Filthy, Rotten Criminal
Title: Filthy, Rotten Criminal -- Chapter 1/?
Authors: Alice; 23a_j10 & barakatiero
Pairing: Jack/Alex
POV: Alternates, this chapter -- Alex
Rating: PG13 currently
Warnings: Imprisonment, mentions of past drug use, sub/dom themes
Summary: Alex has his life to serve in these four grey walls. Some would say just let him rot there. But he has other plans, involving his newest cellmate. Jack Barakat.
Disclaimer: Complete fiction, we don't own All Time Low /sadface.
Authors Notes: Hi *waves*. 23a_j10 writes Alex and barakatiero writes Jack, enjoy. Hopefully... Oh and bigs thanks to therapyrequired for giving us the idea!
You see it on TV shows, the bad guy gets life imprisonment, but gets out in 6 months or some shit. But when they sentenced me to life, they meant it. Convicted for murder, of multiple homo sapiens, Alexander William Gaskarth. “Blame the parents”. I’ve heard it so many times now, but my poor Mommy and Daddy had nothing to do with my unhealthy obsession with pulling the legs and wings off insects, making the kids cry at preschool and stealing dollars from the elder’s purses. Some people say there’s just something wrong me, that I’m not normal, that I need help. They’re probably right but say that to my face and you won’t have the use of your mouth to plead for mercy or scream for help.
Four years. Four years I’ve counted so far. Mind numbing numbers of the meals I’ve swallowed, pills I’ve hidden and boys I’ve broken. I don’t understand why the authorities here stop poor first time offenders in this grey cell with me, one suicide - a coincidence, three? Three’s a charm. Labels like Narcissistic Personality Disorder follow me round here but I’ve been told I’m too many things to actually take notice anymore. There’s probably something in it but, right now I’m more transfixed with the black haired boy curled up in the bunk beneath me. My newest cell mate.
Jack Barakat. Arrested for possession, selling and using marijuana. He won’t tell me how long he’s in here for, but I’m sure I can find out soon enough. I remember the day they brought him in here, navy overalls hanging from his thin body, drowning him like this place would. I could see it in his eyes, the panic, the distrust and shame. His eyes held too much emotion for him to be too bad, really bad, he was innocent, for the most part. Just a stupid kid with too much time and too much boredom. He held the long sleeves over his hands and kept his eyes on the floor, shoulders slumped forwards and shaking as I watched from the top bunk silently.
The guard slid the heavy door closed and I smiled sweetly, jumping from the bed,
“Hi, I’m Alex” I introduced myself and held out my hand. He looked wary, with good reason and took my hand, his grasp pathetically weak in mine. It was almost like he had given up already. He pulled his hand back to his body quickly, closing them in himself making the blue cloth outline his figure more definitely.
I didn’t say another word as I took my seat on the bunk again, laying down as I heard him take a seat on the lower bed. I listen to him moving beneath me, trying in vain to find some sort of comfort on the hard springs of the mattress. Grinning sadistically I play the scenarios over in my head.
It’s only been two weeks, and props to the poor kid I haven’t heard him cry once yet. But there’s still plenty of time to cry, and plenty of opportunity with me around. I’ve got some information about him, but his body language tells me more than his pretty mouth.
I suspect he has ADHD, or something similar. He doesn’t stay still for long and without the outlet of talking to calm him he’s restless at all hours, but maybe that’s just the withdrawal. Sometimes he just stares, just stares at nothing in particular, and how I can guarantee his day dreams are so much sweeter than mine. I bet he’s thinking of home, thinking of the “what ifs” of his conviction. But I stopped caring of home long before I was sentenced here, and all I think of is the “soon to be” of his conviction.
He doesn’t suspect me, poor kid doesn’t suspect a thing.
Even better.
Authors: Alice; 23a_j10 & barakatiero
Pairing: Jack/Alex
POV: Alternates, this chapter -- Alex
Rating: PG13 currently
Warnings: Imprisonment, mentions of past drug use, sub/dom themes
Summary: Alex has his life to serve in these four grey walls. Some would say just let him rot there. But he has other plans, involving his newest cellmate. Jack Barakat.
Disclaimer: Complete fiction, we don't own All Time Low /sadface.
Authors Notes: Hi *waves*. 23a_j10 writes Alex and barakatiero writes Jack, enjoy. Hopefully... Oh and bigs thanks to therapyrequired for giving us the idea!
You see it on TV shows, the bad guy gets life imprisonment, but gets out in 6 months or some shit. But when they sentenced me to life, they meant it. Convicted for murder, of multiple homo sapiens, Alexander William Gaskarth. “Blame the parents”. I’ve heard it so many times now, but my poor Mommy and Daddy had nothing to do with my unhealthy obsession with pulling the legs and wings off insects, making the kids cry at preschool and stealing dollars from the elder’s purses. Some people say there’s just something wrong me, that I’m not normal, that I need help. They’re probably right but say that to my face and you won’t have the use of your mouth to plead for mercy or scream for help.
Four years. Four years I’ve counted so far. Mind numbing numbers of the meals I’ve swallowed, pills I’ve hidden and boys I’ve broken. I don’t understand why the authorities here stop poor first time offenders in this grey cell with me, one suicide - a coincidence, three? Three’s a charm. Labels like Narcissistic Personality Disorder follow me round here but I’ve been told I’m too many things to actually take notice anymore. There’s probably something in it but, right now I’m more transfixed with the black haired boy curled up in the bunk beneath me. My newest cell mate.
Jack Barakat. Arrested for possession, selling and using marijuana. He won’t tell me how long he’s in here for, but I’m sure I can find out soon enough. I remember the day they brought him in here, navy overalls hanging from his thin body, drowning him like this place would. I could see it in his eyes, the panic, the distrust and shame. His eyes held too much emotion for him to be too bad, really bad, he was innocent, for the most part. Just a stupid kid with too much time and too much boredom. He held the long sleeves over his hands and kept his eyes on the floor, shoulders slumped forwards and shaking as I watched from the top bunk silently.
The guard slid the heavy door closed and I smiled sweetly, jumping from the bed,
“Hi, I’m Alex” I introduced myself and held out my hand. He looked wary, with good reason and took my hand, his grasp pathetically weak in mine. It was almost like he had given up already. He pulled his hand back to his body quickly, closing them in himself making the blue cloth outline his figure more definitely.
I didn’t say another word as I took my seat on the bunk again, laying down as I heard him take a seat on the lower bed. I listen to him moving beneath me, trying in vain to find some sort of comfort on the hard springs of the mattress. Grinning sadistically I play the scenarios over in my head.
It’s only been two weeks, and props to the poor kid I haven’t heard him cry once yet. But there’s still plenty of time to cry, and plenty of opportunity with me around. I’ve got some information about him, but his body language tells me more than his pretty mouth.
I suspect he has ADHD, or something similar. He doesn’t stay still for long and without the outlet of talking to calm him he’s restless at all hours, but maybe that’s just the withdrawal. Sometimes he just stares, just stares at nothing in particular, and how I can guarantee his day dreams are so much sweeter than mine. I bet he’s thinking of home, thinking of the “what ifs” of his conviction. But I stopped caring of home long before I was sentenced here, and all I think of is the “soon to be” of his conviction.
He doesn’t suspect me, poor kid doesn’t suspect a thing.
Even better.