This story is the sequel to my other fic, 'Love This Pain'. It is considered Book II of the 'Love Vs. Misery' saga. You do not have to read LTP to understand this fic, but it will certainly help. Contains mature topics and language. Rated M for a reason. Well, several.

Chapter 1: What an Asshole Lives For

Brady

My name is Brady. And I am an asshole.

A self-aware asshole, as a matter of fact.

I knew what I was. You could say that I owned it.

The wood of the headboard creaked under my iron grip. The sheets were starting to get damp with our sweat, her cries were too shrieky and annoying, and my roommates probably wanted to kill me, but none of that mattered. Instead, I went faster, thrusting my hips against her until I heard the satisfying slapping noise of our bodes as they moved. She bit her lip and moaned, her nails digging into my ass as she came.

"Oh!...Brady...fuck yes!" she cried, her voice high-pitched and needy. "You're amazing!"

"I know," I grunted, pushing harder. It had only taken me an hour to get her into bed. That was all it took – I was just that good. As I watched the tan, big breasted brunette girl cry out beneath me, I was struck with a delightful thought.

I was such an asshole, but...it feels good to be me. Lifting up her leg, I slung it over my shoulder and gave her a wink, before changing the angle of my movements. She arched her back and mewled into the pillow, her body spasming with pleasure. Jesus, it feels so good to be me. Especially right now.

She twisted again, her mouth falling open and her eyes turning hazy as her orgasm overcame her body. "Say my name!"

Fuck.

Maybe it wasn't so good.

I groaned and pretended to be so lost in my euphoria that I couldn't speak. Instead, she wailed again and begged me to say her name. I felt myself begin to coil as my own release approached, taking over every thought in my mind.

"Brady...what's my name?" she panted, staring up at me. I growled and pummeled her faster, ignoring her icy glare.

"Ahhh!" I grunted, tumbling over the edge. My cock pulsed in pleasure as my body reeled, my breathing heavy and labored. Fuck, I definitely loved sex. I felt my own release calm my frazzled thoughts for a good five seconds before her high-pitched whiny voice broke through again.

"Um, hello?"

I glanced down at the stilled body beneath me, raising an eyebrow in question. "Yes?"

She fumed. "I asked you what's my name?"

I paused, debating my answer. "Um, Michelle?"

She gasped in disgust, pushing me off of her with a grunt. Standing up, she wiped her sweaty hair out of her face with a pouty noise. "My name is Kelly. Not Michelle. Not even close, and this is the third time we've hooked up!"

"I was drunk!" I protested, flopping down on my bed. I sighed, trying to catch my breath as I basked in the post-orgasmic feeling that had overtaken my body. I watched as she picked her clothes up off the floor, quickly dressing. It was true - I had managed to get drunk for a good half an hour. About a bottle and a half of Jameson had done the trick, and I had been determined to ride out the feeling before the searing heat of my body burned it off.

When you were a shape-shifting werewolf with a lava-esque body temperature, it was hard to enjoy the feeling of being drunk for long, and I had wanted to revel in it. We had fucked twice last night and once this morning, and well...an hour of drunken sweet talking to her bimbo ass had been worth it.

"Next time you try to pick me up after a night of drinking, I'll remind myself that your cock's not worth it, even if it's huge. I hope karma makes it fall off. Then what would you do?"

"Not gonna happen sweetheart. Don't let the door hit you on the way out," I chuckled.

You're an asshole," she spat, swinging the door open. She pulled it shut with a slam, disappearing.

"Yeah, well tell me something I don't know, bitch!" I bellowed after her. I couldn't even finish that sentence without laughing. I leaned against my headboard, pulling the used condom off and tossing it into the trash. I didn't care if she was angry with me, and I didn't really care if my roommates were pissed at me for fucking the shit out of her despite our paper thin walls. Pulling on a pair of boxers, I stumbled out of my bedroom and down the hall, finding one of my roommates at the kitchen table.

Embry looked up at me, his gaze reproachful as he crunched on his cereal. "Really?" he asked flatly. I barked out a laugh, slapping his shoulder as I sauntered past.

"Really," I confirmed, flinging the cabinet open. "Christ, are we already out of clean bowls? My mom did the dishes like a week ago!"

"Yes, Brady, we're out of bowls. Call mommy to have her do your dishes," Embry snapped. Shit, was he ever grouchy lately. I felt my skin crawl as he mentioned my mother.

"Hey," I growled, turning around. "My mom does my dishes because I'm busy."

"Yeah? Well, does she know her baby is busy fucking the whoriest girls in La Push?"

I grabbed a gigantic mixing bowl, placing it on the counter with a clatter. Embry looked up, obviously annoyed with my antics. "You're one to talk."

He rolled his eyes and grunted. Whatever. He could be pissed at me for all I cared. He was rarely home anyway, and I could give a shit if I was on his bad side. I had needed a good fuck anyway. I became antsy if I didn't get some every week or so.

"Last night you were loud, this morning you were just disgusting. Isn't it time to grow up a little?" he asked.

I laughed loudly again as I poured a mammoth sized portion of cereal into the too-big bowl, sloshing a generous portion of milk on top. "Spoken like a true imprinted pussy," I chuckled.

Embry frowned at me, his eyes turning down towards his breakfast. He had imprinted not long ago, and apparently it had been nothing but constant ups and downs for him since then. His imprint had major daddy issues, and had caused him nothing but trouble since she had come into his life. I didn't understand why people celebrated imprinting – it was nothing to celebrate.

It wasn't a blessing.

It was a death sentence.

Imprinting was a phenomenon that was supposed to be rare. Rare my ass. It was only a true blessing in extremely rare situations. In my opinion, two prerequisites need to be met for imprinting to provide any form of happiness.

One, the girl had to be single, the same age or only slightly younger. Two, she had to be open to the whole freaky supernatural part of our lifestyle.

The instances of that happening were slim. Very slim. Half the time when a wolf met his imprint, she was so unattainable it wasn't even funny. Besides, why would any girl want to spend the rest of her life with a shape-shifting werewolf, retired or not if she can help it.

"You're looking extra miserable today. Your imprint still with her boyfriend?"

Embry glanced up at me, his dark eyes burning into mine. I knew people were getting sick of my behavior; I could feel my pack brothers growing tired of me. But I couldn't help who I was.

Like I said. Asshole.

"Shut it Brady. Just shut it."

"Touchy touchy," I snorted, diving into my cereal. We ate the rest of breakfast in silence, both of us annoyed, but too preoccupied to care about commenting further. Like I said before; I knew people were getting tired of me. But honestly, it was the only way I knew how to be. Being loud, got me annoying, got me reactions.

Wasn't that what assholes lived for?

I ignored Embry some more, glancing out the kitchen window as the sun made a rare appearance in La Push. We lived with the cloudy weather ninety percent of the time, so seeing the sun emerging through the tree outside my window was surprising.

"You actually have to go to work today," Embry growled, tossing his dirty bowl in the sink in front of me. Water splashed up against my chest as he sauntered away, making me snarl over my shoulder at him. He moped away, uninterested in a fight.

Damn.

I could really use a good, rough brawl right now.

I had spent the last few days on edge, and I didn't know why. So far it wasn't anything a run, a bottle of whisky, and a girl could fix. That was usually what pacified me for the time being. But lately I felt off. Or different. I couldn't place it.

I arrived at work just as the sun was making it's way up into the sky. It was spring in Forks, and I was glad that the weather had finally improved enough for me to work. When you did construction and concreting for a living, it made it tough to make a lot of money when it rained the majority of the time. I couldn't complain though; my small house in La Push was split between myself, Embry, and a few other members of our pack, and it was paid for. I never got sick or seriously injured, so I had no need for insurance or benefits. My only cost was food and utilities – both of which I could mooch off my loving yet gullible mother if needed.

"Hey man, care to keep it down tonight? I can't go through one more day of work like this without a good night's sleep. Between your marathon fucking sessions and the double patrols Jake has me on, I'm running on like two hours," Astin whined, dropping a bag of mortar. I dropped my two bags next to his, smirking at him.

"Maybe if you got laid once in a while you'd sleep better."

"I'd have to have a girl to do that," he moped.

"Then why don't you take the shrink wrap off your balls and actually introduce them to your dick? I think you'll find you might like having them."

He sighed and rolled his eyes at my comment.

"Brady, I share a wall with your headboard. I put ear plugs in and I still couldn't sleep. Can't you give it a rest for like...one night?"

I chuckled to myself as my pack brother whined. I worked in construction with several members of my pack as that kind of schedule usually worked well for us. My father owned the construction company we were working for, but he wasn't in on our little wolfy secret. He just thought we were bulked up guys who enjoyed physical labor in lieu of a good workout. I had phased for the first time in front of my mother, so needless to say, she knew about my supernatural life. However, my father was still in the dark about everything, and I preferred to keep it that way.

As if on queue, I heard the door of the mobile trailer slam close. I knew my father was in there with the architect going over the plan for the day. Looking up, I braced myself for whatever wrath my father wanted to dole out today.

"Here we go," Astin muttered, walking away. I straightened up as my father marched up to me with another man in tow.

"Brady! Come meet Mr. Scott. Mr. Scott, this is my son, Brady."

I tried not to yawn as I shook the hand of the man in front of me. He didn't seem to mind that my hands were covered in dirt and concrete mix, instead giving me a bright smile.

"Brady, good to meet you. Your father was just raving about the team's work so far. I must say, I am impressed."

"We work hard. Get the job done...when the weather permits."

He nodded, looking back at my father. "Mr. Scott is the architect on the project. He's new to the area, and might have some side work for you," my father said politely, giving me a pointed look. That was so him – acting all polite and well-to-do in front of strangers. If we were alone, he'd be on my ass for not working enough or for something else he felt I had done wrong in life.

"Your father's right. I just bought a lovely house on the edge of town. One of the execs at the old mill lived there before it shut down. Only problem is, there isn't a garage. I'm looking to build something on the side of the house. I'm thinking a carriage-styled house might be suitable, maybe with a living area above it."

I nodded. Of course the last thing I wanted to do was get involved with any sort of guy my father knew, but the money would be nice. "Sure, sure. If you give me some sketches, I can get started on a proposal for the materials."

"That would be wonderful. Your father says you do good work."

I eyed my father and nodded. "I bet he did."

My sarcastic tone was lost on the smiling man, who was busy surveying our work so far. We were currently building a new library for the town since the old one had been there since it was founded, and was now looking dilapidated.

"Your mother reminded me to tell you to be home for dinner tonight. Mr. Scott, I'll get you Brady's contact info before you head out for the day. Now over here..."

Their voices drowned out as I rolled my eyes and stomped away. Such a typical move for my father. His favorite thing to do was put me up to something, judge me the entire time I worked on it, and then give some flippant, arrogant comment at the end when the work was finished. In his opinion, I never did anything right.

In a way, I had given up trying.

I coasted through the day with barely a hangover and a solid day of pay. My muscles were slightly sore from the vigorous framing work we did that day, but my stomach overruled it. I was starving for a home-cooked meal, and tonight was lasagna night at my family home.

Parking my old truck on the side of the road, I jogged across the lawn to the front door. Swinging it open, I was met with the smell of lasagna as it baked in the oven.

"Brady?"

I heard my mom call out before she rounded the corner with a wide grin. "There's my little boy," she laughed. "Did you have a good day?"

"Yeah ma, got lots of work done down at the job site."

"Yeah? You hungry?"

I nodded hungrily, following her into the kitchen. We were one of the luckier families in La Push. My dad was from the area, and was full-blooded Quileute. Wanting to make a better life for himself, he had started his construction business when he was barely out of high school. It had taken off since then, and I have had the privilege of growing up in one of the nicest houses in the entire reservation. He worked extremely hard and was rarely home as I grew up, leaving my mom to raise me. He had met her on the job a few years before I was born – she was an interior designer working on one of the houses he was building. She described it as love at first sight. I thought she was crazy.

"Dad home yet?"

"He's in the shower. Long day?"

I nodded. "Yah."

She handed me a cold beer and smiled as I cracked it open, the two of us enjoying a comfortable silence as she prepared the rest of dinner. I watched her take a long swig from her wine glass and refill it another three times. I smiled and turned the other cheek, too preoccupied with my own problems to bother opening that can of worms. Before long, I heard my dad make his way down the steps, and into the kitchen. He pecked my mother on the cheek before looking in my direction.

"Finish that sidewalk today?"

I shook my head. "Nah, we were short on mix. Ordered more though, should get it tomorrow."

His eyebrow twitched. "That puts us a day behind. You couldn't manage to get it finished?"

My blood boiled immediately. My father had a way of pissing me off without even saying ten words. "I just said we didn't get it finished. We were short on materials. Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that responsibility lie with the contractor?" I snapped.

His eyes narrowed. "A good foreman learns to get the job done no matter what. That's what your goal is, right? To be foreman?"

"Whatever," I growled, grabbing my can of beer. I squeezed the sides making it crack in protest against my hand as I made my way over to the table. My mom kept her eyes down as she put the large tray of pasta on the table. He followed, muttering under his breath about how ungrateful I was.

"Dinner's ready," she said quietly, pouring herself a rather large glass of wine. I watched as she sucked it down, not wasting any time as she reached for a refill. My father gave her a tight smile before cutting into our dinner.

"Did you have a good day?" my mom asked as we dug in. My father grunted at her in response, making my mother's brown eyes turn down towards her plate.

"Mr. Scott has graciously offered to allow Brady to build his carriage house," he finally said, glancing across the table at me. I put my fork down, balling my napkin in my hand. So he decided to bring it up, did he? Now all I had to do was wait for it.

"That sounds lovely. Has he drawn up plans for it yet?"

"I saw the rough sketches today. Has a very colonial feel to it – really nice. He's a talented man."

"That will be a lovely thing to add to your resume honey," my mom said happily, beaming across the table at me. I nodded, taking a large bite of food before I said something I would regret.

"She's right. Do a good job on this, and then maybe someday you can get a real job. You won't have to come home three times a week for a decent meal, and you get to make a good life for yourself."

I let my fork fall to the plate with a clatter. "Are you saying what I do isn't a real job?"

He shrugged, his dark eyes flashing. I swear, that man lived to fight with me. "Just saying...someday you might want to do more than just pour concrete and frame houses. That's all I'm saying son."

I growled deep in my chest, curling my lip up like I would in wolf form. I felt my mother tense across the table, gripping her wine glass as I turned my head up to look at him.

"That's all you're saying? Cuz I don't think it is. Why don't you just spit it out old man?"

He smirked in response, satisfied that he had gotten a rise out of me. "Don't read into this Brady. No one likes a drama queen. I just expect more from you as you are my only son. You can't live in that cabin all your life, partying it up and wasting everyone's time."

I threw my napkin down and stood up quickly, making my chair topple over into the china cabinet behind me. A dish fell off its stand and shattered, but I paid no attention as I pushed away from the table.

"Wasting time? You think that's what I do?"

"I see it every day son. Now sit down and eat. You're upsetting your mother."

"I bust my ass in ways you don't even know. You just...you wouldn't understand," I spat, glaring daggers at him. I met my mother's worried gaze and felt bad for scaring her, but I was too pissed off to care. My father was the only person who could really make my temper flare and make me truly angry, and he knew exactly how to push my buttons.

"Just saying you're turning out to be a little bit of a slacker. Might be good to buckle down and actually...do something," he said casually, placing a piece of lasagna calmly on his tongue. He chewed and stared up at me, waiting for me to explode.

"Fuck this," I muttered, turning away from the table. I was out the door and on the front lawn faster than my mother could even utter a word. I threw the truck into drive and sped away, feeling my rage pool in my spine as I headed towards my shared house.

Stay in control, Brady. Stay in control. I thought as I tried to calm myself down.

Thank God I was going back to an empty house. Everyone was out on patrol. I was itching to start a fight I didn't really even want in a mood like this. I tore into the empty house and growled loudly, my skin already crawling.

My father was the most fucking annoying human being on the planet. So why did he have to be my father? I didn't know anyone who couldn't stand their own dad. Everything I did, everything I said, everything – was wrong in his eyes. With an angry swipe of my arm, I cleared the kitchen table and everything on it, sending several dishes to the floor with a loud clatter.

"ARRRRRRGH!"

I stood panting in the kitchen, my chest rising and falling with the ire and contempt that shot through my veins. Still heaving, I stumbled to the couch as I fought the urge rip out of my clothes and phase.

No...I couldn't. As many times as I had tried, the wolf could not make all the demons of my life disappear. I had fought for my father's approval all of my natural life. For as long as I could remember, I had tried to do things I thought would please him. Then, when that would inevitably backfire, I would do everything in my power to piss him off. I could never win.

The one person I wanted to validate me had grown to hate me so much that we could barely be in the same room with one another. The self-hatred I felt for not being good enough for him made me long to jump out of my own skin and hop into another person's.

Why can't I become someone else. Anyone else. Just not me.

Frustrated, I let my head sink into my hands as I sat on the edge of the couch, fisting my hair. The pain felt good and brought me somewhat back to the present.

My problems were those that wouldn't go away, no matter how much distance I ran, how long I stayed phased, or how many vampires I killed.

Because as many times as I had tried, I knew I couldn't run away from myself.

First - Big thank you to my lovely new beta, Ninkybaby, who has graciously offered to help me out with this project. Her work on this chapter was much appreciated and fabulous!

Second - So, I wasn't originally going to write Brady's story next...but, by popular demand, here it is. If you're reading 'Love This Pain' you will like this because we get to see bits and pieces of Seth & Regan that I didn't write into their story. Also, we delve deeper into the reasons we love to hate Brady.

Up Next: We meet Lexi. Many of you enjoy her character in Love This Pain. Be sure to follow me on Twitter (TwilightCakes) for teasers, updates, and lots of randomness. I also answer any burning questions if you tweet me : )

Someone asked who I 'picture' as playing these characters. I think I have created a few Pretty Little Liars fans by announcing that Regan is 'played' by Lucy Hale. In my mind, Lexi is played by Kristen Bell and Brady is definitely 'played' by Michael Trevino. I was going to have Lexi played by Candace Accola, but then Michael and Candace actually started dating on the show they are on together, The Vampire Diaries. So, that idea was scrapped. But definitely Google Michael - you won't be sorry you did : )

Leave me some review love and we'll see how quickly we can get Chapter 2 up : )