Hoo boy... Getting a bit plotless/pointless. Here we go.

The characters. They belong to Squeeeeeeeenix.

-----------------------------------------------

(Vincent)

"How are you doing, sweetheart?" my mum asks as she stands in front of her bathroom mirror, hooking a little silver chain around her neck.

"Fine," I answer. I always say I'm fine, even though it's always a lie.

My mum leaves the bathroom and enters her main bedroom, straightening her blouse and smoothing her skirt. I take my eyes off the tv to see what she's put on for the evening and tell her, "You look pretty." I've been puppy dogging her a lot recently, just wanting to be close to her.

My mum smiles modestly and sits next to where I'm laying on her bed. "You're sure you don't mind if your dad and I go out tonight?"

"I don't mind. Reeve'll be here, right?"

"Of course," she puts one earring in, then the other, "I just worry about you feeling lonely."

"I'm not. I'll be fine." I turn my attentions back to the tv. No pity right now, please?

It was bad enough having to admit to a jury of strangers for the second time that my own father kidnapped and molested me. And all the while, he glared hateful daggers, letting me know that his revenge was not over for me. Just his cold stare told me that if he ever saw me again, that I would be mutilated beyond recognition and thrown into the fireplace so there wouldn't be any trace of me left for anyone to find.

Threats like that weren't new, but that didn't make them any less scarier.

It wasn't my idea to inform the authorities. I never wanted anyone to find out at all. But nobody seems to want to listen to my reasoning. And stupid me, can't keep my mouth shut.

It was bad enough watching my C average grades slide even further down. I hated not giving a fuck, but it was impossible to. Care for academics fell far on my list of important things. I very narrowly avoided summer school.

It's bad enough being sent into therapy sessions when I have no desire whatsoever to talk things out. I've barely spoken a word to anyone at all in weeks. I know I'm falling back into bad habits, but I don't have the will to stop them.

It's bad enough that nothing's going to plan. Summer's supposed to be stress free and fun. Now that I actually have friends to play with and a family to love me, I can get so anti-social.

When I'm sitting by myself, I want someone to be with. When I'm with someone, I want to be alone.

I thought a life like this would make me happy. Instead, I'm feeling undeserving, miserable, longing to feel good, but only feeling grime and rust growing inside.

And now, everybody's been feeling sorry for me. I hate all this attention. I wish they'd leave me alone to suffer in peace. My family keeps buying me things in hopes of raising my spirits - clothes, games, snacks, an ample stash of peanut butter to keep in my room - but I think the only thing that would actually make me happy is if someone were to take a baseball bat to the back of my head. Having my brain smashed out sounds so nice right now.

Might hurt for a second, but I bet if it hit with just enough force, in just the right area--

"Hey, Vince, you got a minute?" My dad - the new one, the good dad - calls from downstairs.

Don't have shit to do. So I peel my face off the comforter and sit up. My head feels heavy and I'm rather groggy from laying in bed and doing absolutely nothing for the past several days. As I'm lumbering down the stairs, I think about how funny it is that so much rest can make you so damned tired.

"Come look, Vince. I thought it was perfect!" My dad ushers me into the kitchen, where a long black box is sitting on the table. "The threw the case in for half off. I figured you could put something over that if you wanted," he indicates the torn and dog eared Metallica sticker the case came with. "Go ahead and open it up."

"Now I didn't want to get something too expensive to start out with, so I know it's not the best looking thing in the world," he tells me as I flip the latches, "Not much more than a hundred dollars, but it'll still do everything you need it to do."

Inside the case is a well-worn, slightly scratched and beaten white guitar, with silver hardware and black detailing.

"It's a Gibson Les Paul Studio," he explains. "I wanted a guitar so bad when I was your age and I never got a chance to get my hands on one. You may end up not liking it but I thought maybe you could at least try it out. Do you like it?"

I feel a grin coming on as I run my fingers across the smooth white body, feeling it literally go a little rough around the edges where it was probably handled with not enough care. "Yes." It's the first thing in a long time that's actually made me smile. The first thing that isn't fear to get my heart beating a little faster.

"There's an amplifier and a bag of other essentials by the front door," he says. "I wish I could help you figure things out, but I've gotta get ready to go to dinner. Have fun, okay?"

"'kay," I agree. "Thanks a lot."

My dad roughs up my hair as if to say "you're welcome" and heads out of the kitchen.

I take my new toys down to the basement and start to play with them. The tuner is fairly simple to figure out. The strings have been worn down, I discover, as I tighten one and plunk it and - "Ow my face!" - it snaps. So I have to learn how to restring the damn thing.

With that taken care of, I open my guitar playing handbook and let at least forty five minutes go by before I realize I've been reading the tabs from down to up, instead of up to down.

By the time my parents get home, I've learned the A, C, D, G, and E chords. By the time the sun shining through the windows, I can play the C major scale forwards and backwards quickly and without looking at my finger placement. By the time I notice that the sun has come up, I realize I'm rather tired.

My wrist hurts a bit from moving it out of the same position it's been in for about twelve hours now. Twelve hours focusing on something other than my self-loathing and misery.

I almost leave the guitar in the basement, but I've already become so emotionally attached to it. I lean it against the foot of my bed before I lay down, just in case I need to run through the C scale a few more times.

-----------------------------------------------

THROWING THE UNIVERSE AT VINCENT CREATES A TIME PARADOX AND okay, I really don't know where to go with this one : P

http://i8
.
photobucket
.com
/albums/a12/RiffRaff8/LPSTCWCH-5716de5c4a45d7acb4eb305c2b.jpg

100 dollars. Hah. Right. More like 1,200 dollars. Pfft.
But Vinny had to have something secksy. And fuck if that axe isn't secksy.
(This site is being a fucking douche bag about letting me put a damn web address in my own document. Won't even let me type ff (dot) net. Just piece that photobucket link together and copy paste it into the damn browser.)

KasurinHima - Hi! Thanks for tolerating the nasty parts! hehehe I really like trying to write gory details, so it's good to know it's been at least kind of creepy : P Thanks very much for reading : )

Takemi-Chan - I'm so jealous of you! I've never had any friends to share yaoi with. (But I guess that's probably cos I went to Catholic grade school & high school haha) I wish I woulda had a cool kid like you around to hang out with : D Tell your friend I luvs her 3

Linnsche - Gah! Sorry about the screwy MSN thing : 3 My sn is ShinRaTurk88 (at) hot mail . com (Except without all the spaces. Cos this site is being a douche bag about me typing out my damn screen name too) I don't get online too much, but you can message me whenever ya want if ya see me. I hope to talk to you soon; it'll be fun: D

I'm, uh, officially out of ideas, you guys.
Seriously. I'll be thinking as hard as I can, but... it might be a while till the next update D :

Hopefully TBC, yo!