Warning for Underage Drinking, Smoking, and Drug Use, as well as Self-Harm via Proxy Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Self Confidence Issues, Homophobia, Racism, and Child Abuse.
Welcome to the angst verse.
John, I am sorry.
Word Count: 1,979
take a look at my life (all black)
This time around, John Laurens is the result of an affair, so he considers himself kind of an expert on the topic.
Let him just say, affairs should definitely not be a thing. Certainly not between a rich white man and his maid that is only working there because she has no other choice. Especially not if there are children as a result and the man's jealous wife is living in the same house.
John's pretty sure that his father raped his mother, actually, even if everyone else seems to think she was willing or even that she had initiated the whole thing. Mrs. Laurens, for example was a big fan of that theory.
In conclusion: affairs suck for everyone involved and they should never happen.
And yeah, John himself isn't guiltless himself in that regard, but his affair in his last life is vastly different from the one of his father—John is still not quite sure about whether or not he is the same person as the last time around. Both seem equally possible and he isn't sure which one would be worse.
Martha and him, well, they had only had gotten married so that Frances wouldn't be considered a bastard. Frances herself had only existed as a result of a mutual attempt to prove themself straight.
And that attempt had failed. The only hard feelings that John was aware of in relation to this was that he had died before he had seen Frances, but he had been involved in a war, so that seemed forgivable.
Except that you took unnecessary risks instead of trying to get to them after Yorktown, a part of him that sounded oddly like his Alexander's wife Eliza complains.
John wishes that he could simply tell it to shut up, but it has one hell of a point.
Henry Laurens is firmly convinced that Latino men are bound to be violent because of...something? John has never and will never understood the logic—he cannot recall thinking about Latinos at all during his last life, really—but that isn't really the point he's trying to make here.
No, the issue here is that John is one of them.
You see, his mother had been an immigrant from Puerto Rico—or, since Puerto Rico is a part of the U.S., he should really say moved to South Carolina from Puerto Rico, but no one else seemed to care about it and he kind of got into the habit before he knew better—and both John and his full sister Martha come after their mother in looks—among other things.
So from a young age, John's father had expected him to get into fights. Is it really that surprising that it eventually starts to happen?
Like, yeah, John had tried and it had worked for a while. Then, he had gotten into a single fight. He barely remembers what it had even been about, but he had defended someone.
And...suddenly...his father had… had approved of his actions?
It had been a strange feeling that John still isn't quite familiar with, but it had sparked something. Or brought it back to the surface?
Either way, from that point onwards, John starts looking for fights. More specifically, for fights he is sure to lose. One of those well-raised ones-a hero-wouldn't pick on those weaker than him, would he? And never girl, no matter how strong they were or how much they deserve it, because a girl was automatically weak. Or something.
John never claimed to understand the rules he follows, he just does.
John's siblings all have the same names as last time.
They have the same age difference, too. His only full sibling Martha is about five years younger than him, then there's his half brother Henry Junior—and how he wishes he could forget the glee in Mrs. Laurens's eyes whenever she looked at his mother, Martha, or John himself during that time—who's four years younger than Martha, and James, who is just turn is two years younger than Henry, thus he is only three when John is about to enter high school.
The younger ones aren't John's full siblings, but they might as well be. Not only because they are close—at least he is fairly sure they are—but also because his mom is doing most of the raising, instead of merely providing some genes.
But despite that, Mrs. Laurens is oh so proud of giving his father two proper sons—always making sure to look at John when she says that, as if he otherwise couldn't comprehend that she's talking about him.
If he always comes home with new bruises after that, well, then that's just a coincidence of course.
It isn't, the Eliza-voice says, and you should know that you are worth something without doing that.
Oh, how John wishes he could believe that.
When John gets into high school, something changes.
He meets people that actually care about all the stuff that is wrong with the world. People who want to change things, to start a revolution, just like in old times, just like his Alexander.
John can feel that these are his people, this is where he belongs-only no, not quite.
But it's closer than anyone else has ever been. Possibly excepting his full sister Martha, but only possibly.
So yeah, these guys, the punks, they become the closest friends he has had in this life.
Objectively, John knows that not everything they do is all that good. However, drinking provides a nice escape from reality. As do the drugs.
Yeah.
John's reality is pretty darn shitty, though. By the time he gets into junior year, his mom is sick. They don't know what it is, because his mother cannot afford a doctor and even thinking about asking Henry is preposterous.
The only things John finds solace in are fighting, drinking, smoking, drugs, and his art classes with Miss Goldstein. They are exactly what he needs with no exclusion coming to mind.
He can draw there without any judgement of his choice of motive, colors, or the fact that he is drawing at all. He gets an introduction to the techniques he's not familiar with and can chose whether or not he wants to go in more depth.
It is so refreshing, really.
A nice way to let go of the world for a while and the only one that the Eliza-voice in his mind does not have anything to say against.
He needs this escape more and more every day, because his mother is only getting worse and John has to be strong for his siblings, since both his father and Mrs. Laurens are focusing on the unborn one.
John is the oldest, it's his job to take care of them.
It's only your job to assist, Eliza-voice argues, you're not even quite sixteen yet, you should focus on school.
John actually kind of agrees with her, but he can't do that. His siblings need him.
They are more important than him getting enough sleep. He can deal with it, especially since his father is still paying for their food, drink, housing, and school and thus John doesn't need to look for a job and make time for that as well.
One thing that has not changed since the last time around: John is still very gay. In the modern sense of the word.
Another thing: no one around him had ever expressed as much as much as reluctant tolerance around him.
John doesn't have a sexuality crisis in the traditional sense, but nevertheless there is a point of realization followed by an 'oh shit'.
He has had enough trouble with that last time, can't he get a break?
But at least now there is no danger of him being killed, right?
Wrong. There's no danger of being hanged by the government, true, however, the news reveal that murder is still a possibility-and would it kill his father to show literally any empathy?
That's not even mentioning the fact that he can lose a job because of his sexuality. And not get married. And die alone in a hospital because of AIDS or whatever.
And John is aware that it isn't only gay men suffering from this, but also people of other genders and sexualities, as well as disabled people, poor ones, and non-white ones.
It makes him feel so enraged. Why would anyone do this and why is no one else protesting against this?
John's mother dies a week before his sixteenth birthday. They still have no idea what her illness had even been and she had worked until she physically couldn't. Only Henry's and James's begging is the reason that Vanessa de la Vega is even allowed to stay at the mansion for the last three months.
It's not exactly great in any way or sense, but you don't need to be a genius to notice that. John isn't Alexander, he cannot express his feelings through words.
He uses bottles and brushes, punches and pills, cigarettes and caffeine, because they are the best ways to let go, to stop feeling.
But he has to pull through at home. Half of them aren't physically available and the other half could theoretically be achieved, but provoking his father is never a good idea and the man is convinced that only girls draw, so John isn't allowed to outside school requirements.
He still does it, of course. Almost nothing he does is something he is actually supposed to do. What kind of rebel would John be if he listened to rules?
In fact, on the very day his mother dies, he waits until his sibling are all asleep, grabs some money from in of his father's hiding places, and sneaks out.
More precisely, he sneaks out to a tattoo parlor. Paying three times the required amount makes most people ignore the fact that he is below 18 without parental supervision or signature.
He gets a picture of a small turtle that John had designed himself on the back of his lower leg. It was the one that his mother had said should hang in a museum.
He isn't crying, goddammit.
He isn't.
You totally are, John, Eliza-voice argues. And it is okay for you to admit it.
Again, he wishes it was true.
He doesn't know how, but somehow Martha, Henry, and James have convinced their father to allow him not one, but two turtles on his birthday.
It's the best gift ever, it almost makes him feel happy again.
"They're thef- thir-"
"Therapy turtles," Martha corrects.
"Yeah, that. What you're gonna call them?" James asks, standing on his toes to watch them in the aquarium until John picks him up and holds him by his waist.
"The smaller one is Alex," John motions.
"And this one?" Henry asks, pointing at the swimming animal.
John thinks for a second before he replies, "Mozart."
So apparently he's the type of person who names animals after people they've had sex with. That is new information, but at the same time it doesn't surprise him all that much.
"Those are weird names," Martha remarks.
"Well," John says, "it's their names, so who are you to argue? You wouldn't like it when someone told you your name wasn't yours either, would you?"
Martha thinks for a second, as do the boys.
"John's right!" James proclaims loudly. He's nodding strongly enough that John almost sets him down again. And Martha accompanies the whole thing by a single nod, but it is a strong one.
"But what if a name really doesn't fit?" Henry questions.
"Well, I'd say the person knows what fits them best, right? It's no different from you being the best authority over your own favourite animal. You know it best for yourself."
Henry ponders that for a second before he, too, nods. "Alright, that makes sense."