(no subject)
Title: The Restaurant. (Chapter 4)
Author: me. (rckless_abandon)
Pairing: Adam Lazzara/Frank Iero
Rating: PG 13 (for now)
Summary: Adam’s life seems mundane and sad, from his shitty apartment to his minimum wage job waiting tables. All it takes is for a small intuitive boy to walk through those diner doors, and everything in Adam’s world changes.
Dedication:blacknovember13, because I never did finish The Potato Chronicles. And corruptedmind69 because she actually reads this.
Disclaimer:Don’t own. Didn’t happen.
Notes: I haven’t written a fic in a while. Thanks to everyone who has been reading this.
One/ Two./Three.
All other fanfictions and previous chapters found in my archive: fakehappyending
I don’t even have to open my eyes to know that they’re all focusing their eyes on me. The air around my naked body is so cold I can feel my breath mystifying in front of me. I stand on the table, exposed and afraid. My arms are at my sides as instructed, and I don’t dare to move them even an inch. The men around me begin to murmur softly, a chant that I have heard so often, I can repeat it in my head. I feel them each place the tips of their fingers on me as they begin to circle the table, and I tell myself to breathe evenly, and for god’s sake, not to move or make a sound.
A voice booms to the side of me, “Brothers, we gather here today to make a sacrifice to our Lord! So here stands this sinner before us, ready for each of us to cleanse him and make him new again. Here is my son, exposed and damned for the things he has done. Let him be clean! Let our sacrifice be seen clearly in the eyes of our Lord!”
The murmurs around me reply, “Amen.” And it’s now that I begin to shake, because I know what happens next. A sturdy hand on my back stills me, and my muscles tense from my head to my toes. I hear the click of a pocketknife being opened, and I feel the blade press hard against my thigh as it’s dragged down to my knee. I do not scream, or flinch, because the consequences of this are worse.
The voice to the side of me begins again. “Oh Lord, as you said, we sacrifice this man’s blood in your name. And through this we-“
He is cut short by the sound of a whimper from me, a reaction I couldn’t hold back, though I tried so hard. I can almost hear the voice beside me smirking, and it is now that I want to cry. “Lord, it seems this sinner’s waters run deep, for he is resisting to be cleansed. In your name, we will teach him the horrors of hell, so he will not resist again.”
I am yanked off the table, and I feel my stomach pressed against the corner as I’m bent over before all those men. I hear the breathing of one behind me, and I tense, just wishing it was over.
I sit up straight in bed, sweat beading off my forehead and my heart pounding in my chest. Immediately I feel like I’m going to be sick, and get to the bathroom just in time to puke everything into the bathtub. When I’m done I slump against the floor, closing my eyes and trying to calm down. I try to remind myself it was just a dream, but it was all so real, too real.
I run my fingers along my thigh and feel the familiar old scars. My heart aches just to touch them but I tell myself it’s over, it’s all been over for a long time. I’m shaking when I stand up, and I run the water in the tub to wash everything away. Somehow I find my way to the kitchen, and manage to find a cup and get some water.
I push every memory away as I head back to my bedroom, and I’m overwhelmed with the feeling that I may never escaped everything that happened. It’s going to follow me for as long as I live, and I can’t do anything to stop it. Why bother even trying?
I look to the windowsill and see the picture of my mom staring back at me, one of the only things I took from the house when I left, and it’s then I know that I’m thinking irrationaly. At least I escaped. At least I’m alive. Mom wouldn’t want me to let it all hold me back. She would want me to move on, and make a better life. I feel ashamed, and whisper to the picture, “Sorry Mom. I won’t give up, I promise. I’m going to make you proud.”
*********
I know you’re all probably confused right now, so I’ll clarify a little bit. I don’t like talking about this stuff at all, but I think you’re getting sick of being kept in the dark.
My dad was the leader of this underground cult called the Sons of Judas. He was as far back as I can remember, and I think my mom told me that he was involved in it all before they even got married. She never knew about it until things started happening to me, and she said she never would have married him if she knew. By the time she found out though, it was too late. It had entrapped us both in its web. My mom tried to protect me as much as she could, and she received far worse punishment then I did. If she tried to leave, he told her they would kill me. And if I left, they would kill her. If we both left, my dad swore he would find us. There was nowhere for us to turn.
It is a sadistic organization, and they feel through mutilation and humiliation, people’s souls are cleansed. The sins you could be pinned with were stupid and invalid to most people, but this cult took it seriously. While you were being ‘cleansed’, if you moved, or resisted in any way, the punishment was more severe. I still shudder at the memory of that final punishment, and can’t talk about it without wanting to puke.
The first time I was ‘cleansed’ I was 5 years old. My sin? I broke a window playing baseball. That night, I was pulled out of my bed and blindfolded and gagged. They took me to the room where they held their meetings (to this day, I don’t know where it is, I never opened my eyes), and did to me what they thought was right. I lost a bit of myself that night, and I know I’ll never gain it back.
You would think that after all of that, I would be so scared of sinning and of God. However, I’m not. I do believe in God, but not the same kind my dad does. I don’t think God would ever want His people to go through what me and my mom went through. My childhood didn’t teach me how to fear, it taught me how to hate.
And I’ve never forgotten.
****************************************
A short chapter, but an important one. I considered going on a little more, but I really need this chapter to sink in. I know there are still questions about Adam’s past, and they will be answered in time. I don’t want to reveal all at once. :) thanks for being patient for this one. The next one should be out at the end of this week.
Author: me. (rckless_abandon)
Pairing: Adam Lazzara/Frank Iero
Rating: PG 13 (for now)
Summary: Adam’s life seems mundane and sad, from his shitty apartment to his minimum wage job waiting tables. All it takes is for a small intuitive boy to walk through those diner doors, and everything in Adam’s world changes.
Dedication:blacknovember13, because I never did finish The Potato Chronicles. And corruptedmind69 because she actually reads this.
Disclaimer:Don’t own. Didn’t happen.
Notes: I haven’t written a fic in a while. Thanks to everyone who has been reading this.
One/ Two./Three.
All other fanfictions and previous chapters found in my archive: fakehappyending
I don’t even have to open my eyes to know that they’re all focusing their eyes on me. The air around my naked body is so cold I can feel my breath mystifying in front of me. I stand on the table, exposed and afraid. My arms are at my sides as instructed, and I don’t dare to move them even an inch. The men around me begin to murmur softly, a chant that I have heard so often, I can repeat it in my head. I feel them each place the tips of their fingers on me as they begin to circle the table, and I tell myself to breathe evenly, and for god’s sake, not to move or make a sound.
A voice booms to the side of me, “Brothers, we gather here today to make a sacrifice to our Lord! So here stands this sinner before us, ready for each of us to cleanse him and make him new again. Here is my son, exposed and damned for the things he has done. Let him be clean! Let our sacrifice be seen clearly in the eyes of our Lord!”
The murmurs around me reply, “Amen.” And it’s now that I begin to shake, because I know what happens next. A sturdy hand on my back stills me, and my muscles tense from my head to my toes. I hear the click of a pocketknife being opened, and I feel the blade press hard against my thigh as it’s dragged down to my knee. I do not scream, or flinch, because the consequences of this are worse.
The voice to the side of me begins again. “Oh Lord, as you said, we sacrifice this man’s blood in your name. And through this we-“
He is cut short by the sound of a whimper from me, a reaction I couldn’t hold back, though I tried so hard. I can almost hear the voice beside me smirking, and it is now that I want to cry. “Lord, it seems this sinner’s waters run deep, for he is resisting to be cleansed. In your name, we will teach him the horrors of hell, so he will not resist again.”
I am yanked off the table, and I feel my stomach pressed against the corner as I’m bent over before all those men. I hear the breathing of one behind me, and I tense, just wishing it was over.
I sit up straight in bed, sweat beading off my forehead and my heart pounding in my chest. Immediately I feel like I’m going to be sick, and get to the bathroom just in time to puke everything into the bathtub. When I’m done I slump against the floor, closing my eyes and trying to calm down. I try to remind myself it was just a dream, but it was all so real, too real.
I run my fingers along my thigh and feel the familiar old scars. My heart aches just to touch them but I tell myself it’s over, it’s all been over for a long time. I’m shaking when I stand up, and I run the water in the tub to wash everything away. Somehow I find my way to the kitchen, and manage to find a cup and get some water.
I push every memory away as I head back to my bedroom, and I’m overwhelmed with the feeling that I may never escaped everything that happened. It’s going to follow me for as long as I live, and I can’t do anything to stop it. Why bother even trying?
I look to the windowsill and see the picture of my mom staring back at me, one of the only things I took from the house when I left, and it’s then I know that I’m thinking irrationaly. At least I escaped. At least I’m alive. Mom wouldn’t want me to let it all hold me back. She would want me to move on, and make a better life. I feel ashamed, and whisper to the picture, “Sorry Mom. I won’t give up, I promise. I’m going to make you proud.”
*********
I know you’re all probably confused right now, so I’ll clarify a little bit. I don’t like talking about this stuff at all, but I think you’re getting sick of being kept in the dark.
My dad was the leader of this underground cult called the Sons of Judas. He was as far back as I can remember, and I think my mom told me that he was involved in it all before they even got married. She never knew about it until things started happening to me, and she said she never would have married him if she knew. By the time she found out though, it was too late. It had entrapped us both in its web. My mom tried to protect me as much as she could, and she received far worse punishment then I did. If she tried to leave, he told her they would kill me. And if I left, they would kill her. If we both left, my dad swore he would find us. There was nowhere for us to turn.
It is a sadistic organization, and they feel through mutilation and humiliation, people’s souls are cleansed. The sins you could be pinned with were stupid and invalid to most people, but this cult took it seriously. While you were being ‘cleansed’, if you moved, or resisted in any way, the punishment was more severe. I still shudder at the memory of that final punishment, and can’t talk about it without wanting to puke.
The first time I was ‘cleansed’ I was 5 years old. My sin? I broke a window playing baseball. That night, I was pulled out of my bed and blindfolded and gagged. They took me to the room where they held their meetings (to this day, I don’t know where it is, I never opened my eyes), and did to me what they thought was right. I lost a bit of myself that night, and I know I’ll never gain it back.
You would think that after all of that, I would be so scared of sinning and of God. However, I’m not. I do believe in God, but not the same kind my dad does. I don’t think God would ever want His people to go through what me and my mom went through. My childhood didn’t teach me how to fear, it taught me how to hate.
And I’ve never forgotten.
****************************************
A short chapter, but an important one. I considered going on a little more, but I really need this chapter to sink in. I know there are still questions about Adam’s past, and they will be answered in time. I don’t want to reveal all at once. :) thanks for being patient for this one. The next one should be out at the end of this week.