Disclaimer: I don't own BTR. As much as I wish I did…
A/N: I haven't written anything in quite a while! School. Ugh. This is another plot bunny I had written for the 100 theme challenge. Theme 92 – All That I Have. No slash this time, haha.
Some long time ago, I was at school. Real high school back in Minnesota, that is. I was in the bathroom combing my hair – with my lucky comb, of course – in the mirror, smiling to myself. And when I was done, I straightened out my jacket and t-shirt and was about to leave when some guy stopped me.
At the time, I knew who the guy was. I don't remember him now. But he had asked me a question, and I remember a million things running through my brain and virtually nothing coming out of my mouth.
"Why are you so obsessed with your looks? Isn't that kind of gay?"
Well, no, I wanted to say. I haven't always been like this, so outwardly narcissistic. It started when I was younger, before the day he left – a day I smile at when I look at the date on my phone. December 3rd, actually.
But before he left, I was so young, and he beat me, I wanted to say. A lot. Most abusive fathers come home drunk every once in a while and beat their kids – only when they're drunk, or perhaps the more easily angered ones would beat their kids when they were in a bad mood.
Not mine. He would beat me because it was Tuesday, or because it was raining. No reason at all, I wanted to say. Sometimes they weren't too bad – a bruise or a black eye that would fade in a couple days. Other times they were pretty bad – he once broke two ribs of mine. He also cracked my head open once by throwing me down our uncarpeted flight of stairs.
When they weren't incredibly violent, though, and just him holding me against a wall and punching me, names usually went along with it. He'd call me so many things and when I was so little, I didn't really know what any of them meant. And I don't remember exactly what he called me now. (Actually, I do. I just don't wanna think about it right now, man.)
And the reason I'm so obsessed with my looks, I wanted to say. He never called me ugly.
I would've remembered that. It was a plethora of things he called me, I wanted to say. Ugly was never one of them.
And even when he left, those things still played in my head. Nightmares and the like. That shit takes a toll on your self-esteem like no one can believe, really.
I took some catharsis in hockey and in singing, and I'm so glad I found Kendall and Logan and Carlos because I'm not sure I would've made it through the roller coaster of his leaving without their help, I wanted to say. But what I took the most comfort in was making myself look good.
I figured, really, that I wasn't good for anything except my appearance, because that's what he said. And I know what you're thinking, kid – why the hell should I believe anything some psychotic man says? I'm still not sure, because I still think that way. I guess I have singing, and I'm pretty good at that. But if he thinks I'm not ugly, and that's the only thing that isn't wrong with me, why shouldn't I focus on that?
"Because when you have hair this great, you gotta keep it looking good."
A/N: Is it kinda sick that I can only imagine James with an abusive father? Probably. Review review review pretty please! Thanks for reading!
