A/N: Hello! I have gotten back into EEnE lately, and I really wanted to write an angst fic told from Eddy's POV. This fic will eventually be EddyxEdd, if enough folks like this and review it. So if you like this, PLEASE review! It's pretty dark and it's also based on some real-life events from my life, so just a warning.

Disclaimer: I don't own EEnE, but I wish I did.

"Let's work on your pronunciation, shall we Eddy?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." I mumble, resting my chin on hand, with my elbow propped up on the table.

Sockhead cleared his throat and then carefully wrote a sentence on a clean sheet of paper in his notebook and placed it in front of me.

Ma famille a un chat.

"Mah famil aye unne chatte," I read choppily.

"No, Eddy!" Sockhead scolded, discouraged. I sighed.

"It's pronounced, 'ma famille a un chat'; the second part of famille has a long 'E' sound, and you don't pronounce the 'T' in chat," he explained.

"Then why the heck do they bother with putting a 'T' at the end of the word in the first place?!" I ask. Then I leaned forward with my arms crossed on the table. "This is stupid," I added.

"C'est le francais, Eddy," Sockhead responds. "If you did not want to acquire the French language then perhaps you should have registered for another class when you started all this last year, may I remind you."

I hate to say it, but maybe Sockhead was right. There was Spanish and German being offered too. Ed chose Spanish, maybe I should've taken that with him. I would've taken German but I found out the Kankers were taking that class. When I found out Nazz and Sockhead were taking French, I figured those were good enough reasons for me to take it too. Of course, Shovelchin was also taking French, but who cares? Point is, I love to sit across from the room and check out Nazz as eye candy during the boring lectures. And Double D? Well, if there's a class that I can actually take with him—that's not AP Calculus or some nerdy, high-brow shit like that—then I'm taking it. Sockhead doesn't even realize when I'm copying his homework half the time during these "study sessions".

"Yeah, yeah," I said, waving my hand dismissively. I scoot my chair back and put my legs up on the table, crossing them. "I just don't get why they have those extra letters on the end of words if we ain't gonna say it, ya know?"

"Eddy, have you lost your ever-living mind?!" Sockhead freaked out.

"What?" I asked, having no idea what he was laying an egg over now.

"Why in the SAM HILL do you have your feet on the table, Eddy?!"

"Oh, that?" I glanced at my feet, then I shrugged. "It's not like I have my shoes on or anything. Got socks on, ya know."

"But, if mother and father were to find out—"

"How they heck are they gunna find out?! They ain't ever here!"

"Touché Eddy, but putting one's feet on the table is immensely unsanitary, nevertheless!"

I sighed again. "Geez, okay." I slowly took my feet off the table and placed them on the cold kitchen tile. "There, ya happy now?"

"Why yes, thank you Eddy!" Double D smiled widely, showing his gap. It's kinda funny, every time he smiles all cheesy like that I always notice that gap. It's so…. I dunno, just so him. I don't say anything about it, because the couple of times that I have before it usually pisses him off. I'd rather piss him off in new, creative ways. Like putting my feet up on the table when we're having a study session.

Truth is, I don't really need these study sessions.

I mean, yeah, I usually get C's or whatever in French, but it's not like I'm failing or anything.

It's just another excuse to spend time with one of my pals.

I'll do anything not to go back home after school.

Another thing that I have been doing lately after school is watching those horrible B grade monster movies with Ed. They're God-awful, but whenever I ask Lumpy if there's a new "Night of the Flesh-Eating Trolls" or whatever out, his face lights up and he immediately asks me if I want to come over and watch it. Hell, I don't even mind seeing Sarah or Jimmy when I go over to Ed's house, which I often do. I guess over the last couple of years, Sarah has grown on me. Shit, anyone and anything is better than him.

Ya see, I haven't seen my brother in years, not since that Mondo a Go-Go incident, where everybody was there. And I was fine with that. I mean, he's a jerk. I always knew that, but it just seemed like he was getting worse over time. It definitely seemed that way that day we found him at that theme park.

But looking back on it, it was a good thing that he had a job and a place to stay. He didn't have to be sent away, like when we were growing up. Mom and dad were always talking, worried if he could "make it out there".

As it later turned out, he couldn't.

I hadn't heard from Big Bro in years and then, last year during my sophomore year, the rents got a phone call in the middle of the night. It was my brother, threatening to kill himself.

The old man immediately hit the road and picked him up at some shitty apartment, not too far from Mondo a Go-Go. It turned out that Big Bro turned to drugs. I mean, I always knew he smoked weed, but I guess that was one of the reasons I thought he was cool growing up. That was just one of the many dumbass reasons I thought he was cool, which I was so wrong all these years.

Bro told mom and dad about the harder stuff. Ya know, cocaine, meth, pills. He also said he did heroine, but I don't believe him. All that fucker does is lie.

And then, BAM! Life changed when big bro moved back in last year. Maybe I when I was younger I would've been thrilled, but bro wasn't nearly as much of an asshole then as he is now. Much like I was growing up, I am still his punching bag, but worse. I remember one day talking to Ed on the phone after school. Big Bro pounded my door and then he opened it 'coz I didn't have it locked.

"Whaddya want?" I asked, irritated.

"I need to use the phone Pipsqueak," his eyes had dark, hollow circles around them.

"Too bad Bro," I said. "I'm in the middle of talking to Ed,"

"I said, gimme the damn phone!"

I raised an eyebrow, feeling like he was trying to test me.

"No."

"You piece of SHIT!"

At that moment, he beat the living shit out of me. He held me down with his left hand and tried to punch my face with his right. I covered my face with my arms, so he hit my arms and then eventually went for my stomach. I tried not to cry but the pain was too much, both physically and mentally. Bro then walked over to my phone and pulled the cord out of the socket, and then he picked up my old-fashioned phone and threw it across the room, and it hit the wall with a loud noise. The phone was scratched but okay, but it left the wall with a dent.

Worse though was that I knew Ed heard all of this. I was so nervous to see him the next day. Luckily, Lumpy didn't mention it or act any different towards me. Either he didn't think much of it or already forgot. Either way, I was relieved. If it were Double D on the other end of the receiver on the other hand, I would've had to come up with some elaborate story to make him not worry about anything.

Not only does Bro like to beat the living daylight out of me, but he steals. From everyone. Mom, dad, and me.

I remember another day when I came home from school and my record player was gone.

Turns out, asshole pawned it for drug money. I was livid because I grew up with this record player. Dad gave me money to go buy a new one, but it wasn't the same. The one I had was an antique and it meant a lot to me.

Other shit started disappearing from my room too. CDs. Earphones. Money.

The rents told me to start hiding my stuff, so I did. I started hiding my allowance in between my mattresses. I know I had $30 there one day. Then one day, POOF! Gone like that.

"Where were you hiding your money Eddy?" My dad asked me when I told him.

"In between my mattresses," I answered.

"That's not a very good place to hide things! He's good at finding stuff! You're going to have to come up with better hiding places!"

…Going to have to come up with better hiding places?

Really?

I begged my parents to kick him out, but they wouldn't even consider it, claiming that he can't "make it" in the real world. So I just have to tolerate his beatings and hide all the stuff that I don't want to get stolen. Great.

I mean, sure, I stretched the truth a lot with the scams I did with Lumpy and Sockhead growing up, but it was only because I wanted money for Jawbreakers. It's not like I was straight-up stealing from someone for drug money.

After Double D and I wrapped up our study session, I said bye to him once he sees me out the front door. I very slowly walked across the lawn and back to my house, feeling like the books in my backpack weighed a trillion tons. Or maybe it's just the feeling of dread. Who knows?

I glanced at my watch. 6:30. Good, the rents should be home by now. Everyday I try not get home until around this time, because I feel better when mom or dad are at home. Otherwise, if it's just me and Bro, chances are he'll beat the shit out of me for no reason.

After putting the key in the front door, I opened it to see Bro stretched out on the couch, lifelessly watching TV. No surprise. But then I quickly saw the kitchen lit up and I could see my mom cooking, and I smelled something good coming from there, like chicken.

Whew.

I closed the door behind me and trudged up the stairs. Maybe my mom saw me, maybe she didn't. As a family, we don't really talk anymore. It's like there's too much pain and tension in the house to talk. That or when Bro moved in he sucked all the energy out. Guess it doesn't really matter.

When I get to my room I shut and lock the door behind me. I walked over to the blinds and made sure they were shut, which they were. I felt a very familiar and tense feeling in my chest, and my left arm was itching. I rolled up my sleeve and scratched, trying not to pick at any of the scabs already there.

I mean, I had an okay day today. Yeah school sucked, but I got to hang out with Sockhead afterwards, and I had no interaction with my Bro. So all in all, it hasn't been a bad day.

But I was definitely craving it, and bad.

Like a zombie in one of Ed's horrible movies, I went to my closet without thinking and pulled out a shoebox buried under a pile of clothes. Basically this shoebox was filled with knives and blades, some serrated and some smooth. I actually prefer the smooth ones, especially on an okay day like today. I picked up my favorite smooth but big butcher knife and walked over to my bed. I looked for a spot in between the old scars and fresher scabs that hasn't been marred yet.

I take a deep breath, filled with adrenaline.

"Ahh!" I breathed out as I quickly cut my flesh. I sat there and watched for the blood to slowly come to the service. I grabbed a wad of tissues and pressed down, trying to get the blood to stop faster. With my right hand firmly pressed against my left forearm, I laid down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I took a deep breath again. It's so weird, but everytime I do this, it's like an out-of-body experience. It's like, Bro has his drugs and I have, well, this.

Nobody knows that I do this. And I plan for it to stay that way. I mean, I can only imagine the ridicule and the names I would be called if word got out. Emo. Pussy. Weak. Fag.

And maybe I am all of those things, and a part of me believes it. But I want people to see me and think of me just how I act; like a cool, confident, good-looking and fun guy. I once heard on a motivational tape that if you act a certain way, you'll be a certain way.

But I guess I kinda negate that everytime I hurt myself.

But I mean, shit, how else am I going to deal with how shitty things have gotten since Bro came back? Mom and dad are the ultimate enablers and I'm just supposed to sit back and 'take it'!

So, I mean, I guess this cutting thing is working, for now at least.

Anything to not blow my brains out.