a man. Staring at my reflection, I filled my palm with a dollop of hair gel and ran it through my jet-black hair, forming it into numerous tiny spikes. Throwing the open bottle of gel onto the bathroom counter, I hi-tailed it to the door, being extra-sure to lock it on the way out. I walked out into the kitchen as the air was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of bacon. I immediately began to salivate, however before I could quiet my Pavlov's Dog-like response, my pleasant bacon fantasy was silenced by a stronger, far less pleasant aroma: Eau de Jay. I coughed and wheezed, trying my best to block out the awful smell of old cigarettes and cheap drugstore cologne. I really couldn't stand this guy. What my mom saw in him, I would never be sure. If Jay had it his way, the pair would be living in a cozy little trailer in Rancho Mirage while I rotted at military school. Thankfully, my mom had convinced him to let me hang around for one more year before it was time for me to head off to college- or hitchhike my way up to Canada- probably the latter. Jay, that asshole, he neglected to save me any bacon. Shrugging it off, I grabbed a twenty off the counter, along with my backpack, and headed out the door without bothering to say goodbye. My mother had probably left for work already, and god knows Jay wouldn't care if I neglected to bid him farewell.
I hopped into my beat-up '87 Chevy, jamming the keys in the ignition and turning them sharply, revving the dying engine. To my chagrin, nothing happened.
Jay threw open the door, shaking his fist at me: "Could you please shut the fuck up, kid! Some of us are trying to enjoy our bacon in peace. Jesus, kids these days. They just have no respect. No fucking respect at all."
Trying the ignition one more time, I turned my keys and pressed my Converse-clad foot to the gas.
It wouldn't start.
I slid out of the driver's seat, slung my bag over my shoulder, and trudged down to the street to the 7-11 on the corner where I could use the pay phone. I didn't have any reason to own a cell phone, and no way in hell was I about to ask Jay for a ride. Not that he would give one to me if I asked. I pulled a quarter from my pocket, shoved it in the slot, and dialed my brah Christian. Lucky for me, he picked up. "Hey man, whaddaya need?" His voice relieved some of my tension, reminding me that I could actually rely on a few people around here. "Hey Chris, I need a ride. The ol' piece of crap (read: car) won't start and I'm not about to ask Jay for a ride. I'm at the 7-11 on Christie and Adeline." Christian agreed to drive me before promptly hanging up, both of us preferring to keep our phone conversations short. I popped inside the small convenience store and grabbed a hot dog and a cherry slurpie, not bothering to pay for either as the cashier grunted in protest but made no effort to stop me. I sat down on the single bench outside, drawing a cigarette from my backpack and rummaging around my pocket for a lighter before I remembered that Brad confiscated mine last week. Thankfully, Christian pulled up soon thereafter, throwing open the door to his beat-up Yugo and patting the passenger seat, implying I should plant my ass there so we can head to school. We were already late, but I didn't care much. Worst-case scenario, we'll have to collect tardy slips from one of the pinched-faced secretaries and I'll get a slap on the wrist from Jay wen I get home.
I slammed the door to the car and took a sizable bite out of my hot dog, washing it down with the slurpie's refreshingly artificial taste. "Breakfast of champions", I announced, my mouth still full of partially-chewed up hot dog. "Ew, man, that's gross", Christian commented, but I ignored him. "The fuck are you, my mother?" I challenged, as Christian replied with a playful punch and continued to drive, offering me a light as we merged lanes and sped off on our way.