A/N: I really, honestly think that heartbreak can change a person. This was one of the ideas that inspired me to write this story. Poor Tootie, with being rejected all the time… sigh. It was bound to happen, so I decided why not write about it? Ok, to be honest, I'd just had this idea brewing in my head for so long that I decided to just write what was in my head or else I'd explode. Now, I know from past experiences that I'm horrible at series, and plotlines, and actually writing them out. But I thought that eh, why not? Just a heads-up, I haven't creatively written in ages, so I apologize if my writing is crappy and repetitive. Ok, so after this very long author's note, here's the prologue!
Oh yeah, the disclaimer…
Disclaimer: I do not own Fairly Odd Parents or any of the characters, nor will I ever be Butch Hartman. All I own is the plotline for this particular story. Enjoy!
Today, Tootie Flanagan was going to do it.
She was going to tell Timmy Turner how she felt about him.
How, you ask?
She decided to go with the ultra-cliché, mushy, gushy love note. Dearest, beloved Timmy, it started. How long I've admired you from afar, how I always lose myself in your beautiful, sapphire, aquamarine eyes… More comparisons of heaven, a thousand suns, and other embarrassing forms of nature were mentioned. Needless to say, she thought it was her best work ever. She couldn't help it! That perfectly messy mop of chestnut-brown hair, that ridiculous pink hat that she somehow found absolutely adorable, and those eyes, oh god those eyes…
Ebony-black pigtails bouncing, metal-sheathed teeth chattering in excitement, and lavender horn-rimmed glasses sliding down her sweaty nose, twelve-year-old Tootie hopped off her porch steps, making a left to Timmy's house.
After what seemed like an hour later (which in reality was barely a five-minute walk), she found herself in front of his house. Biting her lip nervously, she raised her sweaty hand to ring the doorbell… when she heard a high-pitched giggle emanate from an open upstairs window.
She paused, pulling her hand back, tilting her head upwards curiously.
"Timmy! Pie is a number you multiply by the diameter to get the circumference, not just a dessert!" the voice scolded, though Tootie could tell she was trying her hardest not to laugh.
"But Trixieeeeeeee!" Tootie heard Timmy's undeveloped voice whine loudly. "This is so hard! When in my life am I ever gonna need to know the circumference of a circle?" It seemed that Timmy was getting some well-needed math tutoring fro—from…
Tootie gasped sharply, not loud enough for the two people upstairs to hear. Trix…Trixie…Trixie Tang? The ever-present object of Timmy's misguided affection? Gorgeous, popular, frigging perfect Trixie Tang? Stealthily, so as not to be heard, she stepped off the porch and rounded the corner to hide behind Timmy's next-door-neighbor Mrs. Dinkleburg's neatly trimmed hedge.
"In my opinion, pie's more useful. Speaking of, wanna go get some?" she heard Timmy ask, hope evident in his voice. Tootie clutched the now-damp love note with wet, sweaty hands, squeezing it into a sad, sodden mess as she listened to Timmy's offer. A date? She listened with rapt attention, biting her bottom lip so hard beads of red appeared.
After an eternity (really five minutes) of dead, ear-splitting silence, Tootie heard Trixie's melodious voice say, "You're asking me out on a date?" incredulity and a hint of flattery in her voice.
"Well, yeah," Timmy's voice said shakily. "Please, Trixie, just one date. I've always loved you. All I want to do is prove myself to you. Just one date. Please."
Tootie's already-blurry eyesight morphed even more as she felt tears well up in her eyes. Why, why did Timmy have to love Trixie? Why not her? Her, who always gave him the time of day (sometimes weeks on end), showered him with gifts and kisses… Why not her? Why, fucking Trixie tang? Her head throbbed painfully as waves of emotion overrode her. She shook her head, willing the tears not to flow yet. She would not cry. Not yet.
"You really love me?" Trixie asked softly, so much that Tootie had to crane her neck to hear. "Really, truly?"
"I do," Timmy's voice rang with such sureness that Tootie's heart ached. Why not her…? "I love you, Trixie."
Silence again. Finally, "Ok. One date, to see how I feel about you," Trixie said.
"YES!" Timmy cried victoriously. Tootie imagined him pumping his fist in the air, dancing and hopping wildly around his room. Judging from the loud thumps she heard, he probably was. She heard Trixie's high-pitched giggle again. "Ok, back to circumference…"
Tootie didn't—no, couldn't hear anything after that. She dropped the smashed-up love note, bringing her hands up to her face to wipe away the hot tears that streamed down her face. Her lavender glasses lay next to the love-note, having fallen down her sweaty face. Of course, the date will go by perfectly. What's there to not love about Timmy? For sure, they would become a definite item after the date and would date through high school and college, and have two fucking perfect children, a boy and a girl… She grabbed her not yet-developed chest, feeling her heart pounding, ripped and torn out, thrown on the ground, and shredded to a mushy pink paste. Clutching her head, her tears intensified as waves of pain throbbed in her head and pain grew in her chest. So this is how heartbreak feels like…
She fumbled around blindly for her glasses, grabbing them, and getting up in one swift motion. Ignoring the cramps she felt from sitting for so long, she sprinted for her house, tears blinding her vision. All she wanted to do was forget, just forget about damn Timmy Turner, so she didn't have to feel all this pain. Oh god, how it hurt…
Throwing her door open so hard it hit the opposite wall and created a dent, she ran around the pink walls of her room, ripping the Timmy posters and numerous candid pictures she had taken of him off the walls and chucking them into a big plain cardboard box. Stomping to her bed, she swept her arm across the frilly pink bedspread, knocking the Timmy dolls into the box. She rummaged through her bedside table drawer, and after finding a flowery pink notebook titled Tootie's Diary, she threw that into the box as well.
It seemed that was it, she noted, looking around her room. The now-bare walls were faded pink where the Timmy posters used to hang. Her frilly pink bed seemed empty and sad without the Timmy dolls. She wiped her still-teary eyes, grabbed the box of Timmy memorabilia and rushed downstairs, picking up a pack of matchsticks from the kitchen.
She set the box in the middle of the backyard, pulling a match out and swiping it across the pack to ignite a flame. Gulping deeply, she took one last lingering look at the box before tossing the lit match in.
She watched, entranced as it immediately became engulfed in flames. She dropped into a sitting position a good fifteen feet away from the burning mass, pulling her knees to her chest and lowering her head. Oh god, it hurts, she thought miserably as her forearms became soaked with tears. God, was this what loving someone did to another person? She never wanted to experience it again, heaven forbid. As she sat and sniffled, she made a vow. I will never love again…
Vicky Flanagan was running for her life.
Why, you ask? Well…
She was walking to the grocery store to get more food for Doidle, her beloved pooch. Seeing as her car was in the shop for repairs, she had no choice but to walk. Seeing the gray clouds darkening and thickening, her mood soured at the idea of having to walk home in the rain. Her pace quickened, steps becoming stomps as her temper rose, the bag of doggy chow in her arms.
That's probably why she didn't hear the footsteps behind her.
It wasn't until she passed an alley that she stopped, cocked her head to the side to listen when a rough, calloused hand covered her mouth.
Dropping the bag of dog food in surprise (at why and who would have the balls to do this to her), the mystery figure dragged her to the alley and threw her into the wall. She gasped sharply, not used to the pain of being the victim instead of the attacker. Who the fu—oh god, she thought as the figure emerged from the shadows. That red hair so much like her own, the only one who could match her strength—
"Ricky?" she asked in incredulity, rage taking over her body in recognition of his face and at the pain from being thrown into the wall.
"'Sup, babe?" he whispered, coming towards her distracted form as his eyes narrowed maliciously.
"Wha—what the fuck are you doing, you bastard?" god, she never wanted to see his face again, yet, lo and behold, there he was. "In case you didn't know, we're over." She growled.
"Relax babe," he coaxed. Now he was near her face. Bringing his hand up to stroke her cheek, he whispered, "Remember all the fun times we had?" his voice took on a seductive tone.
"Like you stealing from my back-pocket every five minutes?" she hissed, throwing his hand off her face. "Fuck no."
Now he was pissed an evil smile spread across his face. "No, I meant this."
And with that, he took another step towards Vicky, effectively trapping her between the brick wall and Ricky. In one swift motion, he grabbed her chin and forced her lips on his. Instinctively, Vicky lifted her leg, ready to kick him in the one place it hurt the most—
But he expected this. He grabbed her leg, bringing it to wrap around his waist. Crap, now she couldn't breathe. Weakly, she tried to punch his chest with both hands, but expecting this, Ricky's hand shot out and grabbed both wrists, squeezing them so hard she was sure there would be bruises later.
Her mouth opened, gasping in pain, and Ricky took the opportunity to shove his tongue in it. She gasped again as he bit on her bottom lip, hard, which Ricky mistook as gasps of ecstasy. Feeling his lips curve upwards in a smug smile, she figured he was distracted enough and took her leg, which was previously wrapped around his waist, and promptly kicked him in his "family jewels." HARD.
"UGH!" he cried, letting her go and sinking to the ground, grabbing his throbbing crotch. Vicky smirked in triumph, turned to pick up the abandoned dog food and was about to leave—
She felt an arm wrap around her waist and jerk her back into the alley. She was thrown into the wall again and punched twice, in the face and her stomach.
"You bitch," Ricky spat into her face, dank breath smothering her, and oh god she couldn't breathe, everything hurt too fucking much—
"You're not getting away from me that easily," he hissed. "Not without a little gift."
With that, he proceeded to send a flurry of punches into her abdomen, kicks into her sides, slaps into her face. Holy shit, was this what it was like to be beat up? It was a long time since she'd been on the receiving side of the abuse. Her eyes snapped shut, unable to see straight through the pain. Somehow, she couldn't muster up the strength to fight back, everything hurt too fucking much…
Through the waves of white-searing pain, she felt Ricky roughly grab her left boob, forcing the neckline lower until it ripped and her plain black bra was in plain view. He shoved the black cotton down, revealing her 34Bs. He proceeded to suck on the nipple as his other hand went down to her black jeans, tugging the zipper down, his hand going in her black panties—
Her eyes shot open in shock and anger as she realized what was happening. She pulled back her right arm, and BAM!
Vicky hurriedly stood up, trying to ignore the aches and bruises she felt in her legs from being suddenly beaten as Ricky collapsed onto the ground, knocked out cold. She proceeded to straighten her clothes, picking up the dog food, and turned to kick Ricky again in the balls, as well as his stomach to ensure he stayed knocked out.
"Fuck you, asshole," she hissed, spitting on his face.
She turned and exited the alley, running towards her house and never once looking back.
When she finally returned home, she threw the door closed so hard the whole house shook. She stood with her back against the door, her chest heaving up and down as she tried to catch her breath. She slid into a sitting position, hugging her legs to her chest as tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her bruised face.
Holy crap, she thought. I almost died today. What if—what if she actually did die? What if she hadn't gotten away from Ricky…?"
She shook her head, snot flying from her dripping nose. No, she thought angrily. I'll be damned if that bastard kills me without me getting to right my wrongs. God, she had to apologize everyone she'd hurt like he did to her, tell her family that yes, I do love you, and no, I will never hurt anyone again.
Rona and Andi Flanagan were found dead on the floor of their secret lab.
After what seemed like forever (two hours in reality) of crying, Tootie had extinguished the Timmy fire with a garden hose and decided to make dinner. Checking the garage and finding the old sedan, she noticed her parents were home from work and went upstairs to look for them. She figured she'd treat them by making whatever they wanted.
She knocked on their bedroom door, opened it, and poked her head inside. "Mom? Dad? You there?" Hearing no answer, she figured they'd be in the home office downstairs. Repeating the knocking routine, she found the richly-furnished office to be empty. Hm…That's weird, she thought. Well, they have to be here. Their car's here.
Tootie decided to call them, picking up the cordless phone from the mahogany desk. Dialing her dad's cell, she looked around the office absentmindedly, listening for an answer. What captured her attention the most was the massive bookcase that took up one wall and was filled with thick chemistry leather bounds and biology dictionaries. Hearing the voicemail message, she hung up and dialed her mom's cell. Once again, she stared at the bookcase. Huh. From this angle, it seemed like the bookcase was a door and it was open.
Now she was confused. Tootie hung up the phone, and walked around the desk to face the bookcase. She inspected the side, and there it was. It was slightly askew, which she would've missed had she not been wearing her glasses. Carefully, she slowly pushed aside the heavy bookcase and found herself looking down at a flight of stairs. Well, I might as well, she figured. Things can't get any weirder than this, right?
Oh, how wrong she was. Oh, how wrong she was when she found herself in a high-tech, chrome laboratory that she was surprised fit under their house, given how big the lab was. Oh, how wrong she was when she found both her parents' crumpled forms by the huge computer monitor, black and purple bruises around their throats and found that, upon checking, they had no pulse.
That's when she started screaming.
Vicky sat on the front porch steps of their house, looking off into the distance, red and blue lights flashing about in a cacophony of chaos. She couldn't—no, refused to believe it. Her parents were dead. And just when she was about to apologize for being such a crappy daughter! She chuckled humorlessly at the irony.
Tootie turned away from the police officer, who was taking notes of the crime scene, to look at Vicky. Even though Vicky had been pretty much a complete psychotic bitch to her for practically her whole life, she couldn't help but feel sorry for her when she saw how broken and tired she looked. It almost seemed as if—no, it couldn't be. She squinted. Were those bruises on her arms and face?
Mumbling a quick "Sorry, have to go," to the police officer, Tootie walked to her sister.
"So," Vicky mumbled, barely coherent because she was just so fucking sore and tired all over. "They're gone, huh?"
Saying nothing, Tootie sat next to her and wrapped her arms around Vicky. It seemed like she really needed a hug.
Vicky blinked twice, shocked at her sister touching, let alone hugging her. She hadn't had a hug in—wait, when was the last time she had a hug?
When Tootie felt no response, she pulled away warily. What was she thinking, touching the girl who'd made her life a living hell? She tensed, waiting for the sucker punch to come.
"Why'd you do that?" Vicky asked gruffly, trying to mask the sudden wave of emotion she felt in her voice.
Tootie relaxed, thanking god she wasn't going to get hurt yet. "Well, it just seemed like you needed a hug," she reasoned. "Besides, all we have is each other." She said in a softer voice.
"Th—that's true," Vicky replied, trying to soften her voice. God, why couldn't she have come earlier? Maybe, just maybe…
A sudden loud rattle of metal made them divert their attention to the ambulance parked in front of the house. Tootie's eyes watered as she watched a pair of medics wheel a pair of white sheet-covered gurneys into the open ambulance. Vicky felt her heart ache in remorse. Which reminds her…
"Tootie," she started, trying to sound as genuine and solemn as possible. "I—I—I'm s—sorry… Y'know, for making your life a living hell. I—I know that what I did was wrong, and I understand if you don't wanna forgive me. But I just wanted to let you know be—because… Like you said, all we have is each other." She choked out, tears flowing down her battered face.
Tootie blinked in shock. Had she heard her right? Was Vicky apologizing? For one split second, she considered throwing it back in her face and laughing at her shamelessness, but then she saw how broken her face was, saw the sheer remorse and sadness in her sister's now red-rimmed rosy eyes.
She hugged Vicky again, squeezing a little tighter this time. "I forgive you, sis. Bu—but… What happened to you?" she asked, pulling back and gesturing to Vicky's bruised arms and scraped cheek.
Vicky sighed. She really didn't wanna relive that experience, but… Tootie had a right to know. "Well, I we—wait, what happened to you?" she asked poking Tootie's right arm, where she had a slight burn mark she didn't remember causing. And now that she noticed it… She noticed Tootie's red, swollen, bloodshot eyes, and the salt trails her tears left on her face.
Oh shoot. Well… Vicky did have a right to know…
"Tootie!" a familiar high-pitched voice reverberated through the chilly Tuesday night. "Tootie! What happened? Are you alright?"
Tootie raised her head, furrowing her eyebrows as she watched who else, Timmy Turner run towards her, panting slightly and ignoring the police officers' cries of protest.
She took him in, his trademark pink hat, his cheeks flushed pink from running, and those eyes, oh god those eyes, which were now looking at her in concern.
No, she silently chastised herself. You need to forget about him. Stop chasing after him! He's going out with Trixie Tang, remember? Perfect Trixie Tang? He won't need you anymore. That seemed to shake her out of her mental argument. "Yes, we're ok, Timmy," she replied emotionlessly. That's better. "You need to go now; this isn't any of your business."
Timmy stared at her, shocked. Had Tootie asked—no, told him to go away? Him, Timmy Turner? The object of her undying (and persistent) affection? And why did she sound like that? So, flat, so lifeless, so dead?
"B-but I was just trying to—"
"Just go, twerp," Vicky spoke up from beside Tootie, sounding equally as dead. Wait, was Vicky not threatening him? And were those—dare he say it—tears running down her usually malicious face? Gosh, with all this, you'd think somebody died, he thought. Oh Timmy…
"Fine." He muttered, slightly hurt that Tootie, of all people, had told him to leave. He didn't need this anyway, he reasoned. He'd just been interrupted in the middle of his daydream of his and Trixie's date Friday night. That, and Cosmo had been trying to help him pick out an outfit. So far, they'd decided on black slacks and a sombrero…
Tootie watched as Timmy stomped away, muttering to his green scarf, pink mittens, and purple wristwatch. He'd always been weird…
She turned back to Vicky, who had been staring at Timmy thoughtfully. "Well," Tootie said. "It seems we have a lot to catch up on."
A/N: So, how was it? Too vague? Well, hopefully it'll help clear up some confusion for the future chapters. And I'm sorry about the crappy Vicky-Ricky scene! I'm just really bad with action scenes in general. -_- Don't forget to R&R!
P.S.: Sorry if Vicky seems a little OOC, but I think that almost dying/getting raped can totally change your outlook on life and how you treat people. Just my opinion.