Full circle;

Chapter one- Guardian angel.

He smiled down at me. I lay in his arms. He was different to how I knew him. The "him" I knew was an evil man. He enjoyed hurting and embarrassing people both physically and mentally, but mainly more mentally. He thought he was better than anyone else, better than the rest of society. He thought he was a saviour, a king, a messiah. He tried to change people that didn't want to be changed, he tried to tell them they were wrong and he was right. All because he was straightedge. Straightedge, it was as if being straightedge gave him a free pass to point out other people's flaws and weakness. A free pass for him to bully and antagonize everyone else into thinking the same things he thought. He didn't seem to understand that everyone was different and everyone was allowed their own thoughts, feelings, opinions. I thought he would never understand me. Never. I'm not really the type of person he associates himself with. You see I'm different to him, I'm not normal. I'm an alcoholic, or at least I was. Until he saved me, until he changed me. I never thought I of all people would ever be in this position. I even questioned myself why I was even bothering to be around this horrible evil person, and then I remembered I was a horrible evil person. I had been disowned by my family, by my friends and by everyone I had ever trusted. I was faced with an ultimatum, stop drinking or lose them and what did I do? I lost them. I lost everything I had ever known, everyone I had ever loved. Until he came along.

"You're different than I expected," I whispered as he pulled me even closer to him.
He sighed as if recognising his reputation was holding him back.
"You're different than I expected. Sometimes people don't live up to their reputation. I know what you think of me. I know that you think the same as everyone else, I would be stupid to think you were any different."
He instantly pushed me aside and I was taken aback a little. I didn't understand what I had done or said wrong. I had only said he was different.
"Since when was being different a bad thing?" I asked.
"Being different is considered a weakness amongst most people. Listen, I'm sorry if I disappoint you," he rolled his eyes and got himself up from the lying position on the floor we had previously been in.
"Don't go," I said, speaking up a little so he would hear me as he started to walk away. I didn't want him to leave. In fact it was the last thing I wanted.
He turned to look at me, still wearing a glum expression.
"Why not?"
I shrugged my shoulders, trying to hold back what I truly wanted to say.
"If I tell you the truth will you stay?" I offered a compromise.
He thought about it for a moment.
"Depends what the truth is," he looked at me and I guess he saw the expression in my face because he slumped back down onto the grass.
"I'm staying so I better get the truth, no more lies. Promise?" he continued.
I nodded, poking out my pinkie finger.
"Pinky swear?"
He laughed but when I motioned my head, indicating I was serious, he sighed and stuck out his pinkie clasping his around mine and replying, "Pinkie swear."
I giggled in return and then shrugged him off when he put his arm around me. I didn't want anyone touching me.
"The truth is, being with you makes it easy."
"Makes what easy?" he replied not completely knowing what I was talking about. I looked down, not wanting to look him in the eyes.
"It makes it easy to not think about drinking. I don't know, there is just something about you that makes me not feel the need to find myself in the bottom of a bottle," I stopped, I couldn't believe I was telling this idiotic stuck up superstar that he made me feel just fine sober. He was nothing more than a stranger and this was nothing more than boredom. So why did I feel the urge to staying sitting here in the freezing cold spilling my heart out to him?
"I..." he didn't know what to say, or maybe he was just trying to chose his words carefully.
"Punk, it's ok. If you have something to say, just say it. It won't be something I haven't heard before."
He picked a piece of grass and focused his eyes on it, obviously avoiding eye contact.
"I just don't understand. I don't know why anyone would want to do that to themselves," he looked at my arm, where my permanent scar stood on display.
"I didn't want to do this to myself, punk. Do you really think I would want to do that to myself?" I also looked at the scar, rolling my sleeve up a little to take a better look. The scar was deep, very deep. It completely covered the under part of my arm, stretching right from the wrist up to my shoulder. I was drunk one night and crashed my car, I don't remember much about the accident to be honest, and the only thing I remember was waking up in hospital with no one beside the bed. No friends no worried family members wondering if I would pull through. That was the first time in my life I felt truly alone, truly disowned. The immense pain of nobody being there for you and knowing it was all because of you, all because of your stupidity, all because of your selfish actions. It broke my heart to remember that night, but I couldn't stop myself, I couldn't stop myself from revisiting that night, the night I had woken up with eleven broken bones and glass so deep into the skin of my arm, they had had to cut a big chunk of my skin off just to get it out. I couldn't stop myself from remembering how the one person I thought would never leave my side, was nowhere to be found. How he had followed in my family's footsteps and disowned me at the time I had needed him most. The doctors had told me I had nearly died and when I asked if anyone had called or visited while I was unconscious, they had shaken their heads, almost embarrassed, and had broken the shattering news that when they had called my mother she had said it was my fault and she hoped I had died. They told me how she said she wished I was dead and then I would be one less hassle to her. I remembered the police officers coming to see me the next day. Telling me it was my fault the accident had happened. I remembered them arresting me and taking me into custody telling me my actions were stupid and irresponsible. I had no one. Absolutely no one and when they had asked if I wanted to call someone to tell them I had been arrested and contact a lawyer, there was no one I could call. No one wanted to help me and as far as I knew, nobody cared if I rotted in jail for eternity; nobody even cared if I had died. Nobody.
I burst into tears as the memories came crashing back and I found myself forced into reality. He was still there, still patiently waiting. Silent for once. He wrapped his arms around me and embraced me as I sobbed into his chest. He sat and listened for an hour or so while I told him everything that had happened.
"And that's when I called you. You were the only person I could think of that would help me. It was a long shot and I knew you would judge me, hate me even. I knew you definitely think badly of me, but helping people, saving people is what you do right? I don't want to be like this anymore," I cried after finishing my story.
"I can help you, I can change you. But only if you want to be helped," he said as he placed a hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes. "You do want help don't you?"
And that was the million dollar question. Did I really want help? This was me now, this was all I was. A useless alcoholic, a complete nobody. I had no one and nothing to live for and that was exactly what I told Punk.
"No, that's not true. That will never be true anymore," he replied, I couldn't tell but I thought he was close to tears.
"Why not?" I asked. Mascara running wildly down my face.
"Because you have me now. You will always have me now."


One shot or new fanfic?

A/N- I decided to continue writing for a while to see how it turns out. Maybe one more chapter and if I decide it's better then I'll continue it and write it into more chapters to form a real fan fiction. Maybe in the end it will be a really good story and we will find out whose point of view it's written in. I don't even know myself to be perfectly honest.