A/N: Expect this to be another short chapter. I don't know why, it just will be. I guess it's because I'm more of a short story writer than anything else, altho I have written novellas before... Yeah, as if you really needed to hear that pointless semi-rant. Except I didn't really rant...
Also, this fanfic will have a title change next chapter. I've decided I'd rather have the title be Less Than Zero, because Less Than Known is really a terrible title.
Less Than Zero
By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun
Somewhere there's a light on, and it's shining through my eyelids, making me realize I had the biggest fucking headache. I pull the covers up over my head to block the painful light, and remember what happened last night. Or, remember as much as I can. There seems to be some stuff missing, but I don't really care. Everything has a price, and I'm willing to deal with these after affects.
But how did I get home? I sit up, just to make sure this is my home and I didn't end up in bed with someone. Yeah, it's my room. Same fucking boring walls as always, and the door handle is still ready to fall off. In fact, it's jiggling, so my father is probably about to walk in. How fucking wonderful. I really don't need a talk about abusing alcohol when I have a hangover.
He walks in, "Good morning, Jay. I take it you're probably not feeling very well, huh?" No shit Sherlock, but I don't voice that opinion, "Uh, yeah. Headache. Light hurts. Y'know..." I always feel weird talking to my father. Even after living with him for a year I still feel sort of like I'm talking to a therapist or something as opposed to my father. Probably because I lived about ten years without him...
He sits down on the edge of my head, handing me a glass of water I hadn't noticed was on the headboard, along with two aspirins. I gulp it down eagerly, suprised he hasn't started in on me yet. He's the only person who can ever make me feel guilty. I hate that.
His eyes are on me as I put the glass back, and he finally says something, "A friend of yours drove you home. He said that someone must've done something to the drinks because everyone was getting sick at the party. You were pretty much passed out when he brought you here." I don't know if he believes the whole thing about spiked drinks or not, but it doesn't seem to matter much. Even if it is a fucking transparent lie.
"Who drove me home?" Last thing I remember of last night was Homochuk helping me to the bathroom 'cause I was sick. And me grabbing onto him when I started to keel over...
"Oh, he said his name was Dylan. He seems like a nice boy; he helped me get you up the stairs because Eli (1) was out." Eli's my father's boyfriend. And my father isn't supposed to carry heavy things around because he's had knee surgery more than once; the first time he had it was when my bitch ex-mother left him.
I nod sort of, hating the fact that Homochuk might know my home situation now. Or at least part of it. Probably thinks I'm a fucking spoiled brat now. If he had seen where I used to be, I'd make sense. Otherwise, I just seem like some fucking bored spoiled kid. Stupid fucking Homochuk. Why do I even care what the fuck he thinks?
Wait. Could my father tell that he's gay? Can a queer tell if some other guy is a fag, too? A glance up at my father, trying to tell if he's not telling me everything. But he just looks like he's concerned for my well-being. I shrug sort of, "He's not exactly a friend of mine... I don't why he would drive me home." My father gets up to leave, "Well, he did drive you home, so you could at least thank him. I have to go out to the grocery store, I'll be back in a few hours. Eli's locked himself in the study to finish some essays he was supposed to submit three days ago. I'm assuming you're going to sleep more, but I'll just check in on you when I get back."
I nod again, "Ok." He smiles at me slightly, closing the door behind him. He's okay. And so is Eli. I shouldn't put down fags as much as I do. It's just a bad habit I got from my ex-mother. Why would I want to keep a habit from a bitch like her? But I'll probably still end up calling them queers and fags and homos. Habits are fucking hard to get rid of, especially when I still despise the resident queer of Degrassi Community High.
Homochuk. Why'd he drive me home? I roll over. He was being nice even though I'm a bastard to him. Probably felt sorry for me... what an ass. Me, not him. Acted like a kid at a wedding with an open bar. Got fucking smashed and then hurled all over the place. He better not let anyone know.
He was the one who shoved me in the car I guess. I remember it a little better now. He shoved me in the car and I buried my face in the upholstery. He buckled me in, and I wouldn't sit up straight. I passed out after that. No... wait, I didn't. Or I did. And I woke up before we got to my house. Yeah, I told him how to get there after he woke me up. And so I passed out again.
But I did something before that. No. No. No, fucking no.
There's one thing I can't friggin' stand about drinking. The stupid things you do, and the forget, only to remember them because you're trying to hard to remember what you did.
I put my head on his shoulder and asked him what the hell he sees in the spic (2).
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(1) Eli, as in pronounced "Ee-lye" , not "El-ee". I have faith in my readers' ability to figure that out without a note about it, but I thought I should include it just in case.
(2) Jay called Marco this earlier in the story because he thought Marco was Hispanic. He still thinks so, and still refers to him by rude slang.
Also, this fanfic will have a title change next chapter. I've decided I'd rather have the title be Less Than Zero, because Less Than Known is really a terrible title.
Less Than Zero
By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun
Somewhere there's a light on, and it's shining through my eyelids, making me realize I had the biggest fucking headache. I pull the covers up over my head to block the painful light, and remember what happened last night. Or, remember as much as I can. There seems to be some stuff missing, but I don't really care. Everything has a price, and I'm willing to deal with these after affects.
But how did I get home? I sit up, just to make sure this is my home and I didn't end up in bed with someone. Yeah, it's my room. Same fucking boring walls as always, and the door handle is still ready to fall off. In fact, it's jiggling, so my father is probably about to walk in. How fucking wonderful. I really don't need a talk about abusing alcohol when I have a hangover.
He walks in, "Good morning, Jay. I take it you're probably not feeling very well, huh?" No shit Sherlock, but I don't voice that opinion, "Uh, yeah. Headache. Light hurts. Y'know..." I always feel weird talking to my father. Even after living with him for a year I still feel sort of like I'm talking to a therapist or something as opposed to my father. Probably because I lived about ten years without him...
He sits down on the edge of my head, handing me a glass of water I hadn't noticed was on the headboard, along with two aspirins. I gulp it down eagerly, suprised he hasn't started in on me yet. He's the only person who can ever make me feel guilty. I hate that.
His eyes are on me as I put the glass back, and he finally says something, "A friend of yours drove you home. He said that someone must've done something to the drinks because everyone was getting sick at the party. You were pretty much passed out when he brought you here." I don't know if he believes the whole thing about spiked drinks or not, but it doesn't seem to matter much. Even if it is a fucking transparent lie.
"Who drove me home?" Last thing I remember of last night was Homochuk helping me to the bathroom 'cause I was sick. And me grabbing onto him when I started to keel over...
"Oh, he said his name was Dylan. He seems like a nice boy; he helped me get you up the stairs because Eli (1) was out." Eli's my father's boyfriend. And my father isn't supposed to carry heavy things around because he's had knee surgery more than once; the first time he had it was when my bitch ex-mother left him.
I nod sort of, hating the fact that Homochuk might know my home situation now. Or at least part of it. Probably thinks I'm a fucking spoiled brat now. If he had seen where I used to be, I'd make sense. Otherwise, I just seem like some fucking bored spoiled kid. Stupid fucking Homochuk. Why do I even care what the fuck he thinks?
Wait. Could my father tell that he's gay? Can a queer tell if some other guy is a fag, too? A glance up at my father, trying to tell if he's not telling me everything. But he just looks like he's concerned for my well-being. I shrug sort of, "He's not exactly a friend of mine... I don't why he would drive me home." My father gets up to leave, "Well, he did drive you home, so you could at least thank him. I have to go out to the grocery store, I'll be back in a few hours. Eli's locked himself in the study to finish some essays he was supposed to submit three days ago. I'm assuming you're going to sleep more, but I'll just check in on you when I get back."
I nod again, "Ok." He smiles at me slightly, closing the door behind him. He's okay. And so is Eli. I shouldn't put down fags as much as I do. It's just a bad habit I got from my ex-mother. Why would I want to keep a habit from a bitch like her? But I'll probably still end up calling them queers and fags and homos. Habits are fucking hard to get rid of, especially when I still despise the resident queer of Degrassi Community High.
Homochuk. Why'd he drive me home? I roll over. He was being nice even though I'm a bastard to him. Probably felt sorry for me... what an ass. Me, not him. Acted like a kid at a wedding with an open bar. Got fucking smashed and then hurled all over the place. He better not let anyone know.
He was the one who shoved me in the car I guess. I remember it a little better now. He shoved me in the car and I buried my face in the upholstery. He buckled me in, and I wouldn't sit up straight. I passed out after that. No... wait, I didn't. Or I did. And I woke up before we got to my house. Yeah, I told him how to get there after he woke me up. And so I passed out again.
But I did something before that. No. No. No, fucking no.
There's one thing I can't friggin' stand about drinking. The stupid things you do, and the forget, only to remember them because you're trying to hard to remember what you did.
I put my head on his shoulder and asked him what the hell he sees in the spic (2).
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(1) Eli, as in pronounced "Ee-lye" , not "El-ee". I have faith in my readers' ability to figure that out without a note about it, but I thought I should include it just in case.
(2) Jay called Marco this earlier in the story because he thought Marco was Hispanic. He still thinks so, and still refers to him by rude slang.