"Would you say that you have a drinking problem?" The orange haired lady asked me softly.
"Nah, I'd say I've got it pretty much figured out." I reply.
"Well uh...are you ever concerned with your health?"
"Not particularly no. I'll die from what kills me."
"What's your favorite drink?"
"An open one."
"How do you know if you've had too much if you're not worried about your health?"
"There ain't any left."
The lady paused, her brow furrowing at my sarcastic and mostly rude replies.
"I think you should consider AA."
"No thanks ma'am, AA is for quitters." With that, I rose from the stiff chair she'd had me sit in, several joints popping in the process.
AA my ass.
My homeroom class immediately follows that, the dull roar of 30 kids all seeking some sort of attention almost completely deafening me.
There's your standard groups of kids, the pizza faced nerds passing cards around at a table, light in their eyes suggesting happiness but the way they move is just so-I don't know what to call it. Ungraceful? It's a movement style you only see in groups who never leave their 'group'.
The jocks lob footballs to each other, with cheerleaders on arm. It's a disgusting display really, the men see the women as none other than holes and the women see each other as threats to their man. Their disdain for each other but contempt for those 'below' them is written across their faces.
Gross.
The misfits all mostly sit together, talking about anime or spells or music or that kinda stuff. These people are generally the ones to talk about how society has wronged them or some bullshit.
The final group; the hard asses. I guess I may use that phrase in the wrong sense, but these are the kids who think they're tough and practically seek out trouble. The kids that talk like they're worth a million bucks but you can see when they move that they're actually incredibly unconfident.
That's actually the group that draws the girls in the most, believe it or not.
I mean, I should know, right? I do the same thing.
Fuck, I need a cigarette.
My wandering gaze falls from the shitty pink wallpaper to a head of hair I'm not quite familiar with.
Orange. Bright motherfucking orange.
The kid has his head down, maybe sleeping? I take a moment to look at him, just kind of trying to get a read of him. He's wearing chucks and jeans and a t shirt, with a chain leading to what I assume to be a wallet, a pair of headphones in his ears. There's got to be more to this kid, he didn't sit in a place that the "normal" kids would usually sit in.
He shifts in his chair and that's when it hits me.
His knuckles are all bandaged. There's slight bloodstains barely showing through, bruising around the area. He tilts his head to one side and I see the bruises on his neck and how puffy his lips are, a cut under his left eye.
Jesus fucking Christ this kid looks like shit.
Out of the corner of my eye, I detect movement.
A jock steps forward, laughing over his shoulder to his friends.
Pfft. Probably a dare or some shit.
He takes a step towards the orange haired kid. And another. And another. Before I know it, he's there, ripping the ear buds off of the kid.
I'm watching closely and carefully, eager to see this.
The kid lazily brings his head up, a now open cut dripping down slowly.
"Ya got a problem there man?" He questions, brown eyes dancing.
"Yeah, was wondering how much of a sick fuck you have to be to like your sex as rough as you do." The jock replied, rubbing his knuckles with one hand.
Without a second of hesitation, the orange haired kid quipped back "not nearly as sick as your mom was to beg for it, and I thought I was kinky!"
The jock let out a little surprised sound as he raised his fist, only to find himself in an arm bar.
"Leave the kid alone, Ikakku." I growled, tightening my bar.
"Ya know Grimm, all the change I've seen you go through and I still can't fucking stand you." A voice calls from behind me.
"Good god Gin, who gave you permission to stand? Better sit your ass back down before someone makes a fucking fool out of you." I reply, head whipping back.
He better not bring up the whole fucking change topic. That's really fucking cheap to do. I can feel my whole body start up a cold sweat in anticipation, recalling old experiences.
God look at this little fucking fatty, watch him run!
Fuck running, it's not like his fatass could actually get away!
The scars on my torso and my shoulders and my legs immediately ache and burn, the memories of the countless hours spent looking at myself in the mirror and just fucking hating everything flooding my head.
The jocks walk away bickering, leaving me in the space in front of a very annoyed orange haired kid.
"Ya alright blue?" He questions through slight bangs.
I snap back into reality, muttering a quick 'Entschuldigung'.
I sit back down before I can make more of a fool of myself.
Why the fuck did I help him? He can handle a fight.
Actually I suppose that isn't wholly true, he either can handle one very well or not at all. I just don't want to see someone hurt like I was I guess.
He nods at me, a quick, short little upward head flick that's barely noticeable.
A manly thanks.
I nod back, leaning down quickly to rip a paper out of one of my notebooks. I scrawl my name on it in blue pen, hoping he gets my meaning.
I get up and walk it to him, trying to look nonchalant when in actually my heart is beating very very very fast and I almost feel like puking.
His eyes meet mine, saying my name questioningly.
I nod in affirmation, and he tells me his with mirth-lit eyes.
Ichigo.
Why the fuck did I bother writing a note if I was just going to walk it to him?
God am I stupid-"now you say my name."
I raise a single eyebrow at him. "Ichigo?"
"There. I know your name, you know mine. It's a respect thing."
The bell rings, and the exhilarating feeling of drowning yet also fucking doesn't leave me for the rest of the day.
When the fuck did I become such a girl?
Finally, the end of the day arrives and I can silence my thoughts with a shot and a cigarette.
That's what I hope at least, until I realize that I'm surrounded by the entire varsity football team.
Fuck.
Shit.
"Ya can't just talk to Gin like tha-"
The football player is silenced by a-holy fuck I think he got kicked in the head.
Orange hair and brown-now-almost-gold eyes meet mine.
A collective gasp meets our ears and we fight them off back to back, until someone somewhere hits me in the ribs with a fucking bat.
I stumble forward, wheezing and clutching my already fucked up broken body but still managing to land a solid kick to my attacker's wrist, the crack definitely audible.
Ichigo catches the bat in one hand and delivers an uppercut to the poor bastard's chin. Scowling and unwrapping his hands, he cracks his knuckles.
"Work on your speed, Grimm."
He then walks away, rubbing his now bleeding knuckles.
"Ichigo..." I called after him, making sure I didn't sound overly excited.
He stops and turns, waiting for whatever I have to say.
I opt out of words, giving him a short nod.
The smile on his face as he nodded back is what put me in the predicament I'm currently in.
I'm home. That, in and of itself, is something my brain can hardly even process anymore.
I don't like it here. Every instinct I have says run until you can't fucking run anymore, evolve to grow wings and fly. It is not safe here and it never will be, all I can remember are-
No. Stop. Bad. We've been working on this.
I plop down on the edge of my twin bed, sitting in front of my shitty full person mirror.
Blood stains the edges of it, a sort of fitting decoration.
I laugh lightly, the mirror is just as bloody and fucked up as I was when I stood in front of it.
God I'm so fucking scared. I can't get my fucking thoughts straight, do I go to Nnoi's house? If he comes home drunk I can't do anything.
Fuck. I rub the dirt of the fight off of my face, running my hands through my hair.
The front door slams.
Oh fuck no not now it's too early-I gotta hide oh my God-"Grimmjow, bist du zu Hause?"
My blood fucking runs ice cold, I lose feeling in my fingers and toes.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I see how pale I've suddenly gotten.
Fucking disgusting Grimmjow. You're stronger than this.
"Ja Vati, ich bin zu hause." I slowly call back, listening as closely as I can.
"Komm hier bitte." The deep bass voice rumbles at me, probably in the kitchen.
Scary.
No.
Run.
Hide.
But that would just make it worse for me later.
I get downstairs, my heart racing.
The smell fucking hits me like a truck, dad's normal blend of vodka and tequila permeating the room.
"Was für ein Note bekommst du in Mathe." He states calmly as he can, swaying slightly.
I take the deepest breath I can muster and practically whisper, "ich bekomme ein 2."
The breath is shortly knocked out of me, a solid punch landing on my stomach.
"Stupid fucking faggot."
Jesus Christ did that hurt, I wheeze on my knees on the floor.
"And you are a little faggot aren't you? Maybe you're a big fucking faggot. You always did like my cock inside of you too much."
I can't fight back. I won't. What would mom say?
Another punch, this time aiming for my throat.
"You're the reason we live in this shithole. You're the reason your mother is gone.
This is all your motherfucking fault."
He grabs me by my throat, pinning me to the wall.
I'm 6'2". He's 6'7".
My father is Viktor Ivanov-Jaegerjaques. Ex Russian spetznaz. Black belt in everything.
I can't breathe. He slips a pill in my mouth and whispers a short good night.
When I wake up later that night, I feel everything.
The pain in my ass, undoubtedly from him fucking it.
The churning in my stomach-though I guess that is normal now.
My head hurts, but every time I get up to check physical damage, my now probably torn ass fucking stings and I can feel it through my spine, bone jarring fire like the broken finger or two I'm sure I have.
This is one of the worse nights.
It didn't used to be like this. We were happy. My sister, my mom, my dad and I.
But one day my mom-no. I can't think of this right now.
It hurts, it hurts so fucking much.
My heart feels like it skips whenever I think of mom. I've never missed someone like this.
I can hear her voice on the wind, I can see her face in the stars.
I can feel her guiding touch, her presence in everything I do, everywhere I go.
The tears start to fall.
This is my punishment. It's my fault they're gone and I deserve every ounce of pain I get. This is God punishing me.
The people I love always die and that's my fault too. I can't let anyone close, they don't need to see this.
This is fucking weakness. Dad says we can't be weak, we have to be strong. Dad's a good man. He knows how to discipline me when I've fucked up.
I deserve it.
Mom wanted to move to the US, so we did, dad worked 72 hour weeks to make enough money.
Dad is a good man.
I need to be hit. I need to suffer for what I've done.
I deserve this.
My tired mind jumps to a different topic.
Ichigo.
It's my fault he got in that fight with me.
It's my fault his knuckles are bloody.
I bet the jocks will hunt him for that, my fault.
My fault, my fault, my fault.
I need to stay away from him before he really gets hurt.
I manage to roll over, staring at myself in the mirror.
I don't like what looks back at me. I'm broken and weak and I'm ugly and stupid.
I strip down to my boxers, investigating any wounds.
Black eyes. Cuts along my jaw, cuts on my chest. My stomach is covered in bruises and my sides are spotted with cuts and bruises.
I pull at my stomach skin, still somewhat loose over my abs with a couple slightly more noticeable scars.
Disgusting.
I prod at my shoulders, paying attention to the skin there too.
Fucking worthless.
I lay back on my bed, checking my fingers and toes for broken-ness. When all is good, I sit up.
500 sit ups sounds good. 500 push ups.
Then maybe I'll sleep.
Maybe.
With my exercise done, I withdraw my vodka bottle from under my bed.
That burn has never felt so fucking good.
I wake up a couple hours later, my body sore from my punishment and my muscles sore from satiating my need to prove my strength.
Fuck.
I pop a couple aspirin, showering to wash the blood off.
Good thing dad is already at work.
I have to check my outfit carefully, opting out of chucks in favor of boots. I choose the more baggy of my jeans, throwing on a loose white t shirt and a grey flannel over it.
Under one of the floorboards in my room is a bag of makeup. Not something I'm proud of, but I don't like the questions people ask
I can't just tell them that God is punishing me.
I pat on the costume makeup almost putty base, covering the black eyes and the hand marks on my throat, and then covering the paste with foundation and concealer and powder just as most girls would.
For a different reason, but in the same way.
I finally make it outside and start up my truck, giving it a bit to warm up before arriving my traditional half hour early to school.
I linger in my truck for just a second, noting the temperature of 43 degrees outside.
Fuck it's cold.
I hop out, immediately getting goosebumps, shrugging the collar of my leather jacket into a standing position. Slicking my hair back, I pull my zippo from my jacket and light my cig.
God fucking dammit is that burn satisfying.
The giggle of a murder of girls interrupts my peaceful inhalation of carcinogens.
I pause, mid drag, their whispers too high pitched and giggly for them to actually be intending to be quiet.
Tch. Gross. Classless whores.
I hope they can hear my eyes roll.
Leaning against the flagpost in front of the school grounds, I unzip my jacket. The cold is almost refreshing when juxtaposed to the chronic skank noises approaching me.
I allow my gaze to wander, casting my gaze across the paved pathway center in the grass that makes up the school courtyard.
Oh God why today.
"Hey Grimm."
Fuck I can feel the bile rising.
"Yes?" I retort, not bothering to remove my cig from my mouth.
"You can't smoke here...but I'd smoke you."
My eyes meet hers, and I know that she can see it. God I hope that she can see it. Contempt and smugness in my smirk and 'I'd-love-to-suck-your-cock' in her "sultry" gaze.
"Honey we fucked once and it's because I wanted to make your hot friend jealous."
Ah yes. There it is. The shock.
And the hand flying towards my face.
Eh.
"Well you said my name when you came." She almost yelled, silenced by me catching her slap.
"Sweetheart I don't even know yer fuckin name."
"Fuck you asshole-" her friend cuts her off.
"Stace, I'd still bang him. God I could just drink him up."
Ah yes this, I have just the thing for this.
I hold up one hand, suggesting a pause. It takes me a mere couple seconds to locate it, my handy bottle of cleansing fluid.
I take another drag from my cig, handing the bottle to her.
"Here hun drink this instead."
"Grimm...this is bleach."
"Did I stutter?"
They both huff away, muttering something about me being "a really fuckin shitty lay anyway".
I have to contain my laugh at that point, because I know that if I let it out I'd probably start internally bleeding or some shit. I'm a good lay. I've been told so. That's why girls keep coming back.
"He wouldn't let me touch him..."
My blood fucking boiled. This is common knowledge, I don't let em touch me. Hell, I hardly let them see me. We do it doggy style or we don't do it at all, there is no closeness.
There's just sweat on sweat and release. That's all.
And yes, the voice in my head is currently screaming 'you don't want them to see you as you', but I shove that off.
I'm not a fucking pussy.
Period 1. Gym. This should be fucking fun. I quickly put some sweats on, followed by a sweatshirt. It's too hot to wear this shit but I don't care, no one can know about my marks. If they took dad away, who would discipline me?
The dreaded hour comes faster than I'd like, throwing my shit down on the farthest back table in my homeroom class.
Ichigo paces in, scanning the room. He sets his stuff underneath our table and drops down next to me, his gaze meeting mine.
Those chocolate brown eyes go from cheerful to concerned faster than I can think of a story to cover my ass.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Don't lie to me, I've seen you fight and that's the most vulnerable you'll ever see someone."
What? Is that how that works? Well fuck that is not what I intended.
"Eh."
His fist meets the table and I nearly fall out of my seat.
My blood turns to ice and I can feel my heart start getting erratic, all fibers of my being telling me to get the fuck out.
But I can't.
I know that he cares, sitting there looking at me with those doe eyes. It's like he's fucking searching my soul, whatever's left of it.
But I can't tell him. I barely know him! I can't tell anyone. They'll take my dad away and they'll deport me or they'll give me to someone where I'm not wanted, and then what would my mother say?
No, I can't.
"Grimmjow, what the fuck is wrong?" Well shit he's getting angry now what do I do how do I-
I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. "I'm just still feeling that hit I guess."
His look softens a bit. "Let's go to the bathroom and take a look."
Oh fuck. No. Fuck. No. That's not-no.
"Uh, no Ichigo I'm okay but thanks for offering." Shit! I think my accent is slipping through!
"Nah Grimm it's totally alright!"
And I broke. I almost fucking broke. I almost told him that it's not okay.
I almost told him everything. Why do I feel like this? I'm not a fucking homo like my dad says I am. Why do I feel like I can tell this boy everything and have him accept it and help?
It's because I'm weak. I'm a weak fucking faggot and he just wants to exploit me.
Men do stupid things when they're weak.
Mom is counting on me to learn everything from dad to keep me strong.
This isn't strong. This is fucking horrendous.
I focus on the leaves in the tree outside the window and I feel a liquid substance drop from my right eye.
There it is. Weakness.
Liquid fucking weakness.
Ichigo grabs a tissue from inside his backpack and sets it on the table.
I feel his gaze burn into my face, nudging it towards me. Why is he helping me? What does he want?
"When did you get that bruise." He states.
It wasn't a question or a request, it was a command. He sounded just like dad. I'll never be able to fight a tone like that.
"Last night."
"How?"
It only takes me a couple seconds to think of something plausible.
"I got in another fight."
I guess an answer like that is acceptable for him, because his features softened-though his eyes did not. He's giving me the 'I-know-you're-hiding-something' look.
He hands me a piece of paper, scrawling his number on it and an address.
"Well call me if ya need backup then."
The rest of the day was fine I guess. I paced out to my truck, hoping to take a nice nap before heading over to Nnoi's house.
Inside my truck is hot and stuffy, so I turn the AC on, setting up my sunshades so no one can see what I'm doing. I lean back and take a small nap.
I wake up to see things from a lower perspective-am I shorter? The walls are deep blue and the tile floors are checkered black and white, that's funny because it almost looks like-oh no.
It looks like home.
Fuck, shit, damn.
I rush upstairs to investigate and see if this is the memory I think it is.
I'm not ready to see this again, I relive this moment fucking constantly.
But even as I say that, I'm sure. I know what I'll find in that upstairs bathroom.
There it is, the monster I'm running from.
There's that young one with the loose ponytail and the big belly, 2 times the chins of a Chinese phonebook.
There's the glasses and the acne.
There's the scar on his collarbone and the word "unneeded" scrawled across his stomach.
There's the new stretch marks on his sides.
There's little me, seeing myself in the mirror and crying for the first time.
Fuck.
My heart throbs and my chest constricts like there's a weight on it, but I know there isn't.
Maybe if self-hatred actually had tangible weight to it.
I see those little purple lines and I lose it, I fucking lose it.
All the thoughts come racing back to me, all the soul sucking, blind hatred.
How would I get a girlfriend one day looking like that?
What if she touches me and she feels that? I shouldn't have these things, I shouldn't look like this, all I see is fat fat fat and the remnants of fat. What's the point anymore?
I'm gonna work out, I'm gonna eat less, I'll starve myself if I need to.
And then I remember.
It isn't my choice.
Daddy likes me this way.
I could cut my hair.
But it isn't my choice,
Daddy likes me this way.
Daddy likes me this way.
I wake up and cover my mouth to muffle the oncoming scream.
No, no, no, no.
Where is mom when I need her?
I whip out my wallet, eyeing the picture of the beautiful blue haired woman and the young green haired girl next to her.
Mom. Nel.
I know where I'm going to go.
It takes me 15 minutes to get to the cemetery, 15 life leeching minutes.
Mom's plot is one of the few overlooking the pond, she said that when she died she wanted to be buried somewhere where she could still see something beautiful.
Her headstone reads "Here lies Eva, loving mother, friend, and wife. Rest in paradise, you will be missed."
I can't help but take up my usual spot, kneeling before her grave. I feel through my pocket, grabbing the rosary that I always keep there.
"Hey mom, it's me, stopping by again. I miss you so much, there's so much I'd love to tell you. I'm trying harder in school now, trying to keep dad happy. I know that's what you'd want. I'm going to be getting a job, maybe then dad and I can move to a better place! I would have brought you flowers but you always said it was a waste of life and that you'd rather have a plant. I promised a friend I'd see him today, so I can't stay so long. I hope all is well and Nel is beautiful as ever. Say hi to her for me, will you? Thanks mom, I love you."
I kiss the headstone and walk away before mom can see the tears fall. She said it was pointless to waste tears over someone, that it's better to share them with someone.
I still don't understand it, but then I guess it's too late to ask now.
Halfway to my truck I spot a familiar head of bright orange hair.
Ichigo. What's he doing here?
He's headed into a mausoleum of some sort, probably to pay respects to his grandparents or something.
"Ichigo!" I call, tying to be quiet in this sacred place but also needing to be heard.
He whips around, tears running freely down his face. "Grimmjow? Why are you here?"
I gotta think fast, I don't need him knowing I've lost someone.
"Uh...I just like to visit." I stammer, pausing in front of the mausoleum entrance.
"Well come in I guess. Mom, dad, yuzu, Karin, this is Grimmjow, a friend from school. He defended me on my first day and I'd like to think that we're good friends now." He says, tears still falling.
Wow, we've only known each other for a day and he thinks we're awesome friends. He must not have too many-ah yeah he did say mom dad and two other names, must've been through some shit.
He keeps crying and I feel incredibly awkward here, this is not a space for me to be in and I don't know how to comfort him.
For some reason, though, seeing him cry tugs at the empty space my heart used to be.
"Ichigo, it's alright, they still love you." I find myself saying.
Wow that is quite unlike me, alright emotional self.
"Mom said loss is just a part of life and that tears are wasted on it." His tears continue falling.
"I find that talking to them and telling them about my day helps, asking them questions and relieving a little pain."
"You've lost someone?"
Fuck I have to think.
I mean, if he thinks we're good friends...
"My mom and my sister."
"I lost my parents and both sisters."
Oh shit yeah he really has it tough.
"My mom always said it's alright to cry, but that tears unshared are wasted. I never knew what that meant." I mutter, not particularly to anyone.
Ichigo pauses his sniffles for a second, "but that's easy! She was telling you not to bear pain alone!"
He sounds like that therapist I used to have, which is laughable.
"Loss is a part of life, Ichigo. And sometimes it's safer to take it solo and not hurt anyone else."
His gaze hardens and the tears stop falling. "Whatever is eating you, Grimmjow, just remember that you don't have to do it alone."
I turn tail and flee before he can see my resolve breaking, sending him a short nod on my way out.
I relish the feeling of the air hitting my face in my truck, taking a second to stretch.
It's 4pm. Time to head to Nnoi's try to make sense of this shit.
The sound of knee slapping laughter is somewhat relaxing, the standard aura of being-a-fucking-dick and being-a-hysterical-fucking-dick making me forget most of my worries.
"I'm sorry, what?" Nnoi says, the biggest eat shit grin on his face.
"There's this dude that has a thing for me or something." I mutter, trying to play it off and hoping my blush doesn't show.
Jesus Christ I'm a pussy.
"A dude? Really?" He pauses for a second, "I mean is he cute though?"
"I've never really thought about it."
"Fucking really Grimm? All you do is tag em and bag em and you haven't thought about it? Pull up his Facebook or something."
And so I do. I grab Nnoi's kinda dirty laptop and give him a disgusted look as I close the page " ", opting for Facebook instead.
"Here he is."
Nnoitora gives me this huge exasperated look.
"Fucking really grimmjow, you've given it no thought? He's fucking hot."
He must have noticed the irritation flashing in my eyes, because he backed down right away. "What kinda stuff has he said to you?"
"Well he helped me in a fight, he offered to check my wounds, he keeps prodding me if something is wrong, he asked about my bruises, and he told me 'my pain doesn't have to be taken alone', whatever tha fuck that means." I explain, dawning on me just now that those are in fact really non-friend level things to do.
"He likes ya."
"Nnoi I don't think he does actually."
"Then you like him."
"Nnoi no. No.
He's just really polite. There's no way he likes me." Hell, I don't even like me.
"Well he reads you like a book at the very least."
"No..."
"Grimmjow he literally says everything that you've needed to hear."
"Aye fuck you Nnoi you don't know what I need."
"We've been through this, and yes I do. I know exactly what you need, and I also know that the only thing keeping you from it is yourself."
I know he's right. I'm just gonna piss and moan about it. I don't have to LIKE that he's right.
When I get home, it's closer to 11, and dad is thankfully asleep.
So I thought.
I feel like a bad choice in corruption of champions, like I just wake up missing something.
Judging from the pain in my ass, I'd have to say it's my dignity.
But that's irrelevant, right now I just need a shot and a shave and I'll be good to go to school.
Which sucks, by the way. It almost always does. Homeroom is the only exception.
There's someone new standing in front of the classroom as Ichigo and I take our seats.
"My name is Yorouichi, I'm here to educate you."
Wow. Shocking. Never heard that before.
She pulls up a video, "raise your hands, how many of you have been abused?"
Almost everyone raises their hands.
I don't. I'm not weak.
I guess I must've been the only one because she called on me. "Alright mister...Jaegerjaques. Since you've never been abused, how would you define abuse?"
"Doing something nasty to someone who doesn't deserve it." I reply tensely, this whole topic makes me very uncomfortable.
"Incorrect. Abuse is defined as the repeated mistreatment of someone. Whether it is name calling, put downs, invalid blame placing, or beatings."
"But if they deserve it, or have earned it, it's not abuse." Ichigo elbows me in the ribs for my statement, mouthing 'let it go'.
Except my bruise is right there and I almost fall out of my chair.
Yorouichi raises a dark eyebrow at me. "No, it's not. There are better ways to handle a punishment than abuse."
"Lady, I think your 'abuse' is just god punishing us."
Her eyes flash at me. "But what if there is no God?"
Fuck no. Of course there is. God is there to give those who have nothing, something.
Ichigo's glare silences me.
Yorouichi shows us some videos of kids coming home and getting their asses handed to them, being called a name so much that they take it as their own, extremely severe punishments, sexual abuse.
It's almost funny.
Sitting around in this class, hearing this whore spout on and on about abuse is really making me think.
I wonder how many kids know how it really is.
I wonder how many kids are scared to come home, scared to see family.
"Victims of sexual abuse often have issues becoming intimate later in life." Yorouichi says, pointing to some graphs and numbers I can't read.
I scoff. Like hell they do.
She turns tail, "yes, Mr. Jaegerjaques?"
"I don't agree with that."
"You don't have to. It's proven fact."
I glare at her. She fiddles with her pencil and looks deep in thought.
"For instance, someone who's been hurt in a sexual scenario probably doesn't want to be touched during sex. They'll most likely tie or otherwise bind and prevent any unrestricted touching. Sex becomes less about enjoying yourselves and more of a chore. Victims of sexual abuse often hate having their faces seen or expressing themselves during the act, or even fully undressing because it makes them feel vulnerable and they have bad experiences tied to being vulnerable."
Well shit alright lady thanks for diagnosing my issues in front of the class, I hope to god no one can see how transparent I'm sure I am. Gotta cover my ass.
"Those are just normal things, ma'am. What if I don't want to be emotional with the people I've bedded?"
"Then you've got a lot more to worry about than sex right now."
Fuck she's a savage alright no thanks fine.
But talking to that bitch put me in a bad mood for the rest of the day.
Abuse is uncalled for. Discipline is necessary.
Ichigo grasps my wrist as my fingers grab the cold steel of my door handle.
"You gonna be alright?"
I look up from the dark tint on my window, looking into those doe eyes. I feel it, I really do.
He cares.
"I'll be alright Ichi."
Maybe that's why it hurts so much to lie to him.
I get in my truck and crank the A/C, deciding to leave my shade up in the front window. I wanna curl up and sleep a bit before he gets home, so I decide to crawl into the back of the cab of my truck and take a nap.
I wake with a start-or maybe I'm not awake. Around me are barren grey walls with faded and worn hardwood at my feet.
You know, the kind that gives you splinters.
There's a mirror along the wall to my left, cracked and dusty. I wipe it off with a plaid sleeve, peering at myself in it.
I like it, I like what I see. I've got awesome eyes and perfect brows, my hair is sculpted flawlessly. My face is round but that's okay because you can tell that I'll have a sexy as hell jawline one day.
And then I look down.
Ugh.
My shoulders? Where? I don't have visible collar bones. I don't have defined anything.
Where my six pack would be is instead a stretched out paunch that jiggles when I walk, that I tried so hard to hide with baggy plaid shirts.
I can't see my toes.
My arms have fucking wings attached.
I want to cry, I want to kick and scream and shout.
But I won't.
I remember this. I remember how I handled this.
I punch the mirror.
I punch it again.
I punch that fucking mirror until I can see the bones in my knuckles.
Then I cry.
I hate every fucking thing I see, everything I am.
I hate the fact that I hate everything.
I hate myself for hating myself, doesn't that sound great?
But I remember. I remember, no matter how much I try to forget.
All I do is cry, not a damned thing else.
I don't get up and make effort to lose any weight, I don't put lotion on my stretch marks to try to ease them away.
I don't do anything, I can barely even work out any tears.
Because I'm resigned to this, I've fucking accepted this.
I'm fat and I will stay fat, it's not worth it to work at all.
I was 13 years old and I had already realized that even 100 pounds lighter, no one would want me.
No matter how good I looked or how anyone else saw me.
I knew I couldn't let someone touch me. They'd know, they'd leave. Because I'm fucking disgusting and there isn't a damned thing I'll do to handle it.
No matter what I do or who I become, I always have and always will be useless and worthless.
No one knows what that's like.
To want and to want incessantly to change but to have so little motivation that you can't act upon it.
Do you know how badly I'd love to lose weight? Even knowing that I'd still be unwanted.
I'd sell my soul to lose weight.
But I'm so depressed that I can't even get up.
What kind of fucking solution to this exists?
God dammit I wake up and I wake up bawling.
This isn't something men do. Men don't wake up and cry like bitches.
I bet faggots do.
Like dad said, I'm a pathetic fucking faggot.
Maybe I need to see dad when he gets home, to give me the punishment I deserve.