Addicted, Chapter 11
Title: Addicted (Sequel to The Ultimate Aphrodisiac)
Author: Bjfangirl87
Fandom: BBYD
Pairing: Sean/Trevor
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: Two years after the movie ends
Warning: Kink, BDSM, violence, raw sex, blood play, and other kinds of morbid depravity.
Summary: When Sean is finally released from prison, Trevor tries to reintroduce him to the real world. Can he help Sean get past all the issues from his past?
Disclaimer: I do not own Bang Bang You’re Dead or any of the characters. That honor goes to Showtime, William Mastrosimone, and Guy Ferland. I just love the movie.
Banner by: My darling rivermyangel! Thankies love!
Previous Chapters
A/N: I know, he's supposed to go talk to Trevor right now, but this came to me in the car yesterday and wouldn't leave me alone. So it had it get written first. It's ok, it worked out better this way.
Echoes knocking on locked doors
All the laughter from before
I'd rather live out on the street
Than in this haunted memory
--Funhouse, Pink
Walking back to our apartment, I pass a street that I usually try to avoid. But therapy today made me wonder...I really need to know.
I turn to walk down the road, taking in the scenery that hadn't changed in two years. No, that's not true. It did change. It got worse.
Syringes litter the sidewalks, and the small houses are broken down. There are no toys in the driveways, and some look like they've been deserted for years. The weeds strangle any decent plant life, and the only real evidence of children living on this street is that I see three little boys and an even smaller girl running around amongst the broken beer bottles, cigarette butts, and used needles.
The boys are only wearing tattered shorts, despite the fact that it's september and the weather is getting colder. As for the little girl, she has on a small t shirt and what looks like a diaper that should've been changed hours ago. From where I am standing, I can't tell if any of them are wearing shoes, but if their childhood is anything like my own, then I doubt they are.
After taking in the full picture, I just can't make myself walk past them. I know I'll be thinking about them tonight, but I also know there's not much I can do to help. The kids' parents are probably out somewhere getting high. Or passed out in the house, on the kitchen floor, leaving the little ones to fend for themselves. Around this area, I wouldn't be suprised.
I make a mental note to buy a few things and come back here tomorrow. There's no doubt in my mind that these kids need some clothes and food. And tomorrow, they'll have a bag of each at the front door.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, making myself move down the road, walking slowly to a house that I know far too well. I always said that after shooting up my school, I'd never come back to this place. But then, I'm a fucking liar.
I stop when I reach the front door of my childhood house. I know that I could just turn around now. I could walk back home, and she'd never even know the difference. Hell, she might not even remember me, even if she is home.
But I need to stay. I need to find out answers that have been haunting me for years. And I try to convince myself that the answers don't matter, as long as the questions can be put to rest. But like I said, I'm a fucking liar.
I pound on the already-battered door, knowing it's the only way to get my mother's attention at this time of day. It's the only way she'll hear me, if she's even conscious enough to get off the floor.
I wait a minute, and barely hear a grumbling from the ther side of the door. "I'm fucking coming," it screams.
When the door opens, I can't even believe my eyes. My mother was an ugly hag before I left, but this was just scary. Her form is like a skeleton, and her skin is almost grey, with a ton of wrinkles. Her face is sunken, and she just looks like a shell of a person. For a moment, I feel bad for her.
"What the fuck do you want?" she asks. "If you came for a fuck, I don't do boys that could be my son."
"Mom," I say, "I am your son. It's Sean..."
I wait for my words to sink it, and after a moment, she finally gets it. And then she frowns. "Why are you here? I thought they put your ass in jail where it belongs."
I nod slightly. "I was in jail. I got out last month. And you never came to see me...never even called."
I refuse to let the disappointment show on my face. She doesn't deserve to know the pain she caused me.
"I've been pretty busy," she says, as if that excuses everything. And I guess in her world, it does. "Now, what do you want? I have friend coming over in a few minutes."
"I needed to talk to you. I have some things I need to know." I explain.
She looks at me blankly, but moves and gestures me inside.
I look around the living room/eating area, and I can't remember a time, even in all my years living in this hell hole, that I've seen it this digusting.
The only piece of furniture in the room is an old couch, barely held together by the stained fabric draped over it. There are ashtrays, beer cans and junkfood wrappers scattered around, and I see pills on the table.
I momentarily consider sitting on the couch, but the threat of catching any one of various STDs from contact keeps me standing.
"So, what did you need to know?" she asks.
"Why, mom?" I ask. "Why did you put me through all of this shit?"
"What shit?" she asks before flopping down onto the dirty couch cushions. "I did a great job raising you. You fucked up your life on your own."
She reaches under the couch to retreive a bag with white powder. She takes a pinch out and puts it on the back of her hand, and slowly snorts it.
If the situation weren't so sad, I'd laugh.
"Right." I say. "So I decided, on my own, to give your fuck buddies a reason to rape and beat me? I made my sperm donor leave you? Bullshit!"
"Look, kiddo," she mumbles and stands up. She clumsily walks to me and points a finger into my chest. "I didn't stab or drown you. That alone should get me 'mother of the year'. The only reason I kept you was to give your father a reason to stay. But you couldn't even manage to do that right. Always fucking screaming..."
"I was a baby!" I yell in her face. "I was a fucking defenseless baby. I didn't choose to be born to a selfish bitch like you. I just...this was obviously a mistake. I don't know why I bothered. I'll let myself out."
I start to walk away, when I feel her hand grasp my arm. "Don't you walk away from me, kiddo. You should show me some respect."
I turn around and feel the uncontrollable urge to laugh in her face. "Why the fuck would I, mother? You don't respect me. You don't even respect yourself. If you did, you never would've put either of us in this situation. You would've gotten us out of it, did better for us."
"I did the best I could," she interrupted in a harsh tone. "You don't know the sacrifices I made to keep food in this home."
"Bullshit!" I scream. "Fucking bullshit. This is not a home. A home is a place you can actually feel safe sleeping at night. A home is place that you never have to worry about going hungry. Where you can know that at least someone in this fucked up world gives a shit about you. This place was NEVER a home."
"Well, it's the closest you'll ever get, you little shit," she huffed, picking up a beer bottle and draining the contents.
"You're wrong," I tell her. "I have a home now. I have someone who loves me. And he is so much more my family than you could ever be."
My mother smiles at me evilly. "Fucking faggot, are you? Do you think this boy actually loves you? That a stupid faggot like you is worth anything to him?" She shakes her head. "No. Listen up. You're nothing more than a fuck to him. All men are the same, Sean. All they want is a hole to stick it in. And trust me, you could never be anything more than that to anyone."
I sigh, pushing back the tears threatening to fall from my eyes. I refuse to let her affect me. She's nothing more than a drugged up slut. She doesn't know what she's saying...right? Trevor loves me. He has to. He's the only thing I have left.
I take a deep breath, swallow the lump in my throat and ask the question I need the answer to. "Did you...did you ever love me? Even a little bit?"
"Not at all," she says without missing a beat. "Getting pregnant with you was a bad idea. Keeping you was a mistake. You were an inconvienence, and the only reason I didn't give you away was to get that check from the government every month. Quite honestly, you mean nothing to me."
I nod my head and force myself not to cry. I knew that answer was coming. I don't know why I would expect anything different from her. I lift up my head and look her right in the eyes. "I hope you overdose tonight and wake up to find yourself in hell. You are a waste of human cells."
I walk away from her, and put my hand to the door. I take one last look around the place I grew up, and find a new incentive to push Clive out of my life. I don't ever want to return to this place, and he would lead me right back to this.
Before I shut the door, I look at the woman who gave birth to me. She's pitiful, and I never want to become her. I never want to be what she raised me to be. I am better than this shit.
I close the door behind me, and begin my trek back home.
Home, I think to myself.
The place I can feel safe sleeping at night. The place I don't have to worry about being hungry. The place that I know, even within my fucked up existence, I have someone who loves me. Trevor.
I need to get back to him. I need to feel his arms around me, and I need him to let me cry on his shoulder. I just...I need to be with him.
I few tears fall from my eyes just before I pass the kids I saw before.
I look at them for a moment, taking in the sight before me. The tallest boy is slamming his fists at the door, and pulling the knob, trying to get into the house. The other boys are trying to keep the girl from crying. Trying to hold and comfort her.
And something inside of me breaks.
I was that kid beating at the front door. I was the kid that had to sleep outside in the cold when my mom passed out from the drugs. I was also the kid who brought a gun with him everywhere at 13.
And I refuse to watch anyone else be that kid. I make a split second decision, and hope that it doesn't blow up in my face.
I slowly walk through the tall, course grass. "Hi," I say, taking care not to startle the kids. "What's wrong?"
"It's cold and we're hungry, and our daddy won't let us inside," the oldest boy says.
"And our sister has a diaper rash, and she smells," one of the other boys tells me.
"Does your daddy do this alot?" I ask them, having a bad feeling in my stomach.
"Almost every day," the boy at the door says. "He doesn't feed us very much. And my sister gets one diaper a day, or he gets mad."
I see a rusted out wagon out of the corner of my eye, and formulate a plan. They're coming with me tonight. They aren't sleeping out here where anyone could stab them or shoot them up with a lethal amount of drugs. "Well, I have food at my house. And some warm blankets. And I can buy some diapers. Do you want to come with me, and we'll talk to your dad tomorrow?"
The boys look at each other for a moment, and give each other slight nods. "Yes, mister," the oldest one says. "We would like that very much."
"Okay," I say, and kneel down to their level. "My name is Sean. And I promise that I won't hurt you. My mom did the same thing to me when I was your age, and I just want to help you."
The boy seems to accept that. "My name is Jonny. I'm seven. This," he says, pointing to the redhead standing beside him, "is Josh. He's six."
"Hi," Josh says in a shy tone."
"I'm Matt," the third boy, with a thick, messy mop of light brown hair replies. "I'm four."
"I 'Lissa," the little girl says, wiping the tears from her eyes with her little fists. With one hand, she pushes the brown tangles out of her eyes. "I dis many," she tells me, lifting up two little fingers.
"Melissa?" I ask the girl. "That's your name?"
"Yeah," she nods her head slowly. "I hungy."
I give her a small smile. "I know. I'm going to get you all some food."
I walk across the yard to the old wagon. "Will this hold any of you?" I ask.
"Melissa and Matt can sit in it," Jonny tells me, "Me and Josh can walk."
I agree, and we sit the two littlest kids into the wagon. I take off my jacket and my button down shirt, and let the little ones use them as blankets as we make our way home.
There are so many ways this plan can go badly. But as long as these kids can feel safe, cared for, warm, and have full bellies for a night, it'll be worth it.
Because no child deserves my childhood. Not even me.
Author: Bjfangirl87
Fandom: BBYD
Pairing: Sean/Trevor
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: Two years after the movie ends
Warning: Kink, BDSM, violence, raw sex, blood play, and other kinds of morbid depravity.
Summary: When Sean is finally released from prison, Trevor tries to reintroduce him to the real world. Can he help Sean get past all the issues from his past?
Disclaimer: I do not own Bang Bang You’re Dead or any of the characters. That honor goes to Showtime, William Mastrosimone, and Guy Ferland. I just love the movie.
Banner by: My darling rivermyangel! Thankies love!
Previous Chapters
A/N: I know, he's supposed to go talk to Trevor right now, but this came to me in the car yesterday and wouldn't leave me alone. So it had it get written first. It's ok, it worked out better this way.
Echoes knocking on locked doors
All the laughter from before
I'd rather live out on the street
Than in this haunted memory
--Funhouse, Pink
Walking back to our apartment, I pass a street that I usually try to avoid. But therapy today made me wonder...I really need to know.
I turn to walk down the road, taking in the scenery that hadn't changed in two years. No, that's not true. It did change. It got worse.
Syringes litter the sidewalks, and the small houses are broken down. There are no toys in the driveways, and some look like they've been deserted for years. The weeds strangle any decent plant life, and the only real evidence of children living on this street is that I see three little boys and an even smaller girl running around amongst the broken beer bottles, cigarette butts, and used needles.
The boys are only wearing tattered shorts, despite the fact that it's september and the weather is getting colder. As for the little girl, she has on a small t shirt and what looks like a diaper that should've been changed hours ago. From where I am standing, I can't tell if any of them are wearing shoes, but if their childhood is anything like my own, then I doubt they are.
After taking in the full picture, I just can't make myself walk past them. I know I'll be thinking about them tonight, but I also know there's not much I can do to help. The kids' parents are probably out somewhere getting high. Or passed out in the house, on the kitchen floor, leaving the little ones to fend for themselves. Around this area, I wouldn't be suprised.
I make a mental note to buy a few things and come back here tomorrow. There's no doubt in my mind that these kids need some clothes and food. And tomorrow, they'll have a bag of each at the front door.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, making myself move down the road, walking slowly to a house that I know far too well. I always said that after shooting up my school, I'd never come back to this place. But then, I'm a fucking liar.
I stop when I reach the front door of my childhood house. I know that I could just turn around now. I could walk back home, and she'd never even know the difference. Hell, she might not even remember me, even if she is home.
But I need to stay. I need to find out answers that have been haunting me for years. And I try to convince myself that the answers don't matter, as long as the questions can be put to rest. But like I said, I'm a fucking liar.
I pound on the already-battered door, knowing it's the only way to get my mother's attention at this time of day. It's the only way she'll hear me, if she's even conscious enough to get off the floor.
I wait a minute, and barely hear a grumbling from the ther side of the door. "I'm fucking coming," it screams.
When the door opens, I can't even believe my eyes. My mother was an ugly hag before I left, but this was just scary. Her form is like a skeleton, and her skin is almost grey, with a ton of wrinkles. Her face is sunken, and she just looks like a shell of a person. For a moment, I feel bad for her.
"What the fuck do you want?" she asks. "If you came for a fuck, I don't do boys that could be my son."
"Mom," I say, "I am your son. It's Sean..."
I wait for my words to sink it, and after a moment, she finally gets it. And then she frowns. "Why are you here? I thought they put your ass in jail where it belongs."
I nod slightly. "I was in jail. I got out last month. And you never came to see me...never even called."
I refuse to let the disappointment show on my face. She doesn't deserve to know the pain she caused me.
"I've been pretty busy," she says, as if that excuses everything. And I guess in her world, it does. "Now, what do you want? I have friend coming over in a few minutes."
"I needed to talk to you. I have some things I need to know." I explain.
She looks at me blankly, but moves and gestures me inside.
I look around the living room/eating area, and I can't remember a time, even in all my years living in this hell hole, that I've seen it this digusting.
The only piece of furniture in the room is an old couch, barely held together by the stained fabric draped over it. There are ashtrays, beer cans and junkfood wrappers scattered around, and I see pills on the table.
I momentarily consider sitting on the couch, but the threat of catching any one of various STDs from contact keeps me standing.
"So, what did you need to know?" she asks.
"Why, mom?" I ask. "Why did you put me through all of this shit?"
"What shit?" she asks before flopping down onto the dirty couch cushions. "I did a great job raising you. You fucked up your life on your own."
She reaches under the couch to retreive a bag with white powder. She takes a pinch out and puts it on the back of her hand, and slowly snorts it.
If the situation weren't so sad, I'd laugh.
"Right." I say. "So I decided, on my own, to give your fuck buddies a reason to rape and beat me? I made my sperm donor leave you? Bullshit!"
"Look, kiddo," she mumbles and stands up. She clumsily walks to me and points a finger into my chest. "I didn't stab or drown you. That alone should get me 'mother of the year'. The only reason I kept you was to give your father a reason to stay. But you couldn't even manage to do that right. Always fucking screaming..."
"I was a baby!" I yell in her face. "I was a fucking defenseless baby. I didn't choose to be born to a selfish bitch like you. I just...this was obviously a mistake. I don't know why I bothered. I'll let myself out."
I start to walk away, when I feel her hand grasp my arm. "Don't you walk away from me, kiddo. You should show me some respect."
I turn around and feel the uncontrollable urge to laugh in her face. "Why the fuck would I, mother? You don't respect me. You don't even respect yourself. If you did, you never would've put either of us in this situation. You would've gotten us out of it, did better for us."
"I did the best I could," she interrupted in a harsh tone. "You don't know the sacrifices I made to keep food in this home."
"Bullshit!" I scream. "Fucking bullshit. This is not a home. A home is a place you can actually feel safe sleeping at night. A home is place that you never have to worry about going hungry. Where you can know that at least someone in this fucked up world gives a shit about you. This place was NEVER a home."
"Well, it's the closest you'll ever get, you little shit," she huffed, picking up a beer bottle and draining the contents.
"You're wrong," I tell her. "I have a home now. I have someone who loves me. And he is so much more my family than you could ever be."
My mother smiles at me evilly. "Fucking faggot, are you? Do you think this boy actually loves you? That a stupid faggot like you is worth anything to him?" She shakes her head. "No. Listen up. You're nothing more than a fuck to him. All men are the same, Sean. All they want is a hole to stick it in. And trust me, you could never be anything more than that to anyone."
I sigh, pushing back the tears threatening to fall from my eyes. I refuse to let her affect me. She's nothing more than a drugged up slut. She doesn't know what she's saying...right? Trevor loves me. He has to. He's the only thing I have left.
I take a deep breath, swallow the lump in my throat and ask the question I need the answer to. "Did you...did you ever love me? Even a little bit?"
"Not at all," she says without missing a beat. "Getting pregnant with you was a bad idea. Keeping you was a mistake. You were an inconvienence, and the only reason I didn't give you away was to get that check from the government every month. Quite honestly, you mean nothing to me."
I nod my head and force myself not to cry. I knew that answer was coming. I don't know why I would expect anything different from her. I lift up my head and look her right in the eyes. "I hope you overdose tonight and wake up to find yourself in hell. You are a waste of human cells."
I walk away from her, and put my hand to the door. I take one last look around the place I grew up, and find a new incentive to push Clive out of my life. I don't ever want to return to this place, and he would lead me right back to this.
Before I shut the door, I look at the woman who gave birth to me. She's pitiful, and I never want to become her. I never want to be what she raised me to be. I am better than this shit.
I close the door behind me, and begin my trek back home.
Home, I think to myself.
The place I can feel safe sleeping at night. The place I don't have to worry about being hungry. The place that I know, even within my fucked up existence, I have someone who loves me. Trevor.
I need to get back to him. I need to feel his arms around me, and I need him to let me cry on his shoulder. I just...I need to be with him.
I few tears fall from my eyes just before I pass the kids I saw before.
I look at them for a moment, taking in the sight before me. The tallest boy is slamming his fists at the door, and pulling the knob, trying to get into the house. The other boys are trying to keep the girl from crying. Trying to hold and comfort her.
And something inside of me breaks.
I was that kid beating at the front door. I was the kid that had to sleep outside in the cold when my mom passed out from the drugs. I was also the kid who brought a gun with him everywhere at 13.
And I refuse to watch anyone else be that kid. I make a split second decision, and hope that it doesn't blow up in my face.
I slowly walk through the tall, course grass. "Hi," I say, taking care not to startle the kids. "What's wrong?"
"It's cold and we're hungry, and our daddy won't let us inside," the oldest boy says.
"And our sister has a diaper rash, and she smells," one of the other boys tells me.
"Does your daddy do this alot?" I ask them, having a bad feeling in my stomach.
"Almost every day," the boy at the door says. "He doesn't feed us very much. And my sister gets one diaper a day, or he gets mad."
I see a rusted out wagon out of the corner of my eye, and formulate a plan. They're coming with me tonight. They aren't sleeping out here where anyone could stab them or shoot them up with a lethal amount of drugs. "Well, I have food at my house. And some warm blankets. And I can buy some diapers. Do you want to come with me, and we'll talk to your dad tomorrow?"
The boys look at each other for a moment, and give each other slight nods. "Yes, mister," the oldest one says. "We would like that very much."
"Okay," I say, and kneel down to their level. "My name is Sean. And I promise that I won't hurt you. My mom did the same thing to me when I was your age, and I just want to help you."
The boy seems to accept that. "My name is Jonny. I'm seven. This," he says, pointing to the redhead standing beside him, "is Josh. He's six."
"Hi," Josh says in a shy tone."
"I'm Matt," the third boy, with a thick, messy mop of light brown hair replies. "I'm four."
"I 'Lissa," the little girl says, wiping the tears from her eyes with her little fists. With one hand, she pushes the brown tangles out of her eyes. "I dis many," she tells me, lifting up two little fingers.
"Melissa?" I ask the girl. "That's your name?"
"Yeah," she nods her head slowly. "I hungy."
I give her a small smile. "I know. I'm going to get you all some food."
I walk across the yard to the old wagon. "Will this hold any of you?" I ask.
"Melissa and Matt can sit in it," Jonny tells me, "Me and Josh can walk."
I agree, and we sit the two littlest kids into the wagon. I take off my jacket and my button down shirt, and let the little ones use them as blankets as we make our way home.
There are so many ways this plan can go badly. But as long as these kids can feel safe, cared for, warm, and have full bellies for a night, it'll be worth it.
Because no child deserves my childhood. Not even me.