Holier Than Thou

Hate

Hate

I'm your hate

I'm your hate when you want love

Hey I'm your life

I'm the one who took you there

Hey, I'm your life and I no longer care

The performance had come and gone, and Freddy had stood strong during it. Zack's parents still hadn't figured out that Freddy was living with them. Sure, he came through the front door, and 'left' when the parents weren't looking, and he stayed for dinner sometimes, and slept over occasionally, but he had to skip dinner in order to keep it on the down low. Of course Zack and Billie always went and got food when the parents were asleep. It was proving to be quite an easy gig -- until Josh caught on.

Josh showed up at Horace Green High one fair Tuesday…and scared the living shit out of Freddy. Zack hadn't been in school that day and Billie was caught up in the headmaster's office yet again. Freddy had no back up and this bad ass drummer wasn't feeling all that bad anymore.

"Well well well," Josh slurred. What the hell? Was he drunk? Freddy hadn't seen Josh this drunk since…forever. "The punk runs away and yet he still attends school, that's nothing like you, Freddy."

Freddy took a step back, falling back into the tree behind him. "You don't know what is like me," he shot back harshly. Freddy 1 -- evil step father - zip.

But the fear was still there. It always is, isn't it. After all, courage isn't the absence of fear -- it's the conquering of fear -- but who said Frederick Jones was courageous? His father took a few step forwards, enclosing in on Freddy, ignoring the people pouring out of the school. "You're a delinquent, and you need discipline. Who can blame me if I was the one to give you that discipline you so very much need?"

Sure, it was a rhetorical question, but every question is asked to be answered. "I can." A female voice from behind Josh cut through the tension on its own. Josh turned to look at the stranger, giving Freddy the room to look, himself. But Freddy didn't need to look, he could recognize that voice from a mile away. Katherine Brown. "It's child abuse, young sir, and child abuse just so happens to be illegal. I'm pretty sure the cops aren't going to fall for your startling good looks." Katie winked at Freddy. "Because, personally, I don't find them at all special." Wow, she sounded smart…what a huge turn on. Despite his situation, Freddy couldn't help smiling. How was Katie going to help him? He didn't know. He didn't care. All that matters is that Katie wanted to help him. "Leave him alone."

Both Katie and Freddy figured that Josh would react with anger, but he did no such thing. He turned back to Freddy. "You're mother has been worried sick, she wanted to call the cops, and place in a missing person's report. You're lucky I stopped her, telling her you'd probably show up sooner or later. Telling her I'd handle it. You left your mother and didn't even worry. You ungrateful brat. I'll give you a ride home."

Josh took a hold of Freddy's upper arm and began dragging him. Katie opened her mouth to argue furthermore. "Don't worry, Katie. I'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow," Freddy reassured her before she could say anything. Against her will, Katie forced herself to nod, and watch Freddy's father drag him away and to the truck.

Josh wrenched open the passenger door and violently flung Freddy into the car, viciously slamming the door close before stomping over to the drivers side. They drove in silent, Freddy fearing what was about to happen to him once they were to reach their destination.

Josh Randall threw open the front door and threw Freddy in. Freddy barely caught himself from falling. Josh slammed the door shut and trudged over to Freddy's fragile form. "What the hell were you thinking! Your hands and knees now!" Freddy, already guessing what was to come, passively dropped to his hands and knees. "Push up position." Freddy went into the push up position -- in the up position, his arms outstretched. Josh had tried this on him before -- and it was by far the worst. Freddy, after all, never was the athletic type.

"Down," Josh commanded in a calm voice. Freddy went down, bending his elbows to 90 degree angles. He had perfected his push ups within the few years Josh had adopted Freddy as his 'child'. Freddy hated pushups, every single one hurt so much. "Up." Freddy shoved softly away from the surface, stopping with his arms out stretch and holding the position - waiting for the next command. "Down." He once again brought his body down the exact right amount, holding the position, without shaking at all, for the next command. It went on like this for quite some time. It felt like hours weighing down on him - until --

Freddy couldn't catch himself before he collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily. He looked up at the disappointed look his step father was sending him. "I'm sorry," he mumbled untruthfully. He wasn't sorry. And why should he be? He'd done what? 30, 40 push ups? What the hell, man.

"Get up," Josh commanded. Freddy breathlessly forced himself to his feet. "Take off your shirt." Freddy cocked an eyebrow at this command. "Take it off now."

Freddy unbuttoned his school shirt and dropped it to the floor beside him. He didn't want to make his step father any angrier than he already was. Josh left Freddy alone in the living and went to his own bedroom, to rummage through a few boxes, before -- aha, his trusty whip.

When Josh returned, Freddy was already trembling, fearing what was next. "Face to the wall, hands on the wall." Freddy turned away from his father and put both hands on the wall, shoulder length apart. He'd already been hit with this whip before, just three or four hits though, and he was definitely starting to heal, but if Josh continued to tear open his old wounds…well then they'd never fully heal…he'd never fully get rid of his pain.

The whip sliced through the air then continued to slice into Freddy's back. He was able to muffle the yelp of pain, he was able to muffle the second, third, and forth one. But the fifth one was the first to actually cross over another wound. The cry of pain erupted from his clenched teeth and was nearly followed by dry sobs. But he was able to hold them off.

The whipping stopped abruptly and Josh was at his side, a heavy hand gripping where his shoulder met neck. "Have you learned your lesson, brat?" Freddy nodded weakly. Everything hurt so so much -- he didn't know what to do, all he wanted to do was collapse and pass out. But he couldn't do that. Josh pushed Freddy away from him, and Freddy barely caught himself from falling, with a little help from the wall. "You're grounded. No more fuckin' band practice. Now go to your room."

Freddy nodded and headed to his room, not looking back, just trying to focus on staying awake. He tripped quite a few times going up the stairs, and he could distinctly hear the echo of his step father's laughter in the back ground. He ignored it, and shoved himself on. Freddy Jones burst through his door with such a force that once his door snapped open he stumbled into the room and eventually to the floor. He laid in a heap of limps for quite some time, just breathing heavily and sobbing dryly. He hated letting his father see him break down -- he'd rather die than let that damn bastard see him at his weakest -- so he cried, sure. But he cried alone. He stood strong when he had to.

He knew it was incorrect. He'd even sworn to a very old, and very dear friend that he'd never use a razor in that way again. But he wasn't using a razor, he was using a knife. Just to ease the pain a little. Stupid, huh? You father gives you plenty of deep slashes across your skin, and all you want to do is give yourself more. But your pain is more warming than his. His is cold, and hollow, and full of superiority. But your pain was actually full of love, and warmth. It was full. You did it to yourself, you didn't try to stop somebody from doing it to you. It was the only out he knew.

The gashes he gave himself across his arm -- not the lower wrist sort of arm, it was too noticeable, but further back, from the middle of his forearm to his elbow -- always on the inside of his arm. -- they were the deepest he'd ever made. He didn't mean to. He was just so furious; he couldn't take his hatred out on the one who he hated the most. So he took it out on the only person he could -- himself.

Before, there were barely any prickles of blood. - Sure they'd leave red, slightly, swollen skin around the cut, but they never bled so freely. But knives weren't razors. As Freddy stared down at the three long gashes he'd just made, he soon realized that he could feel the burning of it. In two of the three gashes, his skin had splinted slightly apart, leaving a deep red line of once poured blood in between the skin foilds. The other one wasn't as deep -- but still nothing less than a red line. The entire area around the three gashes felt hot -- as if they were giving off heat. It hurt to move his forearm as well -- but only if his shirt rubbed against it.

He let the knife slide from his hands and into the bathroom sink. What was he going to say to Zack? And what about Billie? The girl who seemed to know EVERYTHING. But Billie wouldn't rat him out, he knew that. Zack wouldn't either. But he'd seen Billie's arms when her shirt sleeves had risen up before she'd woken up. Her forearm was covered in a mixture of tiny, thick, thin, long, short, big line scars. He knew what they were from. She had slit her wrist once upon a time. But none were new. The latest was at least a month old. She had stopped when she had finally escaped her father -- Freddy guessed. But maybe that really was all he really need -- to escape his father.

He had tried it once. And, despite the failure, he will not surrender.