chapter 25;
“LJ User - hrtagram_boy”
Chapter 25: Tuesday, April 17th, 2007
Author: Jordan (insane_pyro_grl)
Disclaimer: Fiction, made up by me for creative purposes. I do not own any of the boys, and this journal is not Bam’s real journal.
Rating: PG - 13
Summary: What if Bam had a LiveJournal and no one knew about it? Would you read how he wrote about his every day life, from his perspective? This is his journal: hrtagram_boy, read all about his daily life, his trials, his tribulations, and his love. This will be as historically accurate as possible, if I can mold it that way, so it actually will seem like Bam is writing it himself, in real time.
Notes: 25 chapters of this fic thus far, are you guys getting bored yet?
Previous Chapters
Chapter 25: Tuesday, April 17th, 2007
Again, another twenty hour flight that takes everything out of me, although it’s even worse because this time we’re going forward in time, not back. From Philadelphia to London, two hour layover on the empire where the sun never sets. One hour for food, and since we were in London, I thought the only solution was fish and chips. We walked around the huge city for the other hour, sight seeing and being tourists, even though we’ve both been to London more times than we can count.
From London to Oslo, thirty-five minute layover. Enough time to make sure that we were headed to the right gate, a bathroom break, enough time for a pack of Marlboro Lights to be split between us, and enough time to grab a hot pretzel from a random vendor. Oslo to Helsinki, total flight time, twenty hours, forty-seven minutes, plus two hours thirty-five minutes layover time. All of this, going into the future, meant we had skipped almost a whole fucking day. That six hours of sleep on the flight to London did not mean anything, we were exhausted as all hell.
Arrival time: 6:19 AM.
Court in session: 10:45 AM.
Time left to nap: 3 hours.
Total feeling: Fucking cuntbags, I hate flying.
Lucky Migé, who had to pick us up at the ass crack of dawn, while we were being miserable cunts. I’m surprised he didn’t leave us there in the terminal, determined to force us to walk the three miles home. However, he drove us home, threw our bags upstairs and promptly left, saying that he would be back at 10, and if we weren’t either in better moods, medicated, or caffeinated, he was going to have Linde punch us in the faces repetitively until we were.
Three hours later, we felt a little better with a nap in our own warm, soft bed under our belts, and we felt a little less bitchy. A half an hour after that, we had split another pack of fags, a whole jar of Nutella was empty in the trash, and a whole pot of coffee was keeping us wired when Migé came to the door, hoping for the best and coming face to face with the two of us, wired on as much caffeine and nicotine that we could’ve come across. He wasn’t exactly sure what was worse, us being total fucking cunts, or the two of us bouncing like bunnies on acid.
At least when we were bouncing bunnies, no one could tell how bent out of shape he was about the whole situation. In a matter of an hour, he would be sending his former love to jail or at least she was going to be miserable with probation and community service for a few months. Not to mention how her name was already dragged through the mud, tabloids had somehow gotten wind of his testimonial, and the day after the trial, headlines rang of the infidelities she committed.
We arrived at the courthouse at 10:30, where we were greeted by the rest of the boys plus Seppo and Silke. Our fingers were intertwined the whole time, and as we entered the building, I felt his grasp tighten to almost bone crushing standards, but I didn’t say a word, I would’ve let him break my hand if that meant he was comforted at this horrid point in the ending of his five year long relationship with Jonna. We sat down on the hard wooden benches as we went through the standard procedures, with my Finnish translator, Migé, sitting on my right, translating what was said, what was going on, and all that jazzy stuff.
Oh, and if you haven’t been able to tell by now, I’m not going to write about the funeral. Because I know that I’m going to remember that day forever, and I’m not going to need a stupid LiveJournal entry to remind me of it in two or three years, or whenever the fuck I look back at this. Plus it’s just none of your goddamned business anyhow.
So yeah, sentencing. Stand. Sit. Defendant. Blah. Fucking blah.
“The courts find that you, Jonna Nygren,” That’s where the good part began and I actually began to listen to what Migé said.
“The courts find that you, Jonna Nygren, shall be sentenced to five years in a woman’s correctional facility, after thirty days at a rehabilitation center for drug abuse and a psychological evaluation. There will be no parole, and time will not be shortened for good behavior.”
That was when she sobbed out loud, saying how sorry she was, and blah blah blah. She hadn’t meant to do it. It was the drugs. All of it was the drugs. My hand was almost broken once again as he squeezed as tightly as he could, to try and release some of the pain and anger he was feeling. His head tilted down to rest on my shoulder as I felt hot tears seep into the fabric of my hoodie and I wrapped my free hand around his waist, bringing him as close to me as I possibly could.
The judge then explained about the one mile restraining order that would be filed against her, so that she could not attempt to come near or hurt us again. The slam of a gavel and it was over.
It was finally all over.
Chapter 25: Tuesday, April 17th, 2007
Author: Jordan (insane_pyro_grl)
Disclaimer: Fiction, made up by me for creative purposes. I do not own any of the boys, and this journal is not Bam’s real journal.
Rating: PG - 13
Summary: What if Bam had a LiveJournal and no one knew about it? Would you read how he wrote about his every day life, from his perspective? This is his journal: hrtagram_boy, read all about his daily life, his trials, his tribulations, and his love. This will be as historically accurate as possible, if I can mold it that way, so it actually will seem like Bam is writing it himself, in real time.
Notes: 25 chapters of this fic thus far, are you guys getting bored yet?
Previous Chapters
Chapter 25: Tuesday, April 17th, 2007
Again, another twenty hour flight that takes everything out of me, although it’s even worse because this time we’re going forward in time, not back. From Philadelphia to London, two hour layover on the empire where the sun never sets. One hour for food, and since we were in London, I thought the only solution was fish and chips. We walked around the huge city for the other hour, sight seeing and being tourists, even though we’ve both been to London more times than we can count.
From London to Oslo, thirty-five minute layover. Enough time to make sure that we were headed to the right gate, a bathroom break, enough time for a pack of Marlboro Lights to be split between us, and enough time to grab a hot pretzel from a random vendor. Oslo to Helsinki, total flight time, twenty hours, forty-seven minutes, plus two hours thirty-five minutes layover time. All of this, going into the future, meant we had skipped almost a whole fucking day. That six hours of sleep on the flight to London did not mean anything, we were exhausted as all hell.
Arrival time: 6:19 AM.
Court in session: 10:45 AM.
Time left to nap: 3 hours.
Total feeling: Fucking cuntbags, I hate flying.
Lucky Migé, who had to pick us up at the ass crack of dawn, while we were being miserable cunts. I’m surprised he didn’t leave us there in the terminal, determined to force us to walk the three miles home. However, he drove us home, threw our bags upstairs and promptly left, saying that he would be back at 10, and if we weren’t either in better moods, medicated, or caffeinated, he was going to have Linde punch us in the faces repetitively until we were.
Three hours later, we felt a little better with a nap in our own warm, soft bed under our belts, and we felt a little less bitchy. A half an hour after that, we had split another pack of fags, a whole jar of Nutella was empty in the trash, and a whole pot of coffee was keeping us wired when Migé came to the door, hoping for the best and coming face to face with the two of us, wired on as much caffeine and nicotine that we could’ve come across. He wasn’t exactly sure what was worse, us being total fucking cunts, or the two of us bouncing like bunnies on acid.
At least when we were bouncing bunnies, no one could tell how bent out of shape he was about the whole situation. In a matter of an hour, he would be sending his former love to jail or at least she was going to be miserable with probation and community service for a few months. Not to mention how her name was already dragged through the mud, tabloids had somehow gotten wind of his testimonial, and the day after the trial, headlines rang of the infidelities she committed.
We arrived at the courthouse at 10:30, where we were greeted by the rest of the boys plus Seppo and Silke. Our fingers were intertwined the whole time, and as we entered the building, I felt his grasp tighten to almost bone crushing standards, but I didn’t say a word, I would’ve let him break my hand if that meant he was comforted at this horrid point in the ending of his five year long relationship with Jonna. We sat down on the hard wooden benches as we went through the standard procedures, with my Finnish translator, Migé, sitting on my right, translating what was said, what was going on, and all that jazzy stuff.
Oh, and if you haven’t been able to tell by now, I’m not going to write about the funeral. Because I know that I’m going to remember that day forever, and I’m not going to need a stupid LiveJournal entry to remind me of it in two or three years, or whenever the fuck I look back at this. Plus it’s just none of your goddamned business anyhow.
So yeah, sentencing. Stand. Sit. Defendant. Blah. Fucking blah.
“The courts find that you, Jonna Nygren,” That’s where the good part began and I actually began to listen to what Migé said.
“The courts find that you, Jonna Nygren, shall be sentenced to five years in a woman’s correctional facility, after thirty days at a rehabilitation center for drug abuse and a psychological evaluation. There will be no parole, and time will not be shortened for good behavior.”
That was when she sobbed out loud, saying how sorry she was, and blah blah blah. She hadn’t meant to do it. It was the drugs. All of it was the drugs. My hand was almost broken once again as he squeezed as tightly as he could, to try and release some of the pain and anger he was feeling. His head tilted down to rest on my shoulder as I felt hot tears seep into the fabric of my hoodie and I wrapped my free hand around his waist, bringing him as close to me as I possibly could.
The judge then explained about the one mile restraining order that would be filed against her, so that she could not attempt to come near or hurt us again. The slam of a gavel and it was over.
It was finally all over.