"Don't take life too seriously. You won't get out alive." ~Elbert Hubbard
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters form The Breakfast Club
Freezing rain hit hard against the pavement, turning what was otherwise just a layer of dirt with a few blades of grass sticking out of it-also known as the Bender family yard-into a giant mud pit. A bolt of lightning struck, and the yappy dog next door could be heard from inside the paper thin walls, barking up a storm bigger than the one that was happening right outside.
John Bender took a drag of his cigarette, looking at the house as if to see inside. He secretly hoped the next bolt of lightning would somehow strike that fucking dog.
The cold air blew, nipping at John's exposed face. He was freezing his fucking ass off, but he didn't dare consider going inside. At that very moment, right inside his house, his old man, normally passed out drunk by this time in the evening, was making room for a new family. Their new family. John didn't know what made him more nauseous: the fact that his father had managed getting eloped to a woman he'd never even met, which said wonders about their bond, or the fact that his father actually thought a new family would make him happy.
John was plenty used to having the temporary whore de jour hanging around the house, treating him as if he were her own defect son until she was gone, and it was on to the next one, but he never imagined his father would actually end up having some sort of marriage with one, even if their wedding had only been a court union (which somehow, didn't surprise John). And the whole time, he neglected to tell his own fucking family that the Bender household was expanding.
An extra loud roar of thunder startled John, practically making him jump. He finally came to the conclusion on the actions he would take. He was going to get so unbelievably drunk that it wouldn't even matter to him. He was going to smoke all of his left over pot until he fell asleep, and in the morning, when the new "family" arrived, he was going to lock himself in his room like a stubborn little boy. It would be embarrassing, but these were drastic times. There was no way in hell John Bender was going to share a room with anyone else's children. Within an hour of the new family being there, he was going to make sure the Bender family was back down to its original three. Plus the occasional whore.
John immediately went to work initiating his plan. He snuck a case of his father's beer into his room with such ease, it sickened him. His old man was so damn busy moving things around, he didn't even notice his good for nothing son stealing a full case of his beer, right from under his nose.
John let himself fall onto the dusty, beaten up matrice he called a bed. A spring poked him in the side, but he ignored it and popped open the first beer. He chugged it so fast, he felt himself suffocating on the liquid, but he refused to stop. As soon as it was gone, he instantly moved onto the next one, and the next one, until the last drop of liquid from the case slid down his throat.
"What, are you stupid are something? Wake the hell up!"
The annoyed demand grabbed John's attention long enough to pull him into full consciousness, but not long enough to make it worth the effort of opening his eyes long enough for them to adjust to the light. Even with a hangover, John instantly recognized the voice to belong to his older brother, Jake, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with him any more than he was to deal with a single God damned person in Shermer.
Jake, losing patience grabbed the pillow from the floor and started hitting John in the back of the head with it. The older brother had always been playfully aggressive with John growing up, but never in a way that would cause any sort of physical pain. No, that was his father's job.
"That had better not be the pillow you whack off to ass-wipe." John mumbled, not bothering to move. He smiled when Jake stopped hitting him long enough to laugh. John didn't know why, but he got some satisfaction from impressing his older brother. Jake was twenty-one years old, a high school drop-out, and still living at home with his alcoholic, abusive father-he was hardly the role model type, but John couldn't help but get satisfaction whenever Jake thought he was funny, or witty-even when he referred to him as a "brainiac".
"Johnny boy, you's and I both know that I would never do such a deplorable thing to this pillow," Jake started, surprising John with the level of seriousness in his statement, before adding, "masturbation isn't needed when I've got Chelsea to taint my pillows." He said with an obnoxious laugh as he threw the pillow at John's disgusted face.
John could just about vomit at the thought of his brother being with such a fucking slut, let alone being with her in the house they shared. He figured the couches would probably have been crawling with fucking crabs if his brother wasn't too embarrassed about the state of the house to have Chelsea in it for any amount of time longer than a few minutes-not that he really had anything to be embarrassed about. It wasn't like Chelsea was staying at the fucking Hilton or anything.
"Yeah, and I wonder who else is getting their pillows tainted by that skank." John mumbled, laying back down and pulling the pillow over his face, blocking out all the light. He tried remembering how much he'd had to drink the night before, but only came to the conclusion that it had to have been more than just the six pack. He thought about persuading Jake to get him an aspirin, but then he would have to deal with his suspicions on just why he needed headache medication, and he was really in no mood to deal with that kind of shit.
Whenever Jake caught wind that John had done the slightest thing wrong; gotten drunk, gotten stoned, gotten two months detention that he was only halfway through serving…he'd flip a shit. He'd lecture John for hours, even bringing it up randomly at any opportunity he got, because nagging was the only suitable punishment Jake could think of that he could actually enforce, being a brother and not a father, since their real father didn't give a shit. It was like Jake was the biggest hypocrite ever; he partied more than anyone John knew, but then turned into a complete spaz whenever he caught John taking one hit.
"That isn't funny John. She really tries to do good by you and you just treat her like shit. Why don't you leave Chelsea alone and go terrorize our new little family. They've been waiting like fifteen minutes. You were supposed to be ready by now. Jesus John, did you even change your clothes from yesterday?" Jake asked, not announcing his suspicions, but making it perfectly clear that he was implying that he knew John had gotten wasted.
"I'm not sharing my room." Was all John could say, even though there were a million cruel things he wanted to scream just the night before. What could he say? No matter how much he protested, it wouldn't change the fact that those little assholes were downstairs, waiting to meet him, waiting to make him their "family", and waiting to invade his room and life.
Jake laughed and threw John a sweater and a pair of nice jeans from his own room, knowing damn well that whatever John had in his drawers would just make him look like some kind of bum. He didn't understand how John found a way to supply himself with weed, alcohol, and cigarettes all the damn time, but didn't own one nice outfit. It was baffling.
John growled and snatched the clothes. He hated wearing Jake's clothes. His older brother was not only four years older than him, but was ripped. Jake had been working out intensely since he was thirteen, not only to protect himself, but to protect his brother, so not only were his clothes too long, they were fucking huge.
He considered tossing them back at Jake and telling him to get out of his room, but honestly, it wasn't worth the fight. They were already in the fucking house. That wasn't going to change no matter how much he fought it. It wasn't even worth the fucking effort. He was just going to get it over with as soon as possible, then begin making their lives a living hell until they decided to leave, or better yet, not even put forth that much effort, and just let the old man drive them away.
John started to lift his shirt, but stopped, and told Jake to turn around. John had a scar on his torso going all the way from his left shoulder to his right hip, an "accident" that had almost killed him. He was so ashamed of it that he wouldn't even let his brother see it. Of course, John was ashamed of all his scars, because they were all permanent evidence of a battle he had lost, but this wasn't exactly some damn cigar burn, it was fucking huge. His other scars could go undetected, but the one on his torso was impossible not to notice.
Jake sighed and turned around. His brother's embarrassment around him made absolutely no sense to him. He had been there when the scar had been inflicted on him, he was even the reason John had gotten the help he needed, and probably the reason John was even still there after that, yet John acted as if some stupid scar was this big secret.
"Ready yet Princess?" Jake asked impatiently, flinching at a surprise pillow that hit the back of his head. He immediately turned around and tackled John, pinning him down to the matrice. Holding both his wrists in one hand and the back of his head down in the other, he laughed, and playfully demanded John say uncle.
"Alright! Get the fuck off me fag!" John yelled as he fought his way free. He hated when people tackled him. It was sneaky; by the time he'd realize what was happening, he would freeze up and be on the ground within a minute. At least with a fight he initiated, or a fight he saw coming, he would be able to react. Not if someone just went in for the tackle. The first thing he would think of was his dad, and he would freeze up.
John got up with a sigh, and without saying anything else, started for the living room. He'd avoided it long enough. He had to get meeting these people out of the way, so he could get back in his own clothes, go out, and forget.
As John marched purposefully into the living room, and laid eyes on what his father intended to mold into their new "family", John's normal expression of grimace instantly transformed into that of disbelief.
Andrew Clark seemed to unintentionally mimic the response. No fucking way. It couldn't be real. John Bender couldn't be his new step brother. The fates had been pretty cruel to him lately, but that was just surreal. He was probably his real step brother's friend, probably had just stayed the night or something, probably just wanted to get a look at the people who would have to cram into the already small house. Just to soak up everyone's misfortune. Although, he did bare a resemblance to the old man…
John swallowed hard, not taking his eyes off the jock. This was too unreal. He didn't even know how to react. Part of him wanted to do what he always did, to be a complete ass, to get a rise out of Andrew, do what he planned on doing before he saw who stood in his living room. But he couldn't. Andrew Clark wasn't some unknown, some unfortunate kid with only half an idea of what his mother had gotten him into. He knew John. He was one of the few people who knew John, not just knew of John. This was dangerous.
Andrew was going to be living in John's house. Every day. Knowing what he knew. This was so intense, that John couldn't even begin to wrap his brain around it. His family life was his biggest embarrassment. John had nothing to be particularly proud of, but his family life, that was the only thing he was ashamed of. And Andrew had front row seats to that. Not just the filth he lived in, the bills that piled up, the lack of family portraits hanging around the house, not just his dead beat father and his drop out brother. Everything. Every fucking fight, every fucking beating.
John's next instinctual response was to yell. To scream so loud, he would break the fucking sound barrier. To tell them to get the fuck out of his house. To call his father out on what he fucking was, to throw something, to just…scream.
Silence.
"Hey…man" Andrew said unpretentiously. His voice cracked like an awkward boy going through puberty. He didn't know how to react any more than John did, but for the sake of making a good impression on his new step father, his new step brother, and the mother he rarely saw in person, he made the effort. He wasn't about to make a scene, he just hoped John would feel the same for once in his life.
John swallowed hard again.
Andrew was being awkwardly friendly because there were other people around. In reality, it was the first time he had acknowledged John in a month. Needless to say, he had not kept his promise; none of them had, technically. Andrew continued to date Allison, who was now a mini-Clair. She'd even started asking to be called Allie, so nobody could make the connection to who she used to be. Not that they had ever noticed her to realize she was the same Allison Reynolds, with new clothes. She ignored anyone that couldn't help her popularity. Her opinion about not having friends who would mind who she was friends with, apparently, completely changed . Clair, who had nothing to lose anymore, had stayed friends with Allison, and simultaneously, stayed in touch with Andrew, of course, as he was dating Allison. As for John? They forgot about him. Being friends with him would mean accepting the stigmata that they were rule breakers as well. Not that John minded. He didn't particularly want to be friends with any of them either, they could hurt his rep just as much as he could shatter theirs. Brain…John had no fucking idea what happened to that kid.
After that Monday back at school, when Andrew had walked past him without even a glance in his direction, John had rested easy under the impression that he would never see any of them again. That they'd forget what they knew, and never tell anyone, because that would be acknowledging they'd ever had any sort of close connection. And now the very worst thing had happened; Andrew was living there. Neither one could escape the other's presence, and John's secrets, wrapped in ribbon, were just a tug away from being exposed.
"Why don't you boys get cleaned up for dinner. We ordered pizza…nothing too fancy." Andrew's mom said awkwardly, detecting the discomforting silence but too afraid to bring attention to her realization.
"Sounds charming." John mumbled as he rolled his eyes, turned around, and started for his room. His rage had boiled past where it had been that day after imitating his family life and being called a liar, but he wouldn't dare show that at home. To raise your voice was a mistake that usually ended in a bloody mouth, something John would avoid at all costs in front of that particular crowd.
John slammed his door and shrugged out of his brother's clothes. He needed a plan. They couldn't stay there much longer, and he couldn't stay there another minute. He needed to get out, blow off some steam, and think about what he was going to do.
Fuck. John thought as he kicked the sweater and projected it into the dresser. He'd smoked the last of his "idea motivator" the night before. He was dry, and he had no fucking money that week. He could always get drunk. Alcohol was an excellent memory suppressor. Unfortunately, it suppressed everything else, and he needed to be on his game. He needed to get Andrew Clark the fuck out of his house as fast as humanly possible.
John's heart jumped into his throat when he heard the eerie squeaking of the hinges in his door. He instantly grabbed the first piece of fabric he saw from the ground, attempted to cover as much of his torso as he could, before twisted to face the door. It was fucking Andrew.
"Get the fuck out!" John shouted, reaching for an empty bottle of beer and tossing it at the door, while Andrew pulled it shut as fast as his reflexes would allow.
John leaned his back against the door, panting hard. He quickly played back the moment, searching for any mistake, any moment where he could have revealed any more of his fucking scars to Andrew, as if the first fucking time hadn't been bad enough, wasn't enough of a regret.
On the other end, Andrew leaned his back against the door as well, catching his breath. John was a fucking madman, and this was who he was going to be living with. John, and his father.
But maybe he had made it up? He did lie a lot. So what if he had one single scar? Andrew had scars too. John had probably done that to his fucking self. Just to help his image. John was a worthless burner. It wasn't beyond him to do something irrationally stupid like that.
Screw this. Andrew thought, picking himself up from the door. He was going to play happy in the house for the time being, for his mother's sake, but he wasn't staying there long. He needed out of that house. He needed a plan.
A/N: As I reached a stump in another story that I've refurbished and have been finished (a stump I like to call "fucking deleted all three of the next three chapters I'd been working on, because I'm an idiot, and instead of typing them on a document, decided to use doc manager which self deletes, and now I need to gain the motivation to retype them all back, then, retyped those three chapters plus three more, and my fucking computer deleted them" -That's a long name for a stump), I decided to look back at some of the pieces I had worked on back in the D. This one was God awful. Not that any of the unfinished submissions of my youth are very interesting, or manage to stay true to any of the characters, but for how many times I had watched The Breakfast Club during the time this was written (we're talking about at least once a day here. It was like comfort food to me-movie form), I had kind of expected a little more when I clicked the link to my own forgotten story. I honestly don't know what I was thinking when I typed a single line of this story. I half considered just deleting it, since the plot doesn't even make much sense (I mean...what the hell was I thinking? I don't even know how I imagined to explain why Andrew's mother would leave his father and then instantly go off to marry a drunk, or how I ever imagined I'd be able to explain her staying and putting her own son in danger once she realized the abuse in the house), but it was too much of a challenge to resist, taking this story, with a plot that had to have come from some deluded dream I had, and making it make sense. In all honestly, I couldn't bare to read more than a few paragraphs of the original, so besides the plot, and the overall beginning staying the same, this will be completely revamped. I might do this to all the random rambles that, in my youth, I called "fanfictions". Partly because I like the challenge, and partly because I'm not particularly fond of the idea of those being out there, under the same username as my recent work, which is obviously not the same as my work when I was a middle schooler, as I am quite obviously not the same either. This one, I felt, needed immediate attention, because it was more recent (even though it was still four years ago lol), and it was just...well, in John Bender's words "demented and sad".
sooo thanks to all who read the new, revamped version, and thanks to all who read that giant four am babble haha.