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06/29/2020 05:55 PM 

Dirtbag, Part 2.

Dirtbag, Part 2
Bother.

 

2010.

Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? Do you like what you see?

“You’re trustworthy, aren’t you Arnold?”

The room he sat in, dim and stale, seemed like the setting of a mafia movie. Sixteen and terrified, Arnold sat in a small, wooden chair under the only light in the room, fiddling with his hands, as an older male, Alfonso, hovered over him. Alfonso didn’t look like he belonged here, in this dingy room. Dressed to the nines in a dark, pinstripe suit, black hair slicked back, Al was probably one of the most intimidating men the boy had ever met. He knew not to cross him, so in response, he nodded, too scared to speak.

The beast could grow inside of you, in spite of me.

That wicked grin formed upon Al’s features, grey eyes boring into Arnold for a moment, before the hand that wielded his sleek black gun, bringing it to his chin. “Good,” He said, watching as Arnold’s breath shuttered, “I’m very happy that you know I could easily blow your brains out on this cold floor and just leave your body for the wild animals. No one out there really cares about you, which is why it’s great to have you on my team. I trust you, so I wanted to show you something.” His gun fell to his side again, Arnold’s muscles finally able to relax, eyebrows arched in curiosity. “Show me...something?” He asked, clearing his throat. Al nodded, bringing a cigarette between his lips, before tossing Arnold the box.

“Oh, sir,” He said, shaking his head, “I’m not old enough.” Al scoffed, making a face at the other. “Please,” He said, waiting for Arnold to stand and follow him, “I know you smoke in the van. Do you really think I’m going to turn you in to the police?” Al snorted, guiding the teenager down a long, dark hallway with multiple doors and no windows, even more dim lighting to be seen. Head ducked, Arnold nodded and followed after him.

“I have another job for you,” Al said, stopping in front of a door close to the end, “it’s different from what you’re used to, but pays more. Are you in?” Blue eyes widened at the rusted copper doorknob Al had his fingers wrapped around, chest tightening with an anxiety he’d never felt before. Should he agree? Would it be bad for him if he didn’t? He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath. More money. He needed more money.

“Yes,” Arnold responded, composing himself, “I’m in. I’m all in.” Al, seemingly reluctant, gazed at him for a moment, expressionless… this scared him, mortified Arnold, mostly because he felt as though he knew that Al was capable of terrible terrible things. Finally, however, the older man’s lips curled up into a grin once more. “Very well,” He said, turning the knob, “step inside.”

The room looked so dark. So eerie.

He braced himself, stepping forward into the doorway, met immediately with the smell of death. At first, he couldn’t see a thing, not until Al flipped a switch and shed orange light on the horrors inside the room. A few old, riggity beds were lined up along the wall, four at least. Upon three of them were the lifeless corpses of young women, the youngest looking at least 13. He choked at the sight of their faces, skin drained of color, lips purple, eyes wide to the ceiling. One had bruises on her neck, another a slit throat, the youngest one a bullet hole between her eyes.

“These are all accidents,” Al said casually, stepping around to lift the hand of the first girl as Arnold looked on, eyes wide with horror, “one tried to escape. One wasn’t pleasing to a client. The little bitch bit one and he shot her.” Al shrugged, Arnold blinking back to reality when the older man turned to him, his words causing an unfamiliar anger to boil in his chest. “So what do you want me to do with them?” He asked through gritted teeth, trying not to show his emotions. Al could read him though.

“Arnie, my boy,” He said, moving over to place his hands on the boy’s shoulders, gripping him tightly, “these women were disposable. Just like all of my women. I’ll simply replace them with others that I find. You don’t have to feel anything for them. They are at peace from this terrible world.” He couldn’t believe the man’s words, straight from a monster's mouth… but he knew reacting now would just get him on the fourth bed. He was only sixteen. He wasn’t ready to die. “So what do you want me to do with them?” He asked again, words firmer, eyes watering over slightly. His nostrils were flaring, anger consuming him.

“I want you to dispose of them.” Al continued, nodding to the girls on the bed, “got a little deal with the mortician down out of the city. He lets me use the furnace in exchange for a generous amount of money. A generous amount you’ll be seeing after you drop them off to be incinerated.” Arnold’s lip trembled slightly, eyes moving from Al’s evil f***ing face to the women on the bed, then back. A generous amount of money. For what? Disposing of these women? Whose families were probably in shambles looking for them, begging for them to come home, and now he was just going to erase them? Like they never existed?

He thought about the Ajuwa’s.

The family that had so graciously took him in. How he’d be putting them in severe danger if he refused. He couldn’t do that to them. Blinking back tears, he nodded his head and cleared his throat, extending his hand to Al, who took it immediately. “You got yourself a deal,” He said, taking a deep breath, “I’ll run them to the mortician. Drop them off. That’s it, right?” Al nodded, giving Arnold a grin that he thought maggots would crawl out of. “That’s it.” He repeated, letting go of the younger boy’s hand.

Their faces, like ghouls, trauma from their deaths painted in their expressions. I’ll be erasing them. Like they never existed.

 

I'll be the bad guy now, though I ain't too proud.

06/29/2020 05:54 PM 

Let It Go.

Let it go. Let it go. Let it go. Just let it go.

2009.

Blood pooled at the drain of his shower, swirling in a little crimson twister, disappearing into nothing. His back pressed against the wet wall, hair stuck to his skin as the open wound trickled into bright red veins down his arms. From his lips a cigarette loosely dangled, the embers had gone out a long time ago from the water. His head lolled slightly to the side, in his lap a bloody razor, responsible for the life draining from his being. He didn’t want this. He never did, but it was impossible not to want to slip away at any given chance.

You’re not meant to die. At least not right now. You have so much left to do.

Arnold’s blue eyes fluttered closed, wanting to push back the voices in his head telling him to get the f*** up. Urging him to move. To continue living. Please… get up. Was it more powerful than the memory of all the sh*t people constantly said to him? Fat boy. Ugly. Put the f***ing fork down, piggy. Words that stuck. Words that left an incredible ache in his chest, purged his will to live… despite that, despite his skin paling as he bled out in the shower, he reached for his lighter and lit it… pressing the flame to his open wound to close it up….

Modern day, midnight.

The scarred wrist hovered, cigarette placed between his lips, smoke billowing from them. He could see them, the bunny f***ers in the distance, laughing behind their creepy mask as they antagonized a young girl. A shadow in the darkness, they couldn’t see him. Not at first at least. Stomping out the cigarette beneath his boot, he slid a familiar mask over his face, one he’d stolen from some poor f***er who’d been unfortunate enough to have his neck snapped with ease in a Valkery alleyway a few nights ago. Once the bunny was in place, Arnold made his way across the street to join the three minions.

“Lucy needs us.” He muttered from behind the mask, hands carefully placed in his pockets. Once they were distracted, he watched the girl scurry off, seemingly grateful that he’d shown up. The three other men peered at him from behind their mask, before looking between one another… finally shrugging and walking toward him. They weren’t exactly the brightest people, the diabolical sh*t was left up to their leader. They were just there for the numbers. Checkmate.

Arnold turned his back on the three idiots whose fates were sealed once they started following him, leading them into the abyss of the dark, Valkery roads on this exceptionally warm night. His feet hit the partially wet ground, fingers wrapping around cold metal in his pocket as they escaped the dim lights of the streetlamps. “What does the bossman want?” One of the minions asked, causing Arnold to stop in his tracks, back still facing them. His eyes flickered down to the scar on his wrist, one that once spilled so much of his blood. One that had almost claimed his life. A chuckle left his lips as he raised the bunny mask off his face, dropping it to the ground, causing the others much confusion, he was sure. “You know what,” He said, “I don’t recall. Maybe it was something along the lines of asking me to make sure you didn’t scream.”

He turned around, not giving them nearly enough time to react as one hand pulled a familiar blade from his pocket, one he’d stolen after the little fear factor night, lunging it into the first minions temple, blood spraying like a sprinkler on a summer day when he yanked it out. The two other men watched in horror as their friend fell lifeless to the ground, but before they could draw their guns, Arnold acted quicker. One hand shot up, gripping one of the minions raised wrist, snapped it back, the sound of bones breaking filling the void, but before he could scream, Arnold stuck the blade into his throat rapidly, bloody splattering across his features, causing the man to choke instead.

He quickly removed the blade, letting the second bunny man cripple to the ground in a pool of his flesh and bones as the third lunged at him, but he too was unfortunate. Arnold’s hand caught the man’s hair, knee meeting his gut, then his chin, before lunging the blade into the back of his skull and throwing him to the pavement. His boot smashed into his head, just to make sure, eyes wandering to the second one again, who was choking on his own blood. “It’s crazy, right?” Arnold asked, pulling another cigarette from his pocket, bringing it to his lips and lighting the end, “what death feels like as it creeps up on you? I know what that’s like. Unfortunately for you, you won’t escape it like I did.” Kneeling down to hover over the dying man, he pulled away his mask, revealing the face of a man who couldn’t be any older than he was.

“In life you get to choose a path,” Arnold said, blowing smoke out toward the other’s face, “seems like you chose the wrong one.” Once the smoke left his lungs, he pressed the blade to the man’s throat, pushing down and sliding it along his flesh slowly, blood pooling at the sharp edge. Once the minion’s struggling stopped, eyes still wide to the sky as his life slipped away, Arnold stood. “That was for Sora.” He said, finger trailing the ‘P.M’ initials etched into the blade handle.

I’ll be the bad guy now… though I ain’t too proud.

06/29/2020 05:52 PM 

MEAN.

Mean.
I'm no good at goodbyes.

 

Don’t nobody tell me that god don’t have a sense of humor, ‘cause now that I want to live well everybody around me is dying.

What was the point?

Back to square one, that’s where he’d landed on his ass. Swimming in the deep end with broken limbs, barely able to keep his head above water without it filling his lungs. It felt pointless sometimes, like he should just let his body sink beneath the current and carry him under, maybe then he’d feel lighter. Right now, though, life was a burden, and it terrified him. To no ends. He was worried, in the beginning, that he’d been using Anna as some sort of magnet, gravitating him to this source of light that helped him breathe. Now, with that source gone, he felt angry again.

Nothing seemed worth loving.

Which meant he’d be spending a lot of time alone again, maybe drowning himself in dark liquor and staring at the ceiling. Going mad with f***ing loneliness, it seemed inevitable anymore. Just get the f*** out, do something, breathe in fresh air, Arnold. You’re driving me crazy. Liz’s words echoed through his head. Out of everyone, she was the most worried about him doing something stupid, which was why she drilled into him the only way she knew; tough love. That was a lot how Arnold handled things, which was why he never had necessarily been mad at Liz for it. She probably understood trauma a hell of a lot more than he ever could.

She let it surfaced. Wasn’t afraid of being exposed like he was.

The places I took you, they seem so f***ing empty.

He’d followed the 10 year-old's advice and made his way out of the resort, feet carrying him nowhere in particular except under the same gloomy California sky everyone was experiencing. It seemed dangerously, blinding staggering through the city, barely staying on the sidewalk, still half drunk from last night’s endeavor. If only the entirety of Valkery wasn’t keeping him on suicide watch, he’d feel a little less tense, but he knew what they all thought when they looked at him.

Is he drunk again?
He’s gonna drink himself to death.
He should really see a therapist.
He’s clearly not okay.
He needs mental help.


It was almost like he could hear their thoughts, harsh whispers in his brain, judging him. Remind him that he was a sad, miserable f***ing mess. You should just kill yourself. Telling him things that weren’t true, but still the harsh truth. Just get it over with. Telling him that something was wrong and that he didn’t even realize it. No one would be sad. Telling him he needed f***ing help before ended up dead on his floor, wrist opened up with a razor blade. Just do it! F***ing kill yourself! Screaming inside of his f***ing head and gripping him, pulling him away from reality. F***ING DO IT YOU COWARD! Tugging him under this metaphoric wave of misery. YOU WON’T F***ING DO IT. Choking him. YOU’RE A COWARD. YOU WON’T. Strangling him.

Further and further away from reality.

“You lost or something, pig boy?” The unknown voice brought him back to reality, only to find that he’d managed to stumble in between a couple scruffy looking buildings down the hill from where all of the shops sat peacefully. Before him, standing with their backs against the damp walls were two of the bunny men, masks pushed up from their faces, each holding a cigarette. He didn’t know how to answer at first, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he attempted to process what was happening. He’d never seen them without their masks on, but then again he’d never thought that they wore them 24/7. That could be exhausting.

“No,” He grunted, deciding that today was the worst day to get into it with any of these f***ers, “I was just heading home.” There was a snicker behind him as he turned around, the sound of scuffling before something hit the back of his head hard. THWACK! He stumbled, just a little, hand instinctively moving to his head where he’d been hit. Bringing his fingers around, he noted that they were covered in a bit of blood, his body immediately searching the ground for what had been used to hit him. A rock. A big one too. One of those f***ers had thrown a f***ing rock at him.

He couldn’t let that slide. Besides, he had a lot of pent up aggression he needed to get out anyways.

“But you know what?” He said, cigarette removed from his shirt pocket and brought to his lips. He lit the end, ember burning orange as he did, smoke billowing from his lips as he released it. “I guess I could stay for a few.” The two bunnies chuckled, some sort of goofy sound escaping their throats, but Arnold wasn’t amused. Not in the least, and it showed as he casually joined them. “Hey, guys, you seem like fun people.” He said, right hand resting inside of his pocket, fingers grasping the cold handle of his recently crafted knife. The two men looked between each other, but nodded. “Oh cool,” Arnold said, turning to the man closest to him, “I was wondering if you could tell me if this was a cool magic trick.”

He was too quick.

His hand gripped the back of the closet’s bunny’s neck, blade removed from his pocket before he lunged it into his left eye. He made sure to push it deep, the man’s screams filling the alley as he flailed. “I made the knife… disappear! See?
Arnold said, twisting the blade, blue eyes averted to the bunny’s friend, who was fumbling in his pocket for his gun. Before he could pull it out, Arnold shoved his screaming friend into him, ripping his weapon free, sending them both flying to the floor.

“Here, let me get that for you.” He said, towering over the one who hadn’t had a knife lodged into his brain. He leaned down, finding the strap that held his gun in place, grabbing it quicker than the other had managed to before delivering several rounds into his chest. Just like his friend, the bunny fell limp, but curse the f***ers for not using silencers. Rolling his neck, he tossed the man’s gun to his chest, taking another puff of his cigarette before ducking out of the alley. If he stayed too long, he was certain someone would have come running after hearing the gunshots.

It made him feel better though, getting out of those aggressions.

Covered in blood now, he headed back up the sidewalk toward the resort. It had been a bad idea to come outside after all, and he couldn’t wait to shove that in Liz’s face.

 

I'll be the bad guy now, though I ain't too proud.

06/04/2020 02:06 PM 

OWES

OWES

I OWE:
S: 

R: Charlie 6-22, Raph 6-22

YOU OWE:
S: 

R: Finn 6-22, Tesla 6-22, Dahlia 7-3, Moon 7-3


UPDATED: 7-3

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