Bleeding Sanctuary
By: Holly Rose E.
A/N: All my Season 01 Digimon episodes have been taped over... *sigh* So, we shall start anew, if the channels ever decide to play them again. Sorry for the wait, lovelies.
*****
Chapter Two: Surgery
I can't change
I'll replace the decay
Make you second guess your everyday
I can't change
I'll survey the damage
Kill the narcissist with his reflection
Until tomorrow
~Jack off Jill
*****
He sat idly on the bed, not caring or wishing for anything in the world at the moment except for freedom - both literally and metaphorically.
He wished to be free from the haunts of his pursuers, eternally screaming in his ear, their voices forever pounding in his head, screeching and cursing at him, telling him that he was no good.
As a younger boy, he'd been very skinny - geeky and awkward - unable to defend himself physically, and he was never all that great at the world's best comebacks. Even when he tried, the bullies, for lack of a better word, would just roll their eyes, say something degrading, and proceed to bust his face into the ground, wondering how long it would take for the imprint to show.
It continued throughout his young life, and the tables were turned for just a short while once his mutation manifested.
A few weeks after his thirteenth birthday, after getting off at his appropriate bus stop, the bullies that had tormented him for more than half of those years had also gotten off and began to chase him.
He ran through yards, ducking under trees, leaping over fences, trying not to get a limb
_ [what had that movie been? Stand By Me? The man set his dog Chopper to "sic balls"] _
torn off by a protective, rabid dog. Near his house, he remembered the fence was almost as tall as he, he leapt, his foot caught, and he fell tumbling headfirst onto the ground.
Out of fear, he froze in shock on the ground, waiting for the bullies to catch him and pummel him. When it never came, he craned his neck around and tried to retain his eyes in his sockets. His tormentors were staring dumbfounded at reflections of themselves.
And thus, Donovan Bingham escaped.
Unfortunately, after that incident, the boys learned better and still continued their assault on Donny.
Then one day, not as unfamiliar as now, he sat on his bed, vaguely scratching at his arms with his scissors (blue, and with his name written all over them in his handwriting over the years).
And lord, did it feel good.
After a few years of doing this to himself, he could no longer hide it and he confessed to his parents who, even after being furious with him for being a mutant, were still understanding considering that Donovan was their only son.
"Donovan," a nurse said, his balding head gleaming in the fluorescent lights, "lights out son."
He nodded, still rubbing his fingernails along the inside of his left forearm tracing a vein, and got under the covers, as the nurse flipped off the switch.
Down the hall, someone began to cry, a slight mewing sound.
***
Damn did his shoulder hurt like a mother.
He ran a hand through his grubby blonde hair, trying to take his mind off the throbbing in his shoulder which, naturally, was caused by the "wardens" here at the lovely Asylum Hotel.
He hadn't really even done anything to deserve being thrown in this time. Biting his lip, he tried not to scream. He loathed tiny rooms, they always felt like they were going to collapse on him, strangle him.
He curled into a tiny ball, blue eyes shot with silver glaring at the room, daring the walls to move. He chuckled under his breath, wishing they hadn't remembered to put that damn jacket on him again.
Maybe they had received a letter from one the previous institutions he had been in, telling them to make sure he couldn't
_[let me out you fucks I need to feel it I need blades pricks needles come on give it to me let me out so I can BITE]_
do anything to himself or others.
His father had killed himself while the boy was at an early age, so he didn't really mind so much; his mother on the other hand...
His mother got worked up easily, agitated if you even breathed too loudly.
She never beat him, lord no, but sometimes she would smack him - it was nothing he couldn't take.
His lineage was plagued by mental disorders, and he was soon diagnosed with schizophrenia. What luck, huh?
His mother stuck him in one of the god-forsaken, mentally decapitating hell houses.
Once they discovered him as being a mutant, it only got worse from there. They sent him to a hidden, underground compartment since they considered him to be less than human and deserved less good treatment than the others.
One time, on bad behavior, they sent him to solitary
_ [and isn't it scary how they're all mirror images of the last one?]_
and there he tried to bite through his wrist; he still had a disfigured scar there. The metallic taste of the blood would never leave his memory, and he reveled in it.
At every institute he became more notorious for his break-out efforts; once he'd almost succeeded. He was cornered at the top of the roof, the guards surrounding him. Trying to fight off his fear, he puffed up his chest and persuaded himself that - yes - he could fly damn it!
So he tried, jumping off the roof, dangling there as a guard held onto his leg. Staring down into the ground which now seemed miles away, he clambered back up, silent tears of fright streaming down his porcelain face.
Three times he'd been issued a bar-code to be tattooed on his blue- white skin. More times than he could count he'd been abused, cursed at and hated. His bones had been broken a record breaking amount of times - so record breaking that he couldn't even remember just how often.
It became so that he'd spent so much time locked behind bars, and shoved in five by eight white padded rooms that he forgot all about himself, except for his first name.
Thus, Devlin was cursed to spend an eternity in pain.
What he wouldn't give for some
_ [heroin give me my goddamn heroin!]_
freedom.
Long, sweet, glorious freedom.
Oh, sure, he'd been able to be on the run for a few weeks at a time, spending it having rough sex with some other boy he'd been able to hook up with at some random bar.
He had a scar on his shoulder to prove it.
It rather resembled the one on his wrist, in fact.
*****
Oh, goodness. By Jove, yes, we'll have to up the rating by the end of this. *eye twitch* That's the gajillion time I've had to keep upping it until it go no further... Hmm...
MERRY CHRISTMAS MY LOVES!!
And a very merry one to my beta, Dead Caffeine Junkie who is the most beautiful goddess in all religions. ^-^ Love ya, babe.
THANKS TO: cheeky-bear007; The Little Prophet; KS-fan; Radical Ed 85; Kiyou Wiz; TigerStorm; XX-Goth-Gal; Phobia; Nacla; MissNovelist and elvin lord mic.
Love and Peace
-Holly
By: Holly Rose E.
A/N: All my Season 01 Digimon episodes have been taped over... *sigh* So, we shall start anew, if the channels ever decide to play them again. Sorry for the wait, lovelies.
*****
Chapter Two: Surgery
I can't change
I'll replace the decay
Make you second guess your everyday
I can't change
I'll survey the damage
Kill the narcissist with his reflection
Until tomorrow
~Jack off Jill
*****
He sat idly on the bed, not caring or wishing for anything in the world at the moment except for freedom - both literally and metaphorically.
He wished to be free from the haunts of his pursuers, eternally screaming in his ear, their voices forever pounding in his head, screeching and cursing at him, telling him that he was no good.
As a younger boy, he'd been very skinny - geeky and awkward - unable to defend himself physically, and he was never all that great at the world's best comebacks. Even when he tried, the bullies, for lack of a better word, would just roll their eyes, say something degrading, and proceed to bust his face into the ground, wondering how long it would take for the imprint to show.
It continued throughout his young life, and the tables were turned for just a short while once his mutation manifested.
A few weeks after his thirteenth birthday, after getting off at his appropriate bus stop, the bullies that had tormented him for more than half of those years had also gotten off and began to chase him.
He ran through yards, ducking under trees, leaping over fences, trying not to get a limb
_ [what had that movie been? Stand By Me? The man set his dog Chopper to "sic balls"] _
torn off by a protective, rabid dog. Near his house, he remembered the fence was almost as tall as he, he leapt, his foot caught, and he fell tumbling headfirst onto the ground.
Out of fear, he froze in shock on the ground, waiting for the bullies to catch him and pummel him. When it never came, he craned his neck around and tried to retain his eyes in his sockets. His tormentors were staring dumbfounded at reflections of themselves.
And thus, Donovan Bingham escaped.
Unfortunately, after that incident, the boys learned better and still continued their assault on Donny.
Then one day, not as unfamiliar as now, he sat on his bed, vaguely scratching at his arms with his scissors (blue, and with his name written all over them in his handwriting over the years).
And lord, did it feel good.
After a few years of doing this to himself, he could no longer hide it and he confessed to his parents who, even after being furious with him for being a mutant, were still understanding considering that Donovan was their only son.
"Donovan," a nurse said, his balding head gleaming in the fluorescent lights, "lights out son."
He nodded, still rubbing his fingernails along the inside of his left forearm tracing a vein, and got under the covers, as the nurse flipped off the switch.
Down the hall, someone began to cry, a slight mewing sound.
***
Damn did his shoulder hurt like a mother.
He ran a hand through his grubby blonde hair, trying to take his mind off the throbbing in his shoulder which, naturally, was caused by the "wardens" here at the lovely Asylum Hotel.
He hadn't really even done anything to deserve being thrown in this time. Biting his lip, he tried not to scream. He loathed tiny rooms, they always felt like they were going to collapse on him, strangle him.
He curled into a tiny ball, blue eyes shot with silver glaring at the room, daring the walls to move. He chuckled under his breath, wishing they hadn't remembered to put that damn jacket on him again.
Maybe they had received a letter from one the previous institutions he had been in, telling them to make sure he couldn't
_[let me out you fucks I need to feel it I need blades pricks needles come on give it to me let me out so I can BITE]_
do anything to himself or others.
His father had killed himself while the boy was at an early age, so he didn't really mind so much; his mother on the other hand...
His mother got worked up easily, agitated if you even breathed too loudly.
She never beat him, lord no, but sometimes she would smack him - it was nothing he couldn't take.
His lineage was plagued by mental disorders, and he was soon diagnosed with schizophrenia. What luck, huh?
His mother stuck him in one of the god-forsaken, mentally decapitating hell houses.
Once they discovered him as being a mutant, it only got worse from there. They sent him to a hidden, underground compartment since they considered him to be less than human and deserved less good treatment than the others.
One time, on bad behavior, they sent him to solitary
_ [and isn't it scary how they're all mirror images of the last one?]_
and there he tried to bite through his wrist; he still had a disfigured scar there. The metallic taste of the blood would never leave his memory, and he reveled in it.
At every institute he became more notorious for his break-out efforts; once he'd almost succeeded. He was cornered at the top of the roof, the guards surrounding him. Trying to fight off his fear, he puffed up his chest and persuaded himself that - yes - he could fly damn it!
So he tried, jumping off the roof, dangling there as a guard held onto his leg. Staring down into the ground which now seemed miles away, he clambered back up, silent tears of fright streaming down his porcelain face.
Three times he'd been issued a bar-code to be tattooed on his blue- white skin. More times than he could count he'd been abused, cursed at and hated. His bones had been broken a record breaking amount of times - so record breaking that he couldn't even remember just how often.
It became so that he'd spent so much time locked behind bars, and shoved in five by eight white padded rooms that he forgot all about himself, except for his first name.
Thus, Devlin was cursed to spend an eternity in pain.
What he wouldn't give for some
_ [heroin give me my goddamn heroin!]_
freedom.
Long, sweet, glorious freedom.
Oh, sure, he'd been able to be on the run for a few weeks at a time, spending it having rough sex with some other boy he'd been able to hook up with at some random bar.
He had a scar on his shoulder to prove it.
It rather resembled the one on his wrist, in fact.
*****
Oh, goodness. By Jove, yes, we'll have to up the rating by the end of this. *eye twitch* That's the gajillion time I've had to keep upping it until it go no further... Hmm...
MERRY CHRISTMAS MY LOVES!!
And a very merry one to my beta, Dead Caffeine Junkie who is the most beautiful goddess in all religions. ^-^ Love ya, babe.
THANKS TO: cheeky-bear007; The Little Prophet; KS-fan; Radical Ed 85; Kiyou Wiz; TigerStorm; XX-Goth-Gal; Phobia; Nacla; MissNovelist and elvin lord mic.
Love and Peace
-Holly