Past To Present: What's Wrong With Me?

(I've got a new apartment, once again. I can't tell much difference between it and the last 3. Hell even the one in Italy was the same. I unlock the door, being careful not to drop the large bag of booze in my other arm, and push the door open. It's quiet. Vivian must be at work. I remember a time when she wouldn't leave the house because of her missing ear. Post traumatic stress can be a bitch. I cured her myself. I just beat the shit out of her. It made me feel better. She did snap out of it. It wasn't instant, but it caused the first step of her coming out of her shell. Of course I did it so that I didn't have to feel awkward around her anymore. The only part of it that pissed me off was I felt somewhat guilty. It's an emotion I am not very familiar with. It was her fault I felt it. Oh well, water under the bridge or some shit.

I set my large, paper bag on the table and begin unloading bottles. All the food groups are represented. Vodka, Tequila, Whiskey, Rum, and generic menthol cigarettes. I toss my keys on the floor before unsheathing my knife from my belt and sticking it in the table. Landlords hate when you do that. Whoops. I grab the Vodka, because it's my favorite, and flop down in a chair. I unscrew the cap as quickly as possible before taking a deep swig. That will keep me from getting the shakes. I light a cigarette to complete my power breakfast. I let my head fall back against the chair and exhale as I stare at the ceiling.

I'm not sure why, but my childhood suddenly comes to mind. There's a subject I can't stand. My childhood was horrible. I almost can't imagine a worse experience. My father was a lawyer, my mother stayed at home, my siblings and I all went to a nice school. We had a nice house. Hell we had a picket fence. Gross. My parents were madly in love. There was never a cross word between them. It sickened me. With my mom home she had time to nurture and take care of us. She was always trying to make sure everything was okay in our little worlds. My parents even had a family night every week. Could it get anymore pathetic?

They thought they could solve every problem with a discussion of feelings and a hug. I was forced into this supposedly ideal existence. Where everyone cared, and loved, and had feelings, and wanted what was best for you. Couldn't they understand how repulsive that was?! How hard that was for me?! Of course not. How could they? They didn't understand me. They never will. They couldn't understand that not only did I not feel the things they did, but I didn't want any part of their bullshit existence. I didn't want their stupid love. I didn't want their attention. Why couldn't they just leave me the fuck alone?!

Instead it was always poking and prodding. Asking me how I felt. If they could help. If I needed anything. Telling me they were there for me. God why wouldn't they shut up. The school would call constantly to complain about me. Other parents too. My parents couldn't figure out why. The siblings I didn't talk to couldn't explain it to them. Unfortunately I couldn't get anyone to shut up long enough for me to try and figure out what was missing inside. I just knew I was different and that all these people meant nothing. I didn't feel anything for anyone. My parents thought it was a phase. They just thought their pretty, little daughter needed more love. God, I'd have rather chewed broken glass for hours than be loved.

I don't talk to my family anymore. I haven't since I left home. It's safer for everyone that way. Their love sickens me so that I'd most likely end up attacking them to make it go away. Love scares me. It feels so...wrong. I've felt it once. I managed to make it go away. I took a blunt object to his face. I felt better after. The feelings went away.

I shake my head as if to get rid of these memories. If I keep thinking about this crap I may end up puking. I'm not gonna waste good alcohol by spitting it up on my floor. I put out my cigarette and stand up. Taking another deep swig of vodka, I undress as I head back towards the bathroom. A shower might help me relax. Allow this shit to fade from my mind. If that doesn't do it, the booze will.

A couple hours later I've had my shower and a nap. I wake up to the door opening. Vivian's home. I'm on my back, on the couch, when she steps in and tosses her purse on a chair. She used to be so neat. Guess I'm rubbing off on her. Her silky, black hair is down as always. She always keeps her missing ear covered. It makes people uncomfortable. It makes her more than that. Me, I think it's cool looking. Scars rock. Though she didn't deserve what happened to her. Deserving never has anything to do with it though. The world is an unfair place. I wouldn't have it any other way. She goes and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge before sitting in the recliner next to the couch I'm on.)

Vivian Tate: So did you have a productive day of drinking and sitting on your ass?

(Cute. I snort in reaction before throwing the cap to my empty vodka bottle at her.)

Summer Ashton: Actually, yeah bitch, I did. While you were busy at work, I was relaxing and taking a nap. How does that make you feel?

(We're friendly friends. What can I say? Of course it still bothers me that she assumes I drink all day. I don't know what makes her think that. It probably has something to do with the fact that I drink all day. Whatever. She makes a face at my words before throwing the cap back at me.)

Vivian: How do you think it makes me feel? It annoys the fuck out of me. I'm a productive member of society. You don't do shit and yet you get by just fine. I guess fighting has been good to you. Good thing you found it. You can't do shit else.

(Guess she doesn't know my terrible secret. I'm pretty damn good at golf too. Like I'm gonna let someone catch me playing it though. Viv used to be my agent. She was always trying to get me to sign stupid papers and do things I didn't want to do. She quit her job after her kidnapping and torture at the hands of Exa Cution. Now she's the administrator of pencils or something at some stupid office. I sniff at the air.)

Summer: Go take a shower. You smell like office. It's nauseating.

(She stands up and pours a little bit of her water on my face. I make a move like I'm gonna get up and kick her ass. She flinches and steps back. I smile. She knows the food chain in this apartment. Speaking of food.)

Summer: Order us some flesh. I'm hungry.

(She shakes her head at me while walking towards the hallway.)

Vivian: How is that my problem?

(I flip her off. She laughs. This is pretty much how we always are. When I'm not breaking stuff or throwing punches. Hey, I can't help myself. I'd consider our friendship to be pretty healthy.)

Summer: You aren't gonna feel like cooking. I sure as hell am not getting off my ass to cook. So quit actin like a stupid whore and do it.

(She walks over and grabs the phone before looking at the various numbers on the fridge. We eat out a lot. Mostly at the same places. I mostly like things that come from animals. I like meat. I hate fruits. Hate veggies. Hell I hate most processed snack foods too. Give me a steak, some shrimp, and some potatoes and I'm a happy camper.)

Vivian: Yadda ya bitch.

(While she's doing that, I get up and grab the bottle of tequila. I give the back of her head a light slap before heading down the hallway to my room. She'll let me know when the food's here. Till then I want to spend some time by myself.)