Twisted Pretzel Chapter 3: Girly Name
Title: Twisted Pretzel
Author: 2he_re (Heather and Reena)
Fandom: Jonas Brothers
Pairing(s): Joe/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, the real people in it are used without their permission and we do not own them or have any copyright to any part of any of them. We do not believe any of this happened, is likely to happen, or will happen. It is simply a story created around known facts about those involved.
Summary: Mrs. Johnson dislikes the Jonas Brothers. She hates Joe. Why? Doesn’t really matter does it? What matters is that she was playing a game to get rid of him. Death. Horrible death.
“Tristan Darthe” was her pawn. Arrested a year after the incident and tried. His mental state was proven to be unstable, and instead of a jail sentence he was sentenced to an asylum for the rest of his poor, pathetic, lonesome life, where I'm not even allowed to go fucking suicidal.
Call me unstable, call me insane, but oh deary me, I’d loved that game. I mean, money is good and all, but you know, killing is better.
But damn, I’d lost.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 pt. 1 Chapter 21 pt. 2 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26
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I didn’t like it I decided. I didn’t like it one bit.
Now here’s something you have to understand. I never had to worry about papers for anything: school work, passports, birth certificates, records. I didn’t even have to worry about background. As far as any government thing was concerned, I didn’t exist. I suppose that is quite nice. But it didn’t work for background checks. If someone did a check on you and couldn’t find anything to match up with your story, you were screwed.
Even though my memory for memorizing things is less than amazing, I am damn good at coming up with stories, and sticking to them. If no paper is involved. Ha. I’m screwed.
It was a week after Mrs. Johnson and I had first met, just like she had said, she contacted me again. We had finished teatime, the previous week, with the understanding that she would find me as long as I stayed in town. So I had, drinking my way around and hooking up with drunks to get a place to stay for the night without paying anything that was precious.
I have to say, I still don’t like it how everything went down.
Some person came up to me and gave me a letter. It was addressed to Tristan Darthe which was written in loopy handwriting on the front. It sounded like a girl’s name and looked like one too with all the stupid curly shit going on with it. The name looked like a flower. Despite the way I dressed, makeup and long hair aside, I am not a girl. Girls don’t have dicks.
I looked up at the guy who gave it to me, after flipping it over to find nothing else written on it. I raised an eyebrow.
“She told me to give it to ya’.”
“She would be?”
He grunted and didn’t say anything. I shrugged; his loss if I was the wrong person. I ripped it open, to find a lovely letter. It wasn’t in the same floral writing. I recognized the handwriting inside; it was the same as the first letter Mrs. Johnson gave to me.
I scanned it over quickly. It was something along the lines of, Dear Tristen, my lovely nephew, blah blah, go with this person, blah blah blah, everything is already assigned, blah blah, you better not blah blah. The original is in custody now as evidence for me being in here (the stupid doctor grabbed everything I’d had when I was first admitted), or I would gladly copy down the horribly boring letter. And it was boring too. I yawned at least three times reading it. It only served to remind me to be a good “nephew”. Mhmm, yep, I’d try to do that, “Auntie”.
Seventeen year old me stuffed the letter back into the envelope and slipped it into my jeans.
“So where’s my aunt?” The guy growled at me in response. I shrugged. “I hate beer, too,” I reassured him, “It’s okay.” Like that made any sense. I think I was on borderline drunk.
He grabbed my arm and dragged me out to the parking lot, where I got shoved into a black car. Let’s just say it was unmarked, because it doesn’t matter what it was called. It was just a car. Stupid car.
So that’s when I decided I really didn’t like how dear Auntie was going about this. For one it was broad daylight, and not even noon. What kind of person “kidnaps” someone in broad daylight before noon? She was definitely off her rocker.
I was manhandled into the back seat. I got stupid manhandled. Again, I might look like a girl. But I’m still a guy, with a dick. And I still do not like getting pushed around.
The car squealed away before I could even put my seatbelt on, dear Manhandling Dude still outside. Not like there had even been a seatbelt when I’d looked around. The car wasn’t the most spacious of things. My legs were starting to cramp within the first few seconds of being stuck inside. There were two guys up front. Both were bald, and the one in the driver’s seat was lean and mean looking. His eyes were focused intently on the road in front of him. Both hands were in a vise grip on the steering wheel. He took sharp turns and almost hit more things than I could count. I had to keep myself braced at all times. Oh the joy. He swerved for the little black cat crossing the road, which was just so sweet. He couldn’t be that mean, or maybe he was superstitious.
The guy sitting shotgun wasn’t lean. He was rather plump. I know you normally use plump to refer to an old lady, but this was a special case. Plump’s a pussy word. That guy looked pussy. No one said anything to me, and I didn’t say anything to anyone. I watched my two “abductors”. Lean and Mean didn’t even shift to recognize I was staring.
Pussy, however, kept shooting glances behind at me. Shifting, pulling at his collar, turning red, looking straight ahead…
We moved onto the highway.
“Your name is Tristan Darthe from this day on,” Pussy said. I looked at him for barely a second longer. He so needed to get laid or something.
“That sounds girly.”
My face stung. My mouth dropped open. I had just been slapped. I’d been fucking slapped!
“What the hell?” I growled out. My head snapped as I received another slap. A slap too, mind you, not a punch or a fist in my nose. Nothing manly. I’m not a girl. I lunged to the front seat, fingers forming claws. “Bitch!” My nails ripped at the guy’s face as the car swerved.
I got a good claw at him just as something cool pressed into the back of my head. I froze, fuck it all. Gun. I don’t like guns.
“Mr. Darthe, I would appreciate it if you would not hurt either of us. We are merely doing our jobs.” I didn’t move. I glared at Pussy, whose hand had come up to cup his cheek. Courtesy of me, he would have a scar there. Blood started to leak from under his fingers and he looked at me in horror, the gun still pressed to my head. I could feel it through all my luscious hair. I snarled.
“Mr. Darthe.”
“Spineless bastard,” I hissed at Pussy, before recoiling back.
“You’re running away from your parent who mistreats you.” Pussy started to brief me about my life. Like I cared.
“Are we talking Daddy butt rapes me, or Mommy’s cooking is bad?” I clenched my teeth as my cheek stung from another hard slap.
“Dad is Arthur Darthe, an alcoholic and drug addict. You suffered beatings and such. Mom left at ten, you don’t even know her name.”
“Fucking bitch.” I mumbled. “Hey! I was agreeing with-” I bit my tongue as my cheek started to sting more. Apparently I wasn’t allowed to say anything.
“Who’s your dad?”
“King shitty Arthur…”
Slap.
“Darth Vader.” I twisted my head. “Fuck, stop with - I’m serious, you - STOP!” I cried. My hands whipped out, and God for once agreed with my motives. My fingers wrapped tightly around the incoming hand. My nails dug into the flesh. I could feel the muscles under my hands, trying to bunch up and get away. I grunted, hanging onto the hand. “I can just squeeze down a bit more.” I seethed. “And feel this nail right here?” I burrowed my index finger farther down.
I got a screech for my effort and the car turned sharply, probably as Gun Guy realized something wasn’t going down as planned. God that sound of pain and fear from Pussy was just music to my ears. “This is your Cephalic vein. It’s one of the only major veins going into your hand.” I could feel the vein moving under my nail as if trying to get free, wiggling, squirming. “I can cut it right now with my nail. I cut it, and you will spray out blood like there is no tomorrow, and your hand will shrivel and there will be pain as it falls off. And I will laugh, because you don’t have a hand anymore to slap me with.” I could feel the skin starting to break around my nail as Pussy whimpered. “Just one big gushing stud of blood.”
I heard the clicking of the safety on the gun. It was gone. I let out a slow grin. I love my job.
“Mr. Darthe, if I have to once again ask you to behave, I will have no qualms in shooting you. There is a pool of people just like yourself for your aunt to pick from.”
I slowly relaxed my hand. My nails grazed Pussy’s arm as he ripped it away. I settled into the back seat. Feeling much better, more relaxed. I licked my lips. “I don’t think you’ll ever find someone quite like me, even if you scoured the global. I’m one of a kind. And it’s Arthur Darthe.”
“Where were you born?” Pussy asked in a shaky voice. I rolled my eyes.
“You never told me.”
“Pennsylvania.” God I thought for sure he was going to piss his pants or something. He was so scared of me. It was great. I was lapping it up.
“I don’t like that place.”
“You don’t really remember where you lived but it was in Philadelphia. You moved around a lot because Arthur could never pay the rent on time. You’d end up getting thrown out.”
“Dad was an addict, couldn’t pay rent on time, and I lived in a stupid city, where Cheese Steaks are the bomb. Grea - fuck!” I dived down just as the boom of a gun filled the small car.
“No wisecracks.”
I realize now if I had wanted to, I could’ve over powered the guy with the gun and Pussy. The guy with the gun could only do so much driving. But I didn’t go for it. I was scared, my mind trudging through sludge, and I’d hunkered down. My eyes darted around, trying to take everything in as I got bombarded with so much information. I wasn’t sure how I could keep it all straight, but I was asked questions, and I answered right for the most part.
We worked our way up from the youngest years I “remembered” to just before I had “ran away” until finally it was the present time.
“So you got kidnapped,” Pussy said, obviously referring to my current situation.
“I got kidnapped,” I repeated faithfully, noting how the sun had finally sunk. It was pitch black out besides a few lights lining the interstate we had been travelling on for however long. The car stopped. Gun Guy got out. I watched him wearily out of one eye before the door slammed shut. We were going to get rear ended, I just knew it. The blinkers weren’t even on.
Pussy turned around in his seat to face me. “Then you got slashed up, and dumped on the side of the road.” I made confused face because I was pretty stupid back then. The door next to me opened.
“I’m not sla-” I fell onto the concrete. A solid hand pulled on my hair. I screamed as my shirt inched up over my back. He pulled me over it, each step jarring. The rough blacktop scratched into my back. The thin shirt I was wearing clung to me, blood keeping it where it had ridden up on my back.
I wiggled, trying to get the stupid hand out of my hair. The grip tightened. “You fucking little asshole, I’m going to find you, and I’m-” My scream cut my ranting short again as I was lifted to my feet by my hair. I found myself face to face with Gun Guy. I spit in his face. “Bastard.”
“You’re not going to live through this.”
I snarled, and snipped at his nose. He recoiled back just in time, or I would’ve had a bunch of his skin in my teeth. He let go of my hair, and I lunged at him.
At the same time, silver came out, and sliced up across my stomach.
Fuck. It hurt.
I could tell it would leave a scar back then. I would’ve bet you anything that you wanted that I would have a big nasty slice up my stomach for the rest of my life. And I would’ve won.
Than the lights of the car came on, right in my eyes, and I doubled over, falling to my knees. Pain rocketed through my body as the car started up, and I could hear the crunch of gravel as it rumbled away. Good fucking riddance. I pushed my hands to my stomach. The thin fabric pressed up against the blood that was spilling out.
I squeezed my eyes shut taking long slow, steady breathes. In and out, ignore the pain. I hissed as my hand slipped, blood spilling from where my hand failed to cover the stupid slice. Just breathe, I told myself, and something will happen, good or bad.
Suddenly, there were hands on my arms. Someone telling me they needed to see. They could make it all right. “No!” I screamed. I was acting like I sissy, but I didn’t know who they were or what they were trying to do. My eyes were still squeezed shut.
“Oh wow, that’s a lot of blood.” I heard weakly next to me.
“What are you guys doing out here?” a high pitched woman’s voice asked. “Get back inside the bus.”
“Mom.”
“Now boys.”
The hands on me disappeared and I was let alone in my bubble. I could hear the rustle of another engine now. Actually, it sounded like two. Something big. A bus. Oh God. I groaned, no fucking way. Something wet bubbled up over my lips.
“Hun, you have to stay with me okay? Open your eyes. Can you do that?” I gulped in more air, choking on blood. Through the pain, through the pain. I opened my eyes, unfocused at first, then the fuzzy imagine in front of me became sharp.
It was a brunette. Right. I closed my eyes and moaned, starting to sink backwards, but a hand propped me back up.
“What’s your name, girl?” the person behind me asked. A male voice.
“Guy,” I choked out, blood bubbling over.
“What?”
“I’m a guy, dude. Male. I have a penis.” A fresh wave of nausea hit me. I buckled forward. Another hand landed on my shoulder, to balance me out, keep from tipping forward or backwards. I coughed a few times, trying to get rid of all the blood. It kept climbing up my mouth.
“Okay, just breathe through with me okay,” the woman said. “The ambulance will be here in a few.”
“I’m not giving birth!” I huffed out, trying to open my eyes again. “I need something thicker than my shirt. Or I’m going to keep bleeding.”
“He says he needs some more cloth. Is that right?”
I moaned, opening up my eyes. I found someone off to my right yakking on a cell phone. Older, with curly hair. “Yes, it’s right,” I spit out, trying to shift my weight to get more comfortable. God I was fading in and out. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. “I wouldn’t tell you to do something if it wasn’t going to help. I don’t plan on dying.”
“They say it’s okay, but don’t let her-”
“Him!” I snapped.
I hissed, kneeled over, and passed out.
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