WARNING! THIS STORY IS M-RATED DUE TO VIOLENCE, ABUSE,
CRUDE LANGUAGE, DRUG AND ALCOHOL REFERENCES AND SEXUAL THEMES.
READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!
Once a oneshot but now continued. I blame Katy Perry for my demented mind. Don't ask why. Just read...
Disclaimer: I don't own Vampire Academy or any of the characters. It all belongs to Richelle Mead. I do however own my ideas and plot line.
Xx-Dimitri-xX
I idled my Harley for a moment at a red light in the middle of the street as I collected my thoughts—sucking in a deep breath and letting my mind slow down to relax. My head felt like shit and I really needed a good drink. I can't believe that fucking bastard kicked me out.
My father is the most vile jackass of the century. I should have really seen it coming. He's beaten my mother and sisters to a pulp plenty of times without me knowing. He's well aware I want him dead. Yet whenever I actually turn up at the house, he feels the need to serve a point.
A demented, alpha-male wannabe "psychosis syndrome" of a frivolous idea that I will never understand nor do I really give a fuck to know. He's crazy. End of story. But tonight he pushed it too far.
After walking in through the backdoor, I caught him red-handed (literally) standing in the kitchen over the body of my unconscious mother who's lying on the floor. Dark purple bruises covered her body while other places oozed with blood from god knows what. He gripped a thin paring knife firmly held in his hand as he kicked and shouted at her to wake up and get him a beer.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!" I shout charging up to him. He pauses and snaps his head up at me with a malicious grin on his wretched face as he sneers, "Well look who finally decided to show up."
He steps over my mother without a second glance and jabs a finger into my chest, "Where've you been fag boy? Haven't seen you in a month."
I growl shoving his hand away from me as I step closer and glare at his demonic face, "Getting as far away from the dump of shit likes of you."
He cackles at me as he pushes me backwards, "Watch your mouth faggot. Or I'll have to teach you another lesson." He flips the knife into the air and catches it by the hilt and waves it at me provocatively.
I clench my fists tightly together, smirking as I hear the knuckles 'pop' from the pressure.
I swiftly lunge for him, successfully sending an uppercut to his jaw. I feel a surge of satisfaction hearing the slight crushing sound of bone breaking but before I can land another blow, I drop to the floor writhing in paralyzing torture as dozens of electrodes course through my body.
Every part of my body is on fire, from the space behind my eye sockets to down my spine to the tips of my toes. I shut my eyes trying to overcome the burning sensation as my limbs convulse.
When the torture stops, I grunt out in agony as he kicks my gut forcefully. My muscles feel numb as I open my eyes to see my vision is blurred. I weakly turn my stomach to the side as I puke onto the floor from the taser shock.
"What a fucking pussy. You can't even put up a good fight." I hear him snarl as I feel him jerk my arm up and fists his hand into my hair where he begins to drag me to the backdoor.
If I wasn't stunned right now, I'd fucking kill him but I don't think I'd matter much at this point. My father's a cop. The Chief to be exact. And the only way he gets away with what he does is because he knows how to cover up his tracks.
Say me for instance. I was arrested last year after being caught with weed. It had been after he beat the shit out of me and then made it appear as if I was high, not to mention sticking a few refeers in my jeans pocket didn't help either. I tried numerous times to expose him and turn him in, but somehow every single damn time he finds out and he does something to get the attention off of him and back to me.
I'm known around here as the "trouble maker". My past high school principals loathe me, the local cops (other than Señor Dipshit) stalk my every move, and the local thugs want me in their gang.
I however, contest to all of that. I have my GED, I don't take drugs and Casa del jock-o's is not really my style. I just have temper problems and could you really blame me? My life fucking blows.
But back to the point, my father ended up chucking my motionless body out the backdoor, where I slumped down into a heap of dirty snow and listen to him threaten me to stay the hell away from him and his house for good.
I remember blacking out for a while before I staggered to my feet, called a friend and got the fuck out of there.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
I tore my eyes open to find the light at the street had gone green and a few cars behind me honked aggressively for me to move.
I grit my teeth together and pumped the clutch before racing down the three block stretch to Tasha's place...
A few minutes later I'm knocking on her apartment door with shaky fingers. Tasha's a good friend of mine and a few years older than me.
She let my older sister Sonya, stay with her for awhile before she ran off three years ago and I haven't seen her since. I missed her but I was glad she broke free from the hell we grew up in.
Because Tasha's close to my sis, she's always offered me her couch if I ever needed somewhere to stay when things got really bad. Usually I just stayed over at Adrian(the poor bastard i call a best friend)'s place but his intense obsession with narcotics is just too messed up to be around anymore. How a lush like that inherited a trust fund is beyond me, it's a shame he blows his cash on shit.
The door swings open as I'm met with a set of wintry blue eyes, "Dimka! Christ, get in here before anyone sees you." She motions for me to enter as she opens the door wider.
"Thanks for this." I mutter to her as I pass the threshold and immediately feel dizzy from the strong aroma of weed. I've always distantly wondered why all my friends are heavy drug addicts, but they're nice people and don't really care if someone crashes at their place for a day or two so that's why I keep in touch with them.
I hear the door close as Tasha sniffles her nose and walks over to me to give me a brief hug. When she leans back I can see her eyes are bloodshot and glassy. The tall tales signs of being high. I back away from her and ask, "Where's Rob?"
She goes to sit down on a chair as she waves her hand, "Work."
I rolled my eyes. Robert Doru, another friend of mine and the boyfriend of Natasha Ozera, is not what some people would call 'conventional'. He's a bad influence who will sell you the finest escape from reality for the perfect price. Again, why is it that I hang out with these people? Oh right, because they're easy to put up with... most of the time...
After a brief talk, I wash up, nap for a bit and then head out to work. As I'm firing my motorcycle back to life, I start the mental ritual I do every night before I leave for work.
I clear my mind of all the drama in my life and focus on why I'm doing this. Why I'm a stripper. Why I flaunt myself to pervs all night long when I should be somewhere in bed, sleeping or studying for my SATs. Or maybe even hooking up with a hot girl or talking smack to my bros about next week's football game.
I close my eyes visualizing the life I should have. I'm only seventeen, but with my fake I.D., height and more mature sense, I can pass as 21. I'm straight and have no problems with homos, but I just feel disgusted with myself in what I'm doing.
But I have no choice, a guy like me has nowhere to live with no money. That's why three months ago, I dropped out of high school and started looking for work. The strip club was the last place I wanted to apply at but after hearing the roomers of how much cash you could make in one night, not to mention with my juvie record, no one else was willing to hire me. I had no choice but to give it a shot.
And man was it worth it. I used to play football when I was still in high school, so I apparently had the right 'build' to be an exotic entertainer. I was never that much of a dancer but surprised myself at the audition with how natural I was.
Vic, my boss, immediately hired me and I earned a couple hundred bucks that first night. I was shocked to say the least. From there on I've secretly worked at an adult entertainment club.
Not too many people know I'm a stripper. Most just think I'm some psychotic Russian who does hits for anonymous clients. Hence why the el thug-o's want me in their group. Apparently having Russians in their devilish cult is so 'badass' and notorious in this area. I'm like the fucking holy grail to those power crazed, bloodlust wound nuts. No matter how appealing it may be at times, I have no interest in exploring their trivial pursuits.
I take a deeps breath reminding my wandering mind why I'm doing this... I want to go to college, I want my own place, I want a different life...
Over the last three months I've saved up enough money to buy a nice bike, but along with the cost of insurance and all that shit, I don't have anything else saved up. Nothing more to live off of.
But I have a plan. I just need to keep working until I have enough money to buy my own place and afford the costs for school.
My father knows what I do, hence why he calls me a fag. But really what the hell else am I going to do? He hasn't stopped me from working nor does he really give a fuck. I'm no longer a convenient punching bag to him, so long as I'm not around him and his "practices", he doesn't interfere. Some parent he is... I shake my head, pull on my emotionless mask I wear every night and head to work...
An hour later, I'm working the stage as Vic calls to me from the side and motions that I have a private party. I nod my head and saunter my way over to my usual spot for private dances.
To my reliefs my clients tonight are a group of woman. Not that I have a problem with men, they tip well, it's just that I feel more comfortable selling my body off to females instead.
"Hello ladies..." I trail off whatever pre-rehearsed line I always use as a woman with dark-chestnut curly-hair, turns her head up to look at me.
Most of the women who visit the club are good looking, but never have I seen one this hot before.
Even in this dim lighting, I can tell she's beautiful. She has stunning hazel eyes, perfectly plump lips and one hell of a curvaceous body.
I suddenly feel blood rush to my favorite appendage at the sight of her. She smirks at me as I soon become acutely aware of a massive boner starting to creep against the thin fabric of my not so concealing costume.
Oh shit I mentally scream as I regretfully watch her friends and their four sets of wide eyes staring me down at my stiffly rising physique. I've firmly caught their attention now like a fucking Peacock fully fanned out for display.
Looks like they're getting more than what they paid for tonight...
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-xXLove-BiteXx