You know…ever since I made Shiv a rather big successful drug runner, I couldn't get it out of my head, that he'd buy his deceased uncle's old crack house and make it into a beautiful, five star hotel…or more. Unfortunately, it's not finished.
XXX
Ice
Chapter 3
XXX
October 2000
Oh the joys a new millennium can bring, Luke thought to himself as he waited at the bus stop. No license—it had been taken away—no car—he had gotten grounded—and he was pissed. His school was too far away to walk to get there on time, so he was forced to ride the bus. What friends did he have to give him a ride? Oh let's count the many shall we? Um…none.
None.
His once dark brown hair was dyed pitch black. The sides were buzzed down, and two long strands hung down near each temple, each strand nearly reaching his chin. The middle was gelled up in a sort of messy Mohawk. Dark eyeliner ran around his deep brown eyes. His lip was pierced once, and there was hoop in his right eyebrow. He was dressed in a pair of tight black pants with straps and metal loops hanging off of them, heavy boots, and a near see-through long-sleeved black shirt with a faded skull on the front. At the end of each sleeve, his thumb poked out of small holes he had created. This new school better not have some code against his attire. "Fuckin' preppy bitch school," Luke muttered to himself as he brought a cigarette to his lips. He'd been smoking since about a year ago, and hadn't really planned on quitting. He never really planned on wearing this outfit the second time in two weeks either. But it was his first day in a new school and all and he really didn't give a shit. First impressions after all.
His father had transferred him to a new school, as punishment for wrecking his new car. Luke had just shrugged it off. What school was worse than his last one?
Luke, or Ferret, as they had called him since he was just a kid (but no one here seemed to give a shit), had just gotten into the "gothic" style not long ago, observing that wearing black is a good way to express one's self. Apparently, so is wearing dark eyeliner and metal on your pants. But he really didn't give a fuck. He'd stopped caring years ago.
Luke sighed, lolling his head back and trying to succeed in blowing out a smoke ring, in which, he did not. He'd been trying since he took up this habit, but so far, nothing. It was beginning to annoy him. Maybe it was only his dad that could do it. I get his looks, but I don't get his smoking talent, go figure. He shrugged back the matter as he rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar cracking as always. His shoulders, along with his back, were a bit on the funky side. For some reason, no matter which way he turned or bent, he just couldn't crack them right. It was really starting to annoy him.
He wasn't always the hateful looking gothic boy he was now. Luke really wasn't all that hateful either, but apparently, no one wanted to stick around to learn that. Luke was a pretty laid back guy. He never really started any fights, tried to stay out of them, and basically, just wanted to have fun with life. As for skateboarding, his passion, well…he'd been on hold with that for quite a while now.
Nothing. That's all he had thought of himself as of late. Since he moved to this dank, ragged ass and gang-infested city, he'd been ridiculed, taunted, and even threatened. He'd moved here with his dad once the man heard of his daughter, also, Luke's little sister when he was what? Ten? About a year after Amy was born, they had left Orange County for this fucked up city. Fucked up was right. Nothing but hate and dishonor everywhere you turned. Then again, not like Luke knew anything else. He hardly remembered what California was like, what friends he had. He'd gone back a couple times, here and there, but…it just felt like California had disappeared entirely from his heart; ocean waves and all. He hadn't even been surfing in a while. He just seemed to give up on everything he was good at. Except maybe his guitar. He still strummed on that thing. But…he didn't know. Maybe it was just the fact that he was isolated here, here with this smoggy polluted air and lack of freedom. He needed release. He needed somewhere to run to. Or at least someone; but so far, the only solace he gained was in the company of one of his father's better employees; a local Jamaican hit-man by the name of Duncan Najeeb who he rarely ever saw. Maybe only a few times a month. And it was only a few hours those few times, and he got few reactions from the other man.
Duncan was a pretty nonchalant guy; pretty cold and uncaring.. Luke though, actually found comfort in the guy's company. Every once in a while, he'd hunt down the stoic Jamaican and round up a bit of a conversation; though it was usually Luke doing the talking and Duncan just listening, it felt good to have someone listen, even if they acted like they didn't give a fuck. For some reason, he'd found a connection with the man. That is, until everyone found out about Luke's dad and his many secrets and had started to call Luke a half-breed freak.
Man, that sucked the most. And what sucked even more was when Luke had gotten pissed off, drunk, and even more pissed off one night and ended up getting a tattoo on his back. The man who gave it to him told him it was the sign of the Devil, and the only thing Luke remembered saying was "Fuckin' sweet. Just my style."
The bus arrived. "Finally," Luke muttered as he grabbed his ruddy black backpack off the ground by his feet and hefted it over his shoulder, flicking his spent cigarette away. As he entered the bus and paid the fee—damn city buses, he thought—he was greeted, well more like, struck with many a glaring eye. It looked like half the bus held an array of Christian School students. "Just perfect," he thought. "More people to bitch about."
He didn't respond to their glaring though. Doing that would only make them believe that they were above him. But he was far more above than they could ever dream. He didn't care. And he didn't fight. He was against violence. It solved nothing.
As he moved towards an unoccupied seat, not quite in the back, but more towards the middle, also surrounded by other passengers, he noticed the glaring increasing. He wasn't sure if these people were glaring because he looked like he did, or because they knew his dad was a drug lord. Well, of course his look was apart of it. But once again, he shoved the matter aside and took a seat. He didn't budge though. Didn't say anything. He just sat there, taking the blow.
The bus was off.
XXX
I didn't even recognize him until his scent hit me. It was a mixture of hair gel of three different brands—one for sure was Ice—and cigarette smoke, all covered over with a spray of AXE. I quickly stopped in my tracks, my brown hair falling in my eyes as the wind picked up, carrying his scent heavier towards me. He didn't even move, and neither did I. I was struck with shock. I thought he was dead. It was in the papers. This kid was on the front page. He got hit by a flipping bus and flung off a bridge. He was dead. I shook my head, stepping back a bit. This was no enemy of mine from way back when. If anything, he was a random fuck. But he wasn't just that when the memory came back.
His green eyes were tired and staring aimlessly at the snowy ground, but when he looked up at me, he did it with hate. For some reason he hated me. I don't know what I did to him but…surely this wasn't the dead boy right? Surely this wasn't my one night fuck that night at that party last year was it? No. He was dead. This boy couldn't be. Maybe he had a twin.
I shook my head, shutting my eyes for a few moments trying to convince myself that this boy, whose name had suddenly slipped my mind, was not real. That it was just a projection of my imagination. That the drugs forced down my throat by nurses at the mental institution were backfiring. When I opened my eyes, he was gone.
I gave a sigh of relief. I was just crazy. That was all. A shudder ran through my body before my saneness settled back in and I limped off down the sidewalk, trying to stay on track and on my feet.
No sooner had I started walking again, I found myself sprawled on the snowy ground, my head throbbing, my jaw even more. Great. Had I broken that too? First the fingers, now my jaw…God hates me. That's all there is to it. Oh yeah, that's right. I don't believe in God. Oh well. I've blamed enough stuff on Corey Taylor and besides, more people would believe me if I mentioned God, after all, he's the bozo that put us here right? No…it was Santa, what am I talking about. …yes, that was sarcasm. Very stupid sarcasm that rambles out of my head whenever I lose myself in the world, or in my own mind. At the moment, lying there on the ground, the snow seeping into the holes of my jeans and under my sweatshirt, I was very out of myself, the pain my main concern.
However long I was lying there for, I have no idea. It felt like hours, but I'm sure it was merely minutes. After all, a few hours in fifteen-degree weather covered in snow and ice would pretty much assure my demise…I think. I don't know. I never tried death by cold. I'll have to put that on my to-do-list.
Like I said though, I don't know when I finally came around and gotten enough strength to push the pain away, but when I did, he was there, hovering over me, that hateful glare in his eyes. He wanted to kill me, I could feel it. He wanted to get rid of me for reasons unknown to myself. And all I could do was stare at him.
I stared at him for the longest time, wincing in my agony. My back had been fucked up enough the way it was, did he really have to go and do that? I mean, honestly. Whatever happened to a simple 'hello,'? His glare hardened and before I knew it, the toe of his shoe connected with the cracked ribs of my torso and I couldn't even breathe. I was struggling now, struggling to keep my body safe and away from him. My fingers caught his ankle and I brought him down with a quick swipe to his leg, right on through the denim of his jeans and deep into his flesh. The moment he feel I quickly ran, or, …something similar. The gash in my leg made the entire limb feel thrashed, my injured arm I held tightly to my chest and held at my ribs at the same time. I didn't even look back to see if he was following me. Of course he was. He was mad at me. I apparently did something very bad to him…or something like that…did I?
But I do know I did him, and I do know that right after that, he had been reported dead and I had, for some reason, been a suspect for murder. Stupid cops. They think they're so special just because they arrest a Harrison. No, I didn't murder him. Why would I? I'm anti-violent. I'm not going to encourage Bush. That would be far worse than just wrong.
I was amazed at how much distance I was putting between us. I was also amazed at how fast I was doing it. I was like, a force of nature or something, an extreme force. I was flying. I was…
Falling again. Face first into the snow. The boy was on my back, his heel digging into the back of my neck. I was shivering, now more for his hate and inflicts upon me than the cold. I was scared. I didn't know if I would die or not, but I really didn't want to find out if he was capable of killing me. I just wanted…I just wanted to go home.
As he stared at me, pushing his heel harder onto my neck, I could feel the world leaving me once again. I know, I'm losing consciousness again but what can you do? Really? I didn't really have the strength anymore to push off. The only strength I had left was my mind, and since I was no telepath or psychoplocto person—if that is really a word—it was really no use for me.
XXX
On the bus, people ignored him, tried their best not to acknowledge him as a person. Luke didn't care. He did his best to ignore them.
He figured since it was early in the day, the bus wouldn't stop anywhere near his designated school for a while. So, he kicked up his feet on a nearby seat, crossed his arms, and hung his head, intent on getting a bit more sleep than he was allowed this morning.
It must have been ten minutes that this bus took off that he was awoken. A young teen had gotten upon the bus and was poking him in the shoulder. "Hey," he said lowly as he tried to wake him. "Excuse me." Luke groaned as he gave into the boy's words. He looked up at him, his eyes a little unfocused, his jaw a bit slack. At the sight of the boy above him, his jaw went from slack, to fallen on the ground. This boy was gorgeous. He had short, pale blonde hair, startling blue eyes, a pale complexion. He was wearing the same clothes as the Christian students on the bus, and right away, Luke thought for sure he would hate him…and then he remembered, this boy had been polite and quiet. Plus, he was down right beautiful, and Luke had to refrain himself from drooling. "'Scuse me?" the boy said again. Not only was his face angelic, but so was his voice. "Could you please move your feet?" he asked politely, gesturing towards Luke's propped up booted feet.
"Oh uh," he started, having to force himself to look away from the angelic boy before him in order to answer, though turning away was bad enough for him. "Sure thing." He drug his feet off of the seat. He did his best to keep a straight face and not stare at this beautiful being before him. He looked around, noticing how many more people had climbed aboard the bus in his slumber.
"Shit." It was the blonde haired angel who said this. Luke hadn't taken him to be so vulgar. He saw as the boy had dropped something and was bending over to pick it up. Luke tried to remain cool and not stare at that marvelous backside that was staring him right in the face. The boy gave a sigh as he took a seat next to Luke. "I like your hair."
Luke hadn't been paying attention. Why hadn't he been paying attention to what he was saying? Was he really that beautiful? "What?" He asked, focusing on the angelic face of the boy.
"Your hair," he said, smiling. That smile. Luke hadn't seen any like it before in his life. "I like it. It's cool." Luke swallowed. Was he just complimenting on his hair. This good little boy looking kid was complimenting the gothic badass on his hair? What was the world coming to? Was someone trying to play him? "I wish my parents would let me do something like that. They're like so against the whole gothic thing. They say it's like, demonic or something. You're not demonic are you?"
Luke shook his head. "Not that I know of."
"Hm. Like you even need to be gothic to be Atheist even. I'm not an Atheist, but my friend is, and she's going to the same school as I am and she's not gothic or anything. My parents hate her and the teachers say she's going to hell if we don't save her or anything but, I say, they can all fuck off, if she wants to be Atheist let her be. I mean, come on. Even my parents think that I'm becoming one just because I'm questioning the bible and they caught me eyeballing this guy, who by the way was super hot, and now they're trying to send me to some home where I can be "saved" and all that. They especially hated when I kept asking these questions to the priest like, if incest is a sin, then what about Adam and Eve's grandchildren? You know? You ever think of that?"
Luke wasn't listening to what he was saying. He was more intent on watching those beautiful lips move. This boy was perfect. He had to know his name. But he couldn't even get a word out. He wouldn't stop talking.
"My name's Justin by the way." Well that was easy. "What's yours?"
"Uh, Luke," he said quietly. "But my friends call me Ferret. Or at least they would if I had any friends here."
"Well, Ferret, I like your hair, and your clothes. And your boots," he looked down at Luke's large combat boots. "Uh, if you're really that tired, you can put them back up."
"What, on your lap?" Luke was not one to ruin a perfect boy's body. If he were to oblige to his invitation, that would mean dirtying his khaki pants with the worn knees, leaving marks and possibly bruises on his legs.
"I don't mind," Justin said with a smile. Luke didn't budge. "I know you want to." Luke's eyebrows knit together in confusion. Ever so slowly, he shook his head.
"I'm fine." He managed it with a smirk.
"Ok." Justin was so cool with everything. It only took twenty seconds for Justin to begin talking again. "I really like your pants."
"Thanks."
"They're so awesome." He took a small red strap into his delicate hands and began to twirl it around. "I wish I could have pants like these."
"What's stopping you?" Luke wasn't minding at all that this complete stranger was brushing his pale fingers across his knee, picking up yet another strap, fiddling with a zipper.
"My parents," Justin said with a smile. "They're such, I don't know what to call them. Bible humpers."
"So I take it they don't even know you're gay?" Luke asked, having no difficulty at all in seeing this young man's sexuality.
"Well, if it took you this long to figure it out, then they really are as stupid as they talk. But it got real close when they saw me flirting with that guy. I just told them he was from Germany and that's what they did. Can you believe they actually fell for it?" He let the straps fall before bringing his fingers to traces over a set of black jelly bands that wound around Luke's wrist. Luke didn't stop him. Instead, he watched as those oh so beautiful hands plucked at each band before tracing the fabric of his shirt, tugging on a loose thread. Luke swallowed the rather large lump in his throat, watching Justin…what was he doing? Inspecting him? Well, he said he loved the way he dressed. And judging by how open he was about him propping his feet on his lap, it didn't surprise Luke as much as it would have that he was tracing his fingertips over the scabs on his knuckles. "What happened?" he asked, rubbing at his knuckles, bringing his blue eyes to meet the timid brown orbs of Luke's.
Luke frowned. "Me and my dad got in a fight, again," he said, a sudden distaste in his words. "I ended up punching a wall."
"Ouch," Justin said, furrowing his eyebrows while he continued to run his fingers over Luke's own, gently caressing the knuckles with the wounds of dry blood covering over. "I'm sorry."
"What for? You didn't do anything." Luke's eyes were focused completely on Justin's hands as they held his right hand in both. "Don't say sorry for something you're not sorry for."
Justin shrugged. "You have long fingers."
"I know." Now what was Justin getting at?
"You know what they say about guys with long fingers." Justin said with a smile, his blue eyes resting on Luke.
Luke brought his eyes to meet him, his own wolfish smirk playing across his face. No sooner had he brought his head up to look at Justin, his gaze went back down to the young boy's hands holding his own. His fingers were slack in Justin's soft grip. With no more hesitation, he brought his hand to rest over Justin's. "You have soft hands," he pointed out. "Beautiful." He hadn't even noticed he had said the word, and by the time he had realized it, it was too late to take it back. He looked up, half scared, at Justin's face. Only a tint of red covered Justin's pale cheeks as his lips formed a nervous smile, his gaze cast away as his free hand pulled a strand of blonde hair back behind his ear. It was too short to stay back though, and came to rest at his cheek again.
"Can I, uh," Justin started to stammer. "Touch your hair?"
Luke didn't answer. He just bent his head, letting himself belong to Justin right there. Hesitantly, Justin brought his hand up to Luke's hair, curling his fingers a bit before going in. And once his fingers were laced within Luke's black hair, a rather large smile crossed his features and Luke noticed. "You like it?" He asked.
"It's awesome," Justin responded absent-mindedly.
"I was thinking of cutting it."
"Oh, don't." Justin's fingers began to roam over every inch of hair, through Luke's scalp, across the bristly hairs on the sides of his head, and then sliding down the long locks hanging from his temples. He pulled them through his fingers ever so softly, feeling the softness, loving the slightly nervous reaction that was coming from Luke. At least he wasn't the only one being nervous. "I really, really like your hair."
"Thanks," Luke said with a smile. Before he could react though, Justin's fingers had went from feeling the hair on his head, to roaming over his eyebrows, tracing the thin lines of black, and fingering the silver spike in one. Luke didn't move though. He wanted to make this boy happy. Not to mention, he loved the reaction they were getting from the many other passengers on the bus. This made him smirk. He felt Justin's fingers going down his cheeks, tracing his jaw line, and then brushing over the lip ring. He leant in close to Justin's ear. "I think we have an audience," he whispered in a barely audible tone. Justin only had to glance over once to see the faces of his fellow students staring at them with disgust. This made him giggle before turning his head back, only to have it land with Luke's cheek. Luke though, only smiled. "Play along, ok? I do this with my friend Derek all the time." He started to run his hand down Justin's chest.
"Mm. I thought you didn't have any friends," Justin whispered.
"Well I have one." And with that, he started to burry his face in Justin's neck, giving small kisses that made Justin smile. Justin, being the cooperative sport, started to play with Luke's moves. He took the hand that was covering Luke's hand and brought it to his head, where he ran his fingers through his hair again as Luke rubbed his hand over Justin's thigh. Justin sighed before Luke brought their foreheads together. His chocolate brown eyes looked longingly into Justin's brilliant blue ones. Justin couldn't tell whether or not Luke was actually "playing along" anymore, or if he really was feeling the same way that Justin was feeling at that very moment. Justin glanced over to see the faces that were once glaring, now filled with disgust, and he smiled as Luke brought a kiss to his cheek. Justin just had to keep going. Especially once he heard the words 'damn faggots' being uttered among the faces. He turned his body around and raised himself up, seating himself atop Luke's lap. Luke, who was taken by sudden surprise, started to pull back.
"Don't," Justin whispered as he pulled Luke's head back. "The show must go on. And our stop for the next bus is a long ways away."
"Depending on if we both go to the same school that is," Luke whispered back as Justin took hold of his shoulders.
"You go to Canton high?" Justin asked as he brought a kiss to Luke's temple.
"No…some other school. Hear it's full of preps."
Justin raised an eyebrow. "The Catholic school?"
Luke shook his head. "No somethin' else."
"Well, the only other school around here is the one I go to. It's a Christian school…"
Justin didn't need to explain any further. Luke's blank stare was enough to tell him what was up. Luke was not happy at all.
"That asshole," he muttered, shaking his head, his fingers tightened in the fabric of Justin's shirt. "I'll fucking kill him. Sending me to a religious school is far beyond wrong and suicidal punishments for wrecking his car."
"Punishment?" Justin asked, a bit taken aback by Luke's sudden anger flash.
"I ran his car into a the lake, and he decided to transfer me to another school, one a little closer to home. He never said it was a fucking Christian School! That's bull."
"Well, it's not like they'll let you in looking like that."
"Of course they will. I'll go along with Dad's little plot, and I will turn that school upside down. I bet I can even make these uniform things look a little better too."
"You know my friend is working on that. Maybe you could help her?"
Luke licked his lips, meeting Justin's eyes once again. "Maybe I could."
"Good. Because, even though I may be religious, I am not enough to start a flipping school about it. Next thing you know, the president will start insisting everyone go to religious schools and everyone believe in the same God. It'll be like the whatever war from whatever time."
Well, now that Luke found out that Justin was no history expert, he suddenly felt better…not about Justin being clueless about past events, but about going to school with this angel. It wouldn't be a total bust.
Luke didn't protest after that. He just played to Justin's every touch. It wasn't long until their bus came to stop.
"Where are we?" Luke asked, raising his head so as to see their surroundings.
Justin looked outside the window. "Bout three blocks from school."
"Then shouldn't we get off?"
"We could spend the whole day together," Justin said dreamingly.
Luke smirked, looking down at his attire before looking back up at that beautiful blonde angel that was Justin. "Why not? It doesn't look like I'm properly dressed for this little Christ lover's school."
They didn't bother getting off the bus for a while after that. After they did get off though, Luke finally took into consideration what a drastic turn his life had just taken. He was growing a fond liking towards a religious boy. There was something his dad would never believe. That, or just one other thing he'd shrug off.
XXX
Billy, that was his name. Billy Dowe, the cute twink from the party. I finally remembered his name.
I recalled Billy holding me down in the snow; recall his Chuck Taylor's making contact with my ribs and my back and anything else he could get to. I recall his displeased voice as he scorned me, insulted me, and hurt me with words I don't really remember. He called me a traitor, I think, but of what, I don't know. My allegiance to the Greenhouse was still loyal. I've been keeping tabs with them now and then. I wasn't a traitor to them. My dad had literally booted me out of the house the moment I turned eighteen, I wasn't a traitor there. Kangor was the one that killed Hyde—which to be totally honest I'm still feeling sick over—and I was not really involved in that, so I don't think I was a traitor to that predicament. …
I abandoned my friends and everyone around me after Tiffany had taken her own life. I ignored them, neglected them, and everyone else around. I've felt bad about it for a long time now, but, what can I do? I can't go back. I'm a meta-human, a Bang Baby, a literal freak and therefore, by my records and attempts, am not allowed in civilized society for someone will definitely call the cops on me the first second. I'm safer inside, unseen, unknown. People can just believe I'm dead.
And then I'm reminded of death again. I'm not dead, and I'm not going to be dead for a long, long—god—long ass time. I'm kind of ticked about it really.
I woke up to darkness. I had passed out again. I'm getting rather bored of that. Billy was nowhere to be seen. Then again, neither was anything else. Sometimes I wish I had night vision, but then how much fun would Ghosts in the Graveyard be if I could see in the dark. It's funner to play in the dark, but it is not at all fun to be broken and twisted and bleeding and moaning in all the pain in the dark. That's usually not a very good thing. I know from experience. It was how I became a member of the Greenhouse. My initiation was…well…one I'd rather not discuss with mixed company, or anyone at all. You'd have to get me mega drunk and mega happy in order for me to do that. That, or just mega bored off my as s that I really don't care. Good thing though, there was never anyone who asked.
But the darkness was making me uneasy. I tried to take notice of maybe where I was. I was sprawled out, one something soft. Remarkably soft at that. Nice and warm, yet kind of upsetting. I wasn't use to warm and nice and comfy. I was used to hard and cold and unsettling. Unsettling like my insides, swishing around like a hurricane. It was the fear building up again. No matter what I was laying on, soft or hard, warm or cold, the fear was coming. The panic. My head was throbbing again, the headaches becoming worse. Did I have a concussion? I don't know. But it hurt. It hurt to breath, it hurt to lay down. It felt, laying down was upsetting by breaths and making it hard to take in oxygen. I tried sitting up, tried placing my hands down underneath me, to try to raise myself up, but my messed up arm wouldn't support my weight and I fell back. But I think I was barely even that far up. Hard marble surface upsetting my cold flesh, making me shiver. It was getting harder and harder. My breaths quickened but I couldn't get much of any air. I rolled to the side, and quickly regretted it. Pain was not my friend today.
And then, I saw it. Out of the darkness, a form of light. I thought I was dead. I hoped I was dead. And I wondered about one of my theories on death…of all the times to think about them. When we die, do we just keep reliving our lives over and over, eternity after eternity, remaking our mistakes, forever in the years that we live? Wouldn't that be kind of effed up? It's a possibility right? I know this for sure. I can't be going to hell, because as far as I've learned, Earth itself was Hell.
Why would I be thinking about these things in this time? Why? I'm supposed to be scared for my life here, and here I am, mind wandering off once again. And then, I see a shape within the darkness.
I back away. I back away until there's nothing to back into but a…headboard? Where the heck am I? By the feeling of the…bed…I'm sitting on, the comfyness, the…satin pillows? I would have to guess…cha right if it's a five star hotel.
And then, all to suddenly, the lights kick on and I'm blinded. My eyes squeeze shut and my arm comes up to cover my face. I'm shaking, struggling with breath, fear becoming confusion, confusion back into fear. And when I lift my arm slightly, to have a peek at what had just happened, I am surprised. And by the most unlikely of words.
"Boo!"
Before I recall the purple hair and mischievous eyes, that single word and insane feature and demeanor strike me, and I yelp, falling off the edge of the bed, hitting my head on the end table on the way down. I better be dead, or there's going to be hell to pay.
XXX
No, he did not get knocked unconsious again. For once. I just didn't want this chapter to be any longer. And he won't experiance any more knockouts or passouts until he gets way too drunk, or way to tired. But anyways...it was still a long chapter. And the movie Saved scared the shit out of me. Seriously. After all, the only reason i watched it was for Kett Turton.
