Better Hallway Vision

by UnicornPammy

This story, and occasionally my A/N's, contain profanity. You have been warned. : ) Have a nice day.

A/N: This is yet another update of this story. Four years later, I'm still thinking about this thing, so I guess I ought to get it all out there and be done with it.

I'm going to post a newly revised chapter once a week. In the story summary I will note which chapter is the latest to be revised, so no one has to keep notes if they decide to read it. I don't want to take it completely down again and repost it because I don't want to lose all the reviews again. They really help me to keep focused, not to mention guilt me into continuing. Thanks to everyone who reads this and any of my other stories. It really means a lot to me.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all relating to The Breakfast Club (except a copy of the movie.) I just torture John Hughes's creations because it makes me smile. : )

Chapter 1: Considering Claire

Women were not to be trusted, only considered. John Bender had heard that statement from his dad about a million times since he'd first become interested in women. When he was twelve, Big Bender had found him making out with a girl in his room one night, and beat him nearly senseless after the girl had run away in fear and embarassment. From his vantage point-on the floor, lying in a pool of pain and blood and vomit-he'd watched his old man pacing and shouting, getting so deep into his misogynist tirade that flecks of spit sparkled on his lips. They trap you, he'd said. They lure you in, then they trap you. Don't trust them! If they tell you they're in trouble, you get the hell out of there.

He shook off the memory before it could go any further, burying it with years of practice. He pulled newer, better memories over the old ones. He was walking home through the twilight, and a real diamond sparkled in his ear. A woman had just given it to him, and he found himself wanting to trust her. He wanted to believe she would actually meet his gaze when they saw each other again on Monday. He wanted her to smile at him, to wave as he walked by her locker after third period, which was when he usually arrived at school, if he made it at all.

But maybe he would be there this Monday. He might even be on time. C'mon, Bender, it's just a girl, he told himself. Even girls aren't worth getting up at the ass-crack of dawn just to go to school. He had only shown up on time today because he'd wanted to get out of the house before his dad got home from celebrating his first paycheck in five months. As a general rule, Big Bender's company wasn't very pleasant; but when he walked in the house at 8:30 on a Saturday morning, still drunk from the night before, it was especially wise not to be around.

Hopefully, the old man would still be sleeping it off, or out doing it all over again by the time John got home. If his dad was at home getting plastered, John decided he simply wouldn't go in at all. Maybe he could crash at Weasel's place again. Weasel's generosity wasn't free, but Bender figured he had enough pot left over from the afternoon's festivities to secure a place to stay for the night.

Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

He cut through a couple of nice, well-kept yards, and leapt over a ditch. As he walked down the road, he heard a door open behind him, and some guy stepped out on his porch and started yelling about trespassing and calling the police. John hardly paid any attention. He heard shit like that every day. He kept going, and eventually the asshole shut the hell up and went back inside. He was in a neighborhood kinda like the one he imagined Claire lived in. This is her world, and you don't belong in it. You'll never belong in it.

A cold breeze snuck up on him, silencing the inner voice as it stole down the collar of his ancient tweed trench coat, touching the same spot on his neck where she'd kissed him. He could still feel her lips on him, her warm breath moving over his skin, and for a few blessed moments the memory of her filled him like a hot sun.

But the wind kept blowing cold, and his father's voice came back to him. Women are not to be trusted, only considered.

Well, he was definitely considering Claire Suzanne Standish. He'd seen her full name on her driver's license. Even her license photo was perfect. He imagined her sitting in front of her mirror, carefully applying makeup and doing her hair so that Claire Suzanne Standish would have the best driver's license photo in all of Shermer High.

He wasn't surprised that a preppy little bitch like her had caught his interest. She was just another tease, making promises with her eyes that her body wouldn't fulfill... not without a price. There was more behind those eyes, though, than he normally found in girls of her type. Most of them were so easy to fuck, practically ripping their clothes off once they'd snuck him past daddy and the housekeeper getting it on in the pool room. He'd seen the inside of a lot of preppy little bitch bedrooms, and they all seemed the same. Lots of pink and frills, posters of teen idols, and polaroids of college-age boyfriends. He never felt guilty doing other guys' girlfriends, because he figured those guys were doing the same thing with college-age girls.

The only rotten thing about being snuck into a rich girl's house is that he was usually obliged to sneak himself back out once the fun was over. Or climb down from a bedroom window if the situation became desperate. The price of rich ass was his pride, and he used to think it was worth it.

But now he realized that none of it really meant anything to him. All those other girls had ever given him was a temporary fix. He had never really taken Big Bender's advice when it came to women. He simply didn't bring them home anymore. But maybe the old man was right.

This one, though, would take more than a few nasty words in the back of a brand new sports car to get her to pull down her panties for him. Claire was different. Claire was...pure. That fact both intrigued and frightened him. He wanted to fuck her, and protect her, and protect himself from her all at the same time. If they had been alone at this morning's detention, he may very well have accomplished the first thing on that list. And that scared him. She was clean, and he would just make her dirty. He found himself wondering if her purity would rub off on him somehow. And at the same time was filled with the certain knowledge that he was dirt, and would always be dirt.

But he knew that wouldn't stop him from having her, eventually, and he hated himself for it.

He turned the corner onto his street, reaching up with his left hand to touch the diamond, still not quite believing she'd given it to him. He wasn't stupid enough to get anywhere near Big Bender with a rock that big visible on his person, so he pulled it out and shoved it in his pocket.

It was dark enough now that most homes had lights burning in the windows, but his house was completely dark. That could mean any number of things. His mom was still at work, his dad was still passed out, or they still hadn't paid the light bill, and the electric company finally decided to cut them off. His house always reminded him of a rotten tooth in an otherwise perfect smile. The yard was a mess, the front door sagged from its hinges—had since the night he and his mom had tried to lock Big Bender out. But the old man just busted down the door and beat the crap out of both of them, anyway. The paint was peeling, and the gutters had little trees growing in them. The other houses on his street were neat and well-kept, if not huge and expensive. Their house was the cancer of Maplewood Grove Lane.

He decided to go in through his bedroom window, since Big Bender always passed out in the living room at the front of the house. There was a crawl space instead of a basement below the house, so he had to jump up to grab the window sill. By planting one booted foot against the tree that grew beside his window, he was able to free one hand to push up on the wooden frame.

It wouldn't move. He tried again, with the same result. He never locked his window. Someone else had to have done it. His mom might have locked it, but he had a strong feeling that it was Big Bender fucking with him. He dropped back down to the ground, trying to think of any other alternatives.

"Where've you been, you little shit?"

The rough, liquor-soaked voice was close in the darkness. His head jerked around, and he could just barely see a white, paunched-out, wife beater t-shirt moving toward him. John backed up, not wanting his old man to get within arm's reach. Even drunk, Big Bender had a mean right hook.

"What, are you deaf, or just stupid? Answer me!" He stumbled a bit, righting himself awkwardly. John took a few more steps backward.

"School."

His old man snorted. "Now you think I'm stupid, don't you? It's fucking Saturday. What were you doing at school on a fucking Saturday?" He moved closer, his right arm raised menacingly.

"Cheerleading practice."

Big Bender took a swing at him, but John was ready. He dodged to the side, and his dad stumbled from the force of his own momentum. John slipped past him, shoving at Big Bender as he did so. Then he bolted back toward the street. Before he had swung up and over the neighbor's fence, he heard furious spluttering from the ground behind him. "You little...Goddammit, fucking cocksucker! Get your ass back here!"

Looked like he was destined for Weasel's couch tonight.

"Get your ass back here now, or you better never come back! I'll fucking kill you if you do, you stupid, worthless, no-good son-of-a..."

Big Bender's voice faded into the evening as John ran. Fucking pussy, his dad's voice snarled in his head. Barbs of self-hatred pierced his lungs, but he just ran harder, still hearing Big Bender's voice, faintly echoed off the houses around him. Fucking pussy became the rhythm of his strides, following him all the way to Weasel's.