Title: Five by Five...Boss
Disclaimer: Please don't sue; purely for entertainment. The characters I created are mine. So steal my idea, or 'borrow' without my permission, and I will be the one to sue.
Pairings: None (at the moment)
Feedback: Always, please =)
Rating: R for language and talk of adult nature
Part 1 – It's The Opening Up, That Counts
Miss gave me this notebook and pen couple a weeks ago. Told me I had to write down all my feelings after our 'sessions.' They told me I had to do this program thing, part of the whole scheme of being in here. I have to go see this shrink twice a week so she can suss out what the deal is with me.
First I told em to go fuck themselves.
Then I got bored, staring at these grey walls, wondering what else the hell I could do to pass the time. So I picked up this stupid book and started writing. And here I am.
I just had a session couple hours ago. Pretty much the same thing as last time happened. Not that I'm being difficult, but, why the hell does everyone wanna know my shit?
We've only had like, five sessions in total, last three was with a group, some sort of 'rehab' practice. We all had to address the group and tell them why we're fucked up. I just laughed at how pathetic it was. Didn't bother showin' up to two of 'em. Then got told I had to go.
Told 'em 'Why the fuck should I?' and they said it might help me to 'admit' that I have a problem. I told 'em I was an accidental murderer, not a fuckin' drunk.
They asked me if it would help if I had private discussions and not 'group discussions.' They got a 'yes' off of my shrugging, fuck knows how. So I had my first one, Monday. Today's Thursday. Next week I got 'em Tuesday and Friday.
I gots a feeling they're gonna tell me to start going back to those stupid group discussions. You should see some of the fucked up shit they got goin' down there. Psychotic-mental-catatonic shits who don't have a fuckin' clue what the hell they're doin'. You got, users who been to rehab seven times and still fucked up, even more than the last time. You got people who've attempted to commit suicide cos they didn't wanna get caught after killing someone else.
Then there's me. I'm a bent Slayer – I used to protect the world from all forms of evil until I turned psychotic and started killing and maiming and torturing people.
So anyways. Back to today's session. My shrink (Chiara) told me that these sessions were all about learning about myself and opening up to help me improve as a person. I thought, 'What the fuck?' But she told me I would get used to the sappy idea soon enough.
This session she introduced herself (again) as if thinking I had short-term memory loss. I told her I was Faith, the Slayer, and she laughed. I just looked at her. She told me she thought there was 'a lot of work' to do with me. I told her to piss off. She said I was charming. And I said, 'Yeah, that's the way I treat every pansy I see.'
Don't think she liked me much. She said being un-cooperative wouldn't really get me anywhere, cos I had another twenty-five years in here at least. She started talking about what we'd have to do in these sessions and she'd be checking on my behaviour, to see if these sessions were actually doing anything.
She started with my childhood today. Asked me if I had a lot of friends as I was growing up, what my domestic situation was like. For a moment I thought I might actually start talking. But hell, I couldn't. It'd taken me so long to suppress it; bringing it all back up was something I never planned on doing.
I told her it was shit, and that that was all she needed to know. She said it wasn't about her needing to know, it was about me needing to talk about it. For some fucking reason she thought I needed to talk about it. Look where the fuck it got me before. Then she went into saying how talking about things helped to get it out of my system, and writing things down too. Then she asked if I'd been writing in this stupid journal and I told her to shove it.
She continued, telling me it 'helped' to let go of the past. I told her I thought I had fucking-well done.
Since we didn't really get anywhere with her preach about childhood, she told me to write it down and she'd read it later.
Like fuck she will.
But then I sat down, didn't I. Got out this book she gave me on 'Day 1.' Now I'm scribbling. So I might as well talk childhood.
I must have been about six. Goody-fucking-little two shoes. Always good with my work, quiet, never picking fights. And I had this one friend who was pretty much the same as me only difference being that her parents weren't drunks. Or if they were they hid it better than mine.
Shannon. She had long dark hair, pretty similar to mine now. She was Hispanic, her parents were from Cuba I think. Her pops was some huge lawyer dude and I dunno about her mom. They lived in this huge fuck-off mansion about the size of this penitentiary if not larger. She had everything; a wing of the house to herself, a swimming pool, huge back yard.
I must've known her for around five or six years before she and her family took off. Never had a clue where they went, just up-ed and left one day. Shan said she'd call but never did. She was my best friend. We did everything together, mostly I hung out at her house, cos…well…the state a mine was an embarrassment.
She got my problems though. I didn't have to tell her much, she could see the bruises and shit. And when she'd find me bawling in the bathroom.
She never actually asked what the deal was with my parents. Why they beat on me and shit. She just told me she was there for me and we could get through it together.
One time I went to her house, as usual bawling, my bag over my shoulder. My parents had been fighting, like, physically and I couldn't take it. I knew either my mom or dad would get pissed at me for some reason, say something like they wished I'd never been born.
I stayed at hers and I told her everything. But she never asked what it was; she just listened.
So here's the deal with my parents: both dead, as far as I know. My pops was involved in some sort of drive-by, something like that. I know it was deliberate, he was involved in some really deep shit that he couldn't get himself out; at the time I was too young to understand half the shit it was but it's been in my mind so long that I figured it out. And plus when they were both yelling at the top of their lungs about his 'business' and I'd listen nearby, or try not to, more like.
So that was my dad. Involved in some drugs and shit. Finally caught up with him. Left me and my mum. My mum was unemployed, as far as I know she'd never had a job. She started drinking heavily after dad died. She loved him; I know that much. As much as a fuck he was to her, he loved her back. He never actually beat on her in the way that he became a wife-beater; my mum was more the violent one, he just…struck back. But he did beat on her. If that makes any sense.
So when he died, he left her and me, by ourselves, no money, no support. We were fucked. That was when I was thirteen years old. I got myself a job doing a paper round and got a couple of bucks a week, nothing much. My mum started working at a bar – I wouldn't have been surprised if she was drinkin' the pumps dry. Every minute spent at home was a minute for drink. You'd see bottles of stuff lying all around the fucking place, and when I tried to clean up the poor excuse for our house, it only got messed up again, with her making so much fucking mess with her fucking drink.
She kept on beating on me. She'd pick fights when she was pissed off with whatever it was – even if it had nothing to do with me.
By that time most of the kids knew to keep away from me; apparently I was trouble. But then I met this kid, Michelle. I guess you could say she was like me, introverted, kept to herself. But one day I was sitting on the grass doing some work and some girls came along and tried to shove me around. I think she was sitting on the field as well. She came up and literally knocked one of the girls off their feet. Tae Qwon Do – she called it. Nine years, apparently. She told them if they bothered me again she'd pop their necks from their shoulders.
By this time I had no fuckin' idea what 'Tae Qwon Do' was, but it was pretty cool. She told me she'd seen me around school. She was in the grade above and had seen the trouble I'd been getting.
I didn't say much, pretty much just thanks. But then she started lookin' out for me and eventually we started hangin' out. I asked her what the hell this 'Tae Qwon Do' was, and she told me all about it. Fighting technique. I asked her if she could teach me.
I guess that's when the fighting started. When I used to train, I just used to let go. She told me I was a natural, and a quick-study. That I already had a lot of strength. Now I know why. Then, I didn't.
Then Michelle moved away. Actually…she got busted. For…surprise, poppin' someone's neck. Her exes apparently, for sleeping with her best friend. I was too scared to go visit her cos I had no idea about prison and shit, and women in the penitentiary system freaked me out. But she wrote me one time, telling me she was sorry she couldn't look out for me anymore. I wanted so bad to write back but I didn't know what to tell her and I was still scared about it.
In the meantime my mum was still the loser she'd always been, and I finally had enough and just ran one day. I was fifteen, I think, and I was lucky enough to find myself a job in a corner shop. The owner took me in, said he'd take my rent from my wages and I agreed. Fair enough. It was better than home.
But something made me wanna go back, so bad. I had no idea what. But I found myself treading that path leading me down my road, and all the noises came back to me. The yelling, and screaming and the sound of glass shattering. The gunshots (that really were gunshots). The dogs barking. Everything you don't want in your neighbourhood.
When I reached my house I knew I shouldn't have gone back. The place was almost completely trashed. Burnt out. How the fuck, I had no idea. And I just knew my mum was in there when it happened. No one had to tell me. I didn't wanna know, but I already did.
So I ran again. I remembered I had an uncle down in San Pedro so I got on a bus down there, hoping to find him.
Warden Jay's just opened up my cell, we gotta go eat. I'll finish up later.