Little, Lost Boy In A Big, Maze World
Everyone believes Lindsey McDonald to be the bad guy, which he is. For the most part of this you see the beginning of the cruel Lindsey that we see in 'Angel' and how he evolved to the harsh man that he is today. On the smaller section, you see the vulnerable side to him and realise that he didn't have life easy, and most people can relate to him at that point. I hope Lindsey wasn't too OOC – I tried so damn hard to make him not a pussy like Angel (no offense to any Angel fans out there) and make him seem cruel with that hint of childhood innocence for just one time. Rate and Review, or I'll send Wolfram & Hart after you!
He didn't mean anything he had said or done. It was mainly done or said because his life would be cut short if he didn't do or say those things. And he certainly didn't want to turn into the monster that he was. As a child he was innocent . . . sort of. But his Mum thought he was, and that was the main thing. But his Dad saw through his carefully constructed lies and walls. His Dad tore them down and made him face his demon. He lost. He always lost against the darkness that was boiling inside of him. He loathed his Dad. They never got along. Even when he was first born he wouldn't hold Lindsey. His Dad was drunk – like always – when he was born. He was abusive, cruel, and harsh; he gave unnecessary punishments. Lindsey endured whippings/lashings, beatings, verbal abuse about how lousy and pathetic Lindsey was. His Dad even punched him in front of Lindsey's first and last crush. It was a 'silly school boy crush' as his Dad said anyway. It wouldn't last, and it certainly wouldn't go anywhere.
His Dad was always there, pulling Lindsey's confidence down, brutally breaking and tearing his dreams and aspirations to pieces of nothing, stamping on them and feeding the remaining shreds to the Dogs of Hell. Always in the peripheral of Lindsey's vision, glaring at him, ready for Lindsey to make the wrong move or say the wrong thing, and some how, Lindsey always did something wrong. Held the knife and fork wrong, smiled wrong, laughed wrong, stood wrong, sat wrong, hugged wrong, kissed someone on the cheek wrong; everything was wrong. Nothing was right. Lindsey wasn't right. He was wrong and evil and impure. Lindsey always would be. But being wrong could be fun, as Lindsey found out at the age of fifteen. Sure, he was under the age–limit, but did he really give a flying fuck? No. 'Cause he was a wrong boy. Born wrong and he would always live wrong. The rough sex he had with the sluts of Texas high schools was the most wrong thing at his age. Every other boy was still 'pure', not that pure existed; no one was 'pure'.
When Lindsey was seventeen, his Mum died, a year away from freedom of the House Cage, as he called it. That was when he went as wrong as wrong could go for his age. Drugs, drinks, sex, gambling, house robberies, grand theft auto. The whole lot, you name it. Lindsey had done it. And he enjoyed every fucking minute of it. The adrenaline that pumped through his veins, not knowing if you were going to be caught, evading the police. He had got into some serious shit. Serious shit like fights, armoury wars, stabbings, shootings . . . God, the thrill. It was the fucking thrill of it all. Thrill. Lindsey needed the thrill to stop himself from getting his hand gun from his bed side cabinet, putting it to his temple and pulling the trigger. Thrill was the reason that her was here, sitting at the desk of Wolfram & Hart after being offered a spanking new office along with a promotion by Holland Manners, with a smug smile written across his 'wrong' face. Dad wouldn't call him wrong if he heard about Lindsey being a lawyer, but if he knew the truth . . . Lindsey grinned even wider than before. Not that Dad could know anyway – to know you would have to be alive, and Dad being alive was as likely as Lindsey going to Angel, begging for redemption. Lindsey made sure the Dad was as dead as a doornail. After an hour or so of torture and three bullets to the head, there would be no way for Dad to survive. Redemption – a chance of good.
Lindsey frowned.
He had a chance to be that – the knight in shining armour, the prince with a white horse; the saviour, a hero. Lindsey could have put the 'wrong' behind him. Could have . . . But this – this – was so much better. If only Mum could see him now – no, wait. Mum wouldn't have liked this. She would have hated it. She would have told him naughty he was to allow innocent people to die, to know that he was the partial cause for the bad in the world. Mum lived in a fairy-tale that everyone was nice and loving. Fairy-tales weren't real, though. Nothing good was. No one was good. Not even that irritating, infuriating, arrogant, cocky, self-assured, good-doing, so-called 'saint' like jerk face, shiny assed vampire that called himself Angel. He wasn't a hero. Hero's didn't have something brilliant and rewarding waiting for them at the end of the road, and Angel did. He had humanity, the chance to be a human again at the end of his 'good'-doing road, didn't he? Yes. So he was no hero. It's not like heroes exist. Lindsey was no hero, that was for certain. If heroes existed, maybe Lindsey would give it a shot. Lindsey would like to be a hero. He could be a hero if he tried hard enough, but heroes didn't exist. Only in fairy-tales, and fairy-tales weren't true. They were make-believe for children to fall asleep to while they were read to them. A little three year old boy laying in bed, brown hair messy, blue eyes fluttering closed while the mother read 'Sleeping Beauty' to him, and smiling when he yawned. She leaned down and kissed his forehead, whispering 'Night, night' before turning on the nightlight and the little boy fell into a deep sleep.
Lindsey wanted to be that child again.
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