The Rebel, the Jackass and the Dickhead

"DALLAS GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE *hiccup* RIGHT THIS INSTANCE!" our mother slurred loudly from downstairs. I was five, Dallas was seven, and we were curled up in our father's closet. He had died right after mom discovered she was pregnant with me, but she refused to get rid of his things. She just... left everything as it was and locked the door to his room. We got in through the garage window. Mom was having one of her drunken rages, and it was always best to avoid her when she did. I have the scars to prove it's a bad idea not to. "DALLAS, GET YOUR FUCKING *hiccup* SPOILED, SELFISH ASS *hiccup* DOWN HERE!"

I held on to Dallas' arm tighter, looking up at his pale but determined face. He gave me an encouraging smile that only a big brother can manage and held me closer.

That was in 1995. '93 through '00 consisted of constant beatings, screams, fights, alcohol and drugs, on my mother's part. Most of that time I spent with Dallas in dad's closet. Every day was the same. Wake up, skip breakfast (because of mom's constant reminders of how fat, stupid and worthless I was), get ready, go to school, get teased, hang out with Patryk and Sam, skip lunch, get picked on by Mrs. Green, read, get teased a bit more, go home, avoid mom, clean the house, cook dinner for Dallas and mom, then go to bed. Every damn day from the age of three. Really can fuck a child up.

It was 2005, and suddenly, I was fifteen years old, on the Honor Roll in school, averaging at about 98%, the verbal abuse from my mother still coming in large quantities. But the physical abuse had stopped. She had decided that instead of hurting us, she'd fuck our classmates and teachers. And I was still skipping meals, and I was still hanging out with Patryk and Sam, and I was still getting teased, and I was 90.3 pounds and 5'7". Which is, in case you didn't know, very much not the ideal weight. In fact, I was 30 or more pounds under the ideal weight.

That's when I met Jack, Dallas' good friend and a member of All Time Low. He was a tall and lanky seventeen year old, standing around in our kitchen. I, as usual, assumed it was one of mom's latest fuck-buddies and barely grumbled a 'hello' before opening the small, beat-up fridge and getting the milk, drinking it right out of the carton.

"SHAUN!" my brother complained loudly from behind me (a.k.a next to the tall guy). "Stop drinking it right out of the carton, that's disgusting!"

"So is your face, but you don't see me fucking complaining about having to see that horrendous piece of shit every day," I responded with a smile, turning on the spot to face Dallas. His blonde hair was neatly combed in a messy fashion (don't ask), he was wearing his usual button-down, today a plaid one, and beige pants. He had gigantic brown eyes (which really creeped me out at times) as well. I had gotten the horrible looks from my dad, as mom often reminded me. Long, wavy brown hair, light blue eyes, a really tiny nose and all the damn fat. It was everywhere really. Black skinny jeans and a Ramones t-shirt was my outfit of the day, as well as white soccer socks and my usual leather bracelets decorating my wrists. I was basically 98723523 times as ugly as Dallas would ever be.

"Yes, you do. Every day, actually. Anyway, this is Jack, be polite and say hi, Anne," Dickhead stated, giving me a piercing glare. I sighed deeply, shuffling slowly forward. Well I guess he wasn't mom's fuck-buddy after all, since he was Dallas' friend. Or maybe he was both.

"I am not going to shake your hand by the way. Hugsies?" I asked with a sarcastic smile. "No, but in all seriousness, I have a thing with hugs, c'mere Jacky."

Notes