#jack and roger

[gumballavocadoharry]

I won't cry for yesterday (Pt. 2); Jack Chambers:

*Mentions of death, grief, troubled relationships, dysfunctional family units, mental, emotional, physical abuse, PTSD, violence, abusive relationships, overprotective parenting, sexual abuse, deep angst,  poor self image, attachment issues, marriage problems....etc..*

January trees tickled the tips of the bedroom window. It was a week past what would've been David's birthday and Jack could swore he felt a shiver crawl up his spine. David was haunting him in some way. Jack could feel that somewhere in his bones, he carried the weight of the flagrantly embedded pain David injected into him. And he carried that pain for a while… something Jack had just begun to start admitting to himself.

At night, his pillowcase was damp. When his dreams took him into a whirlwind of his own, night sweats would always plague him. David's face- his piercing frown, his jarring words- the way they slashed through his gut like blades of a knife. His tongue filled with venom from the nips of it and it would pierce through Jack. It would pinch inside of his heart with every little pin and poke. Jack squirmed- falling deeper and deeper into this pitfall of David, Lucy, Roger, Alice… it all swirled around him like this stocky tornado that seemed to suffocate him in its musky waves.

"Jack… Jack," He shot up, scanning around the room panting heavy like he ran a marathon through the rain. Then he saw Alice's face- concerned and full of worry knitted in between her brows.

"Alice… Alice.." Jack grabbed her hand and let the back of it soothe his cheek, pressing the weight of his face against it. "It's okay, honey….. It's okay…" Alice soothed. Jack felt himself falling back into reality. The scent of the room tickled inside his nose again, the little glow of early morning at three AM seemed to remind him that today was a new day in waiting, and the cozy feeling of the covers warmed his body once more- sheltering him from feeble grip he thought he had. Jack breathed patiently again, laying back down against the safety of his pillow and sheets. He stared back up at the ceiling, blinking his eyes quickly like he would miss something.

And slowly, he drifted into his bed and darkness overtook him.

**********************************************

It was a few days later when Jack found that David's body was shipped to Virginia- his father's hometown. Although Jack had decided this for a while- he would go to Virginia to make amends- he slowly dragged his feet. It wasn't the typical indolence, rather some arrest; afraid to find out something that maybe he should have never known. But Jack nudged himself- pushed himself to pack up his suitcase. A big suitcase of everything he could ever need for a few weeks, rested inside the travel box.

Jack stared at the suitcase. The last time the same emotions that swam inside of him when he stared at a single suitcase was when Roger had moved out of the house. Now Jack was standing watching the same uneasy, disconnected wave build up inside him like he was sinking inside of a hole that his feet somehow hung over.

He shook his head trying to regain his control over reality and then firmly gripped the suitcase, yanking it off the bed. Carefully tip toeing down the hall and down each step with a steady grace, Jack's eyes finally met Alice's. She was sitting on the couch, fiddling with her thumbs, scruntinizing the silver pink nail polish complimented with golden rings around her fingers. She wanted Jack to see her... she just didn't want to see Jack. Alice knew where he was going even before he said it. She knew... and Jack could sense it.

"I'm going to Virgina, Alice," He came closer to her, "I'll see you in two weeks.... I love you." Jack pressed a soothing and soundly kiss to Alice's cheek, making her blush against her will. "I love you too, Jack.... I'll see you later." Her voice, quiet and discreet. Jack smoothed a stray hair from her face, before standing back up and walking out the door, letting the linger of his scent spray all over the living room.

Alice bit her lip; a tear desperately wanting to blink down her face and plop over her lap. And she finally set it free with a shaky deep breath. Alice stood up, hands trembling, mouth- goofy and stuttering. Her eyes were twin pools of morning dew, glistening with the weight of a thousand unspoken sorrows, reflecting the world with a fragile shimmer that hinted at the heartache within. Alice drifted herself towards the window, watching Jack's taxi pull out of the street and onto the main road. She watched the taxi drive down the road until it disappeared from view. Alice felt this tightning sense; a fence of joy from Jack being gone and sorrow for what he left behind.

Alice decided to busy herself with making a soothing cup of warm tea. Once it was finished, she took it back into the living room.

Alice sat down in the safe cozy warmth of the couch. Grabbing the cup of tea, she sipped it gingerly, careful not to slurp. Her mind quickly flickered to Roger. In a relaxed state, the nerve shook her a bit. It scared her even- remembering the last conversation Roger shared with Jack, before he no longer called the home. A heavy pound sat in Alice's throat everytime she thought about it. But underneath that pound was something even more bitter: her rage. Her deep resentment of Roger's cutting the ties, thanks to Jack. To her, it was his fault. If he could have just let Roger grow; swaddling him in this overprotective quilt, made Roger leap from those binds and run away screaming bloody murder.

She warned him, "Let him be." She would say. But Jack couldn't. He never did. So... she was punished too. She lost her son, just as much as Jack did. If he even deserved to have one in these days, Alice would think. 

It was painful- too painful to think of all her hard work; those years where she held her promise of never being too overprotective or too controlling. Biting her tongue with her children's rebellious phases, knowing they would crawl out of it eventually. Alice knew she would just be patient and understanding. They needed it- they deserved it.

*************************************************

Alice remembered Jennifer Lowe. A sweet girl with orange pigtails and icy gray eyes with a light pink smile. Alice adored Jennifer. She was one of the kindest girls she'd met, and from one look you would never know how much pain sat behind those sunny side eyes.

Jennifer was born a few months early- a premature baby. Pink salmon skin, purple nerves and still developing lungs. All this because Jennifer's mother didn't see the harm in having a few cigarettes towards the end of her pregnancy. "A nasy habit." Jennifer called it. Fortunately, she was soon able to come home the day after her original due date. Her life was like any other baby until age two, when her parents tried to have another. Her mother became pregnant in the spring, but had begun bleeding only a few weeks into the pregnancy. A miscarriage. The devestation hit hard with her parents, so they tried for another. But the same thing happened. And it kept happening all the way into late summer. 

Mrs. Lowe's smoking habits caught up with her- unable to bear anymore children, a hole was left inside her. Jennifer was the only child they would be able to have. Seeing her as their little diamond in the rough, the only creation of the Lowe's that would live on, they wanted to protect it. Petrified of losing another baby, the Lowe's hovered over Jennifer's every move. Lasting into her teens, the parents could't let themselves let go of their child.

Jennifer was never allowed sleepovers, parties, curfew was two hours before anyone else's, the Lowe parents always had to be on every one of Jennifer's field trips, she was never to date any boy she set her eyes on, any activites too dangerous were out of the question for her. Jennifer spent most of her adolecents, sneaking out to join Alice just for everyday innocent fun. Jennifer wasn't even that interested in boys, she just wanted to spend time with her friends. But, the Lowe's nearly drilled Alice's parents over if their daughter would be safe in their home, which after a while- despite their understanding- became just as much of irritant to them as much to Jennifer. 

Alice couldn't believe it when Jennifer couldn't ice skate one winter on her vacation because the ice was 'too slippery.' Or she couldn't stay out in the sun because it too many degrees over the safe zone. 

Alice felt for her friend. Jennifer was a happy girl, laughing, joking, smiling.... but sad. Depressed and isolated because of her parents crackpot fears over her safety. A ridiculous paranoia over the unexplained or unexpected, and for nothing. 

But it was the summer, the day after their high school graduation, when Jennifer had gone. Disappeared forever. Alice was told a week before when she asked Jennifer what she was going to do after graduation, Jennifer said only word: Canada. Alice laughed. She didn't believe Jennifer would actually travel all the way to Canada. "Niagra Falls?" She joked. Jennifer kept the bright smile pressed on her face. By the next morning after their graduation ceromony, Jennifer had left. Her fraightful parents demanded answers to Alice's parents, but none could be answered. 

Alice finally understood Canada was where Jennifer was probably headed. "Alice, if you know where Jennifer is.... please tell us." Her parents begged. Alice thought for a moment. Deep down, Alice knew that Jennifer was set on what she told her. After the years of constant stifle and the burden of carrying the weight of her parent's derisive fears, Alice was somewhat relieved to see her friend finally leave. It would just get worse- Jennifer would be constantly hooked on the puppet strings of her parents, never being truly free for the sake of her life. Taking a good look into the eyes of her parents and in the Lowe's, Alice spoke. "No. She never said anything when I last talked to her." And that was all Alice said. Maybe she knew that her parents did know that she knew where Jennifer was. But like her, they could even feel the sweet relief for Jennifer.

Later that week, it was Friday night when Alice finally cried in her bed. She thought of Jennifer. Hoping she finally found her happiness somewhere in the city. With bisections of sadness on one end and happiness on the other, Alice finally let her heart break and heal together for Jennifer. She could say her parents deserved to spend their days wondering and wishing for their lost daughter to come home. The Jennifer, Alice had once knew in Florida, was long gone. But the Jennifer that found herself in Canada, would live on forever. 

But Alice still made a promise to herself. She would never parent a Jennifer. Her child would never need to disappear to be free. They wouldn't have to sneak out with their friends, or board the next train to halfway across the world. Alice would never allow herself to spiral out of control in this bog of paranoia and mess with her children's minds. Alice learned something from Jennifer, grateful to be taught what would happen if Alice were to be selfish; suffocate her children with her uncontrolled tendencies would lead to losing them forever.

It's what Jennifer's parents deserved- they made a bed they would need to learn to lie in. But Alice would never be them. She would never have to understand what it would mean to lose someone you loved.

Alice had lost a friend. She wouldn't lose a child too.

******************************************

When Alice fell pregnant with her first child, she was born nearly perfect. Perfect chubby little face, bright green eyes, soft strains of blonde fluttering over her soft head. Alice fell in love with the soft little baby girl from first sight. As she cradled the precious thing in her arms, she promised her with just the coo of her eyes, that she would protect the little angel. Defend her from any pain or jab that the world could inflict. Alice didn't know what it was in that moment, but her mind flicked to Jennifer. Somehow, she saw her in Susan; sweet gentle eyes, bubbly smile, it was like she rained some of her sunshine down on to her baby.

Then Alice remembered her promise. She thought about what her children deserved, what she got to have as a child. And she kept her promise. As her child would grow, Alice would adapt, and let them explore the world and get their feel around it. Jack on the other hand, had a different approach. After Susan had gotten sick, for the remainder of the year, Jack would hover over Susan; things that could hurt her, would hurt her, in his mind. So, she when he was there, Susan was forbidden from doing those things. 

This made a sharp ping of vex shot through Alice. Everytime Jack ovrreacted, Alice wanted to grab him and pull him away from their daughter; let her have her fun and grow within her own range. Not based on this phobia of death that would linger around Jack. After a year, Jack finally realized this and relaex himself with his tendencies towards Susan. After all, she was a baby, so she would never remember the irritation of having a smothering cloak follow her everywhere she went.

Roger wasn't so lucky. And Alice's agitation only grew more when he came along.

While Alice adored the father and son's tender relationship, a small tingle that liked to gnaw at her kept some thoughts bubbling. Jack's approach was rather more babyish towards Roger, than to Susan, even when he grew older. Jack needed to be there to hold Roger's hand, he needed to make sure he didn't fall out of bed, he had to make sure his food wasn't too hot or too cold. Not because he was sickly. Roger being the only boy, being the youngest, and sharing the same personality of his father, enhanced their attachment to each other. But, it was still very little reason for either parent to shelter Roger, Alice thought.

But as Roger grew from the small little infant, into a little boy and then a preteen, Alice understood just how much the tingle would continue to gnaw into her. 

"Roger, watch out!" "Roger, be careful!" "Roger, don't touch that!" "God Roger! Why can't you listen?! Don't you know that's dangerous?!" 

All usual phrases of Jack's fright. Alice would bite her tongue, while her anger simmered inside of her like a volcano ready to roar. Everytime Jack would stifle Roger, he'd just pull away and Jack would pull harder. It made Alice want to rip her hair out- not from Roger's testing of independence, but from Jack's helicopter affection. Roger wasn't a baby and shouldn't have been treated as one. So, Alice would let Roger do some of things that seemed pretty reasonable to her. "He's just growing up," is what she would always say to her concerned husband. But what she would try to do for her son, Jack would undo it with his smothering.

Alice would let Roger ride his bike for a little later than usual. Jack would find out and get in his car and search for Roger until he found him and drive him home. "He could've been hurt, Alice." Jack would excuse. Alice bit her tongue and would try again. A later curfew; Jack would bring him home. A new friend who seemed trustworthy; Jack would spy on them like a hawk. A new movie that wasn't too violent; Jack would accompany him and his friends.

The angrier it made Roger, the angrier Alice became. She was afraid of losing Roger too- because of Jack. He was the one who couldn't let go, and it was ruining Alice's apperance as well. When Roger slammed his door- angry at Jack- it would slam in Alice's face too. She promised him- silently- everytime that she let him have freedom, that it was because she loved him and trusted him. She didn't want to be selfish. She didn't Roger to be Jennifer. 

But Jack just couldn't stop himself. If Roger pushed, Jack would pull and leave Alice to cut the strings and start all over. Her anger piped more and more when Roger grew into a college student. Eighteen years old, with a bright future. And there was Jack, still seeing him as little 'Rogerino'. It was all about Jack and how it affected him. It made Alice hate him at the same time she loved him. She would become silently fired up with Jack's excuses over how Roger shouldn't even be allowed to grow up on his own terms. But it never quite presented itself in that way. 

"Just let him be," or "He doesn't mean it, Jack. Give him time and he'll see you only want what's best for him." Total contrast to her jaded emotions, hidden behind such reassuring words. But soon even the calm couldn't cover the seething anger.

It was shortly after Roger had moved out of the home and into his Seattle apartment, when Jack started to ramble one night. A bit drunk and overworked from the overtime shift, Jack began to call Roger 'ungrateful' and 'spolied.' Alice sat in the bathroom curling the last tuft of hair into her roller, biting down the tingle in her gut. "I would have loved to live at my parent's home when I was his age, but I was practically pushed out-"

"Jack, you left."

"What?"

"You left your parent's home because you didn't want to be there," Alice finally turned to Jack. "David was abusive and Lucy didn't do anything about it, so you left because it was never a home for you..... and maybe that's why Roger left." Alice's throat became heavy. 

"Alice... we didn't push him out of the house. Roger, wanted Seattle, so he ran there instead. God.... I don't get why-"

"Because of you, Jack! He left because he didn't want to be around you! GOD, EVEN I DON'T WANNA BE AROUND YOU! YOU SUCKED THE LIFE OUT OF THAT BOY AND NOW HE......" Alice broke down crying. Jack wrapped his arms around her and blamed it all on the change within the home. In his mind, Roger caused his poor mother to explode with such a nonesene rant. But to Alice- even long after she was tucked away in her bed- she blamed Jack. And then she blamed herself.

Roger became Jennifer, and she became the bystander she once was the day the Lowe's came to her house, begging to know where their daughter was. Her eyes brimmed with stinging tears until they slowly dropped onto the pillow under her face. That was a few years ago.

Now Roger was thirty. He had released a new novel since then, and she'll never forget the moment Jack told her the last words their son spoke to him on the phone, before he never called.

Furious at Jack for making Roger do such a thing, she dialed his number over and over that night, once Jack had gone to sleep. But it was always a dead line and a broken, unattended number. Roger had changed it. Tears trailed down her cheeks. Her son was gone. And it was all Jack's fault. As angry as she was- and would always be- at her husband for pushing their youngest child away from their ties of love and peace, she was also relieved. Happy at Roger for finding his footing, and relieved that she did make an impact on Roger's independence strike. 

Thinking of Jack, Alice smiled to herself. It's his bed that he made, and now he would need to lie in it. She decided she wouldn't call Roger anymore- if he wanted to reconcile with Jack, it would be his choice and his only. Jack would need to understand the cost of everything he put them through. She had not forgotten or lost interest in Roger, like Jack assumed. She was doing what she had always planned on doing anyway: respecting his choice as an adult. But he was still out of their lives and Alice would still need to adjust to the fact. But still.......

Alice wanted better for her children. She wanted to let them be happy. But now Roger was gone.... and once again, she would have to wonder- for better or for worse......what could she have done different? 

***********************************************

Jack let the cold of the glass press against his cheek. The mummers of the plane were like a background noise as a celling fan would be. His mind felt bland and barren- unable to process a thought. Frankly, Jack enjoyed the silence of his brain. Without his mind racing in a thousand circles at onece, it freed him to rest for a moment; process exactly what he was getting himself into.

"Our next stop is New York City- we'll be landing in twenty minutes everyone." The pilot annouced overhead. Jack shuffled in his seat and let himself enjoy the remaining time he had until he would have to face his past that was wedged in this now considered working class neighborhood. The thought of his old worn in home sent unwanted heat through Jack's body. He expected a slimy shiver to snake through his veins but instead was met with this warm lukewarm touch. Jack resonated that maybe he felt a safety in knowing that no one would be there. His mother Lucy had put the house up for sale and moved down to Rhode Island to live with her sister, Bessie, and her husband, Walker.

Jack found it hard to even crack a smile for his mother. She had a better life now... but it still wasn't enough for him to care. A burden off his shoulders maybe of her being out of his life for good maybe. But that faint resentment still wafted through and it wasn't about to be easily removed. Like a wine stain on white carpet, it would take more than just a measly little wet wipe the abolish the soil.

As the plane hit the concrete pavement, Jack felt himself shake into a new state; eyes wide open and alert now. Taking a good stern look out his window, Jack nodded to himself as if to say: "We're here now, Jack... we're here now."

Taking a big gulp of silent air inside his lungs, Jack unbuckled his seatbelt and loaded his suitcase out of the bin before walking out of the plane. The view of the city was as breathtaking as ever. The smell of the fresh sea salt water and the blares of boats loading in their docks. It was old and new to Jack. "When did New York go get itself in such a big hurry?" He said to himself. Jack could remember his last visit, that fall when his family had came down for David's funeral.

A twitching ping sharpened itself in his stomach as he stepped closer and closer out of the airport. Jack scanned the city all around him- all alone now, just he was only a few years ago in the same spot, only he was shuttling himself away from the city. The city surrounded him- caving him in like he really was the one of a million others moving around him.

But Jack was back this time... and things would be different. It wouldn't end with bright lights and the smoke filled air from the boats.... it would begin this time. And it would only move Jack closer to settling the flying tension that had haunted him for years.

***************************************************

There it was. A beige bricked home with the dark white shudders and matching porch light. The chairs were gone, the flowers had been pulled up and the driveway sat empty. In fact, the whole home sat hollow and somber like the life that onced danced in it was stripped to its very bare. And there was some truth to that.

As Jack stepped closer, the for sale sign sat like a flag of defeat, perched upright on the grass, waving to every car that passed by. Jack took closer steps to the home, making his way on the curb till he faced the house from his front. Jack had knew the house was up in the market and so he called ahead of time and asked for a quick look inside. The realitor was had a smile over her face- kind and peachy Jack thought. "Hi, I'm Cora- from the HomeCrafters office," she shook his hand. "So, you're interested in the house- it's currently listing at six hundred and it just went up on the market I think around December of last year. If you would like to take a look inside..." Cora unlocked the front door and led Jack into the home.

Jack was expecting to be met with the familiar scent of musty wood and faint burnt greese, but smelt the an enticing scent of bleach and cleanser all around the downstairs. The walls were freshly painted and the empty. The spot where David's old chair used to be was bare and cleaned over with a fresh mop and wood polish. No carpet stains over the wood or cracks in the walls from David's drunken temper flare ups.... clean and crisp like it never happened.

Jack went from room to room searching for something- anything to find that would've shown him that there was some life of his past that lived here, but everything he ever knew- even the painful memory of his head being thrown into a wall, leaving the space of the wall weaker than the rest- was either painted over, recrafted or cleansed.

Jack knew how much David had spent on this home and how hard he worked for it. It brought inextinguishable pride to him that he was the first on his block to own a home and raise a family in that home. A legacy he hoped to create with his bare hands and prayed that it would outlive him. The more Jack wandered the house, the more he realized those prayers were in vain. Every wall, ceiling and floor had something new about it, leaving any remaints of the original stripped and destroyed. When David died, so did the house, and Jack didn't know how to feel about that.

His old bedroom still carried the same memories- just in a different shade of white. He could pinpoint exactly where his old bed used to be, and the chifforobe and then the chest that sat at the end of his bed- smacking up against the lower headboard. Jack felt this whiff of coldness bleed into him. He felt monotoned over his own disapperance from the home. In his mind, he reasoned that he killed himself from the home a long time ago, but there was still something about his room that lingered a certain feeling like his presence still ghosted the bedroom somehow. 

Jack took in a deep breath and made up his mind that he saw all he needed to see. Scanning his parent's old bedroom for even just one little piece of what used to be theirs, but found nothing. There was nothing in this house that captured their essance or even their bleak sense of taste. Jack could point to where the davenport was, the old vintage rug from his great grandmother and where every picture stood on the shelf of the fireplace or over the walls. But it wasn't there. Nothing of David or Lucy was there.

"I looked around and.... I don't this is the house for me." 

Cora smiled. "Okay, well I have plenty of other houses on the market too if you're interested," she handed him her card, "my number is in the phone book, and if you're looking for a particular style of home, just give me a call and we'll keep looking."

Jack was fond of Cora's politeness. "Thank you very much." As they left the home, Jack felt a piece of him feel lighter than before. 

Unsure of what it was- or what it meant- Jack continued walking to his rental car and just watched as Cora drove off first and then waited a few minutes- taking one last look at his old home- before he did the same.

**************************************************

Jack had a quick dinner at the diner with a little rest in a clean motel. Jack sat on the bed- his mind swirling in different directions. The only stapled thought was to call Alice. Sitting on his bed, Jack played with the button of his dress shirt as the dial tone hummed for Alice's line to come to life. 

"Hello?" 

"Alice, it's Jack."

"Jack! Oh my goodness- how's it going?"

"Oh it's fine... my old childhood home- the one Lucy put up for sale.... it's empty. It's been painted and cleaned up- walking inside it just feels like... everything that ever happened it that house, has been washed away...."

Alice was silent on the other end, but still managed to let out a hum. "It's hard to explain it, but.... I don't know...." Jack let the sound of his soft breathing slink through the other end. "I gotta go, I'm on my way to Virgina in the morning..."

"Okay... I'll see you when you get back... love you..."

"Love you too, Alice."

"Jack...."

"Yes?...."

"....Nevermind...." Click!

Jack still had the phone pressed up to his ear. He slowly pulls the phone down from his ear and slams it back onto the reciever. Jack carefully laid his head against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. Slowly he let his eyes fall until black consumed him. And the he fell into a deep slumber with his mind set for a five AM wake up call.

*********************************************

Taking his rental car back to the dealer, he grabbed a bus ticket before waiting for the next greyhound to come and pick him up. 

Jack sat in the bus depot with his suitcase tight in his hand. The bus came and a warmth fell over Jack. He handed the pass to the driver, before walking down the aisle and finding a seat that was towards the back. He set his suitcase on the floor next him and settled himself against the window- staring out at the clumps of snow that were bordered underneath the rims of the sidewalks. As the bus wheeled away, the passing skyscrapers and thick swarm of cars and the flocks of people going on through their everyday like nothing happened. The greyhound made its way onto the highway and the New Yorkers didn't bat an eye. 

A part of Jack liked it that way. It reminded him of when it was his time to leave the city for good. Undisclosed and quiet without so much as a rattle through his own tumultuous pain that he buried deep inside him- coated in bittersweet happiness of freedom as he escaped the city.

Jack passed by the old streets of his Brooklyn apartment and then the Manhatten one that he sheltered in for a few years after graduating from University. A sudden jolt of the thought reminded him of Roger. Swallowing back any vibrating consequential emotions connected to the thought, Jack focused his sight on the pair of seats in front of him. Hours soon passed into the evening when Jack had finally arrived in Virgina. A wave of difference floated through the air; this city obviously held its contrast to New York. As the bus carried Jack farther and farther into the city, he could almost envision David's looming and lingering presence around Norfolk.

As the greyhound settled into its bus station, Jack carried his suitcase and himself off and called for the nearest taxi. Renting a car for the adventure filled Jack with this swaying unease- a boat rocking against the wrath of the ocean as it braced itself for the jarring jolts ahead. Jack grinded and squeezed his fingers against the steering wheel of his Mercedes. Forcing controlled breaths from his lungs, Jack plugged the key into the ignition and drove off the lot.

Streetlights illuminated him as he drove to find a place to rest in this new dominion. Not a ghost town, but one that had clearly fallen behind in its timing. As Jack found a well used but last resort motel, he checked in for the night and once settled into his room, he took in a deep breath of the newfound dense potato and wood musk. Jack just laid back in bed, thinking to himself what the hell he'd gotten himself into. Where would he begin? Why was he even here in the first place? What was the point?..... David was dead.... and so were his well buried secrets.

Jack let his eyes close until a smoggy darkness overcame him and he was once again back where he was only another night ago: a motel room, lying on his bed and thinking to himself. Too tired to call home, instead he just thought about it. His cozy home where Alice was probably baking something in the oven, Susan and Sean tucked away in their San Fransisco townhouse, probably snuggled up on the couch together watching a movie with their own eyes drooping. And then there was Roger.....

Maybe he was reading a book- taking ideas from another story or author with the same creative mind like his. Or he was hunched over at his desk in his home office, typing up his latest chapter or draft for an upcoming novel he probably spent months or years on with only the soft hue of the desk light. Jack always believed Roger could be a writer. He had an intelligent mind, a vivid imagination and a knack for writing up some very detailed reports if it were a subject he was particularly interested in.

An abrupt flash to a baby Roger playing with his toy blocks in the living room rocked Jack's brain before another thought of his and Roger's front yard argument when Roger was first packing up to leave for Seattle. The thoughts unsettled Jack; forcing himself to find a reason or turn off from what his brain was playing out for him and what his emotions were dripping out for him to sink into. He decided he needed to bury his mind and just let the darkness of sleepiness consume him like an overwhelming tide that beats down over the sand and only leaves its seashells or seaweed behind as a memo of their apperance. So Jack just let his mind empty into blank static before he turned over and fell asleep.

********************************************

The morning was bright and Jack had already left the motel. His suitcase was tucked in the trunk of the car. Jack drove around the city, parking at a park to drink his morning coffee and eat his Mcdonald's breakfast sandwiches and hashbrowns. The view from his windshield was scerecne and gentle. A lush green grassy field that was now blanketed in snow with trees and their bare stems that held rims of snow on top of them. Jack's mind wandered from one corner to another. His coat ruffled under the seatbelt and his forehead begin to bead some dampness from the heat only on mild blast.

Finishing the last bite of his breakfast, Jack took a sip of coffee before starting the car back up again and started down the road. Quiet and mild with only a few cars here and there driving alongside Jack. It was a certain safety that flew over him while he was in his car- just himself and no one else. He knew the directions to David's old home. It would only be a spring of luck that it would take him down into this rabbit hole where David's real legacy lived. And his past wouldn't be hidden or questioned anymore. 

Jack kept driving; radio tunes by now were sounding through the car for a bit until Jack decided that silence would be what he wanted in that moment. Eyes steadied and focused on the road, Jack thought of nothing else except finding David's old home. He knew so much as David living by himself. He never had an actual all american apple pie family- a mother or father, not even siblings as far as he knew. David spent his childhood in a small orphanage somewhere by the little town David lived in for a few months to find steady work before he took his ambitions into the city. Jack didn't know how to picture David's old home. Which one would be his real home? The orphanage or the home he moved into after he was legally released into the care of only himself. Rain Trout Drive..... David's old neighborhood. Jack pulled his car further and further along the street- an aching ping bubbling inside of his stomach like a bath bomb that explodes on impact with the water.

An old tanish yellow townhouse stood on the end of the corner. Jack checked the address and it was it. 4265 Rain Trout Drive. Tall and sturdy with black shudders and a brown painted door. Jack came closer; two doors were what he expected to see, but instead it was just a solo door, one mailbox and one driveway. David had the whole home to himself and Jack shook his head wondering what would make David flee from the home so fast. According to state records, David lived here for nearly two years before he flocked to the next town over and then New York. Jack had turned off the car and stepped outside, letting the cold wind slap his cheeks. He took shallow steps towards the old home, wary as it was abandoned and it could break apart at any minute if it really was as raggedy as some of the other ones.

Jack knocked on the door- it creaked open already without him so much turning the door knob. It unsettled him, but rattled his curiousty at the same time. Jack took a deep breath to himself and then slowly walked inside the home. 

************************************************

The house now carried an aged earthly smell. The walls were chipped of paint. From what Jack could make out of it, the walls were a dark cream color with white trimming rimmed around the doors of each room. The living room was decent sized and so was the kitchen. Jack looked around the home carefully. He held no expectations to what he was to find in the home. The home carried more of an old presence of David more than their home in Buffalo. Old faint shadows of posters and pictures David must've hung over the walls were faded but still present. Jack furrowed his eyebrows a bit- his style of his youth favored David's a bit. He could picture how his funrniture must've looked or how the posters of woman movie stars danced across his bedroom walls- a private picture show of their beaming faces.

Jack only heard the sound of his shoes tapping against the floor. Jack cautioned himself against going upstairs in case the staircase was rigidity. A hollow cool fell over him. The stairs were enticing, but Jack still worried himself over falling through the floorboards. Swallowing and wondering for a minute or two, he breathed in and then out before placing one part of his toes on the stairs. They felt firm and strict like they had been fixed or rebuilt before he came to the house. Jack walked up one step, then two, then three.... then the second group of stairs.

He found David's room. He knew it was his bedroom. The townhouse was much smaller than Jack imagined it to be. A light burnt orange with the same white trimming. Jack could make out where a small classroom like desk was once in a corner and then where David's twin sized bed sat. Jack bit the side of his lip. When he left home at twenty, he was better off with money than David was. At least Jack could afford a full sized bed and a more than decent sized desk. Even an orange tabby, Simba, that he took care of until he just couldn't anymore. 

Scanning the different rooms, Jack almost felt a twinge of sadness pinch him. David still somehow lived through the cold choppy air of this house, but it was all frosted with this thick haze of bitter sadness. Jack could only put his finger to what he thought might be the reason, but could never be too sure. The reasons why changed over the years- Jack's perceptions as to what they could be- but one thing stayed the same, even when Jack was still a small child. He knew how deeply angry David was- not even at Jack himself, but his own self. It wasn't until Jack became eleven years old when he realized that his father drank to soothe something inside that had made a cozy little nest there and wasn't about to disappear even at the bottom of an old scotch. Jack walked back downstairs and braced himself again for the cold air of the outside. But just as he was about to step off the staircase, he found something that was caught in between the creaks of the stairs. 

It was a pamphlet of Riverbirch orphanage. Jack raised a brow, but the neatly folded the old pamphlet and tucked it inside the pocket of his coat. Taking one last look around the house, Jack shook his head slightly and walked out, closing the door behind him.

*********************************************

Jack sat in his hotel that night. David's legacy didn't exist in his old home either, but his pain did. And Jack could feel it. As the night went by, Jack could that there was something inside his belly that flashed him omens of him finding something out about his father that he wasn't sure he wanted to know. But he did. He needed to know- after all those years of torment, Jack needed this closure. And if he had this closure, then he could share it with the ones he loved the most: Alice, Susan, Sean.... Roger. He needed to make amends with Roger. And he was in too deep now to back out.

Jack let his hand hover over the phone and the slowly pull away back to his body. He didn't want to call Alice this time.... 

A piece of him knew she wouldn't really want to talk to him anyway. Jack scanned the pamphlet and read every word carefully. Riverbirch orphanage. The place where David spent all his childhood. Jack always wondered how David ended up in the orphanage, but it was always tight lipped his origins of how he became an orphan anyway. As far as Jack knew, his paternal grandparents were dead. He asked his mother about them one night but she shrugged. "Your father doesn't really like to talk about it too much, sweetie.... I assumed they died sometime after he was born."

Jack furrowed his brows a bit. He looked closely at the tall brick building in the picture. Staring at it, he begin to wonder its secrets. Even more so, he begin to wonder why David would have that pamphlet with him in the first place. It all circled around Jack's head like an orbit until he fell asleep and let his eyes close into a sleep full of unanswered questions.

***********************************************

The Norfolk library was helpful. Jack did research on the orphanage and found that they took in babies from care hospitals back when it was open. Riverbirch orphanage had long been demolished. A pastor there named Father Louis was imprisoned for child abuse and illegal business dealings. He died in prison that September and they never exactly got him to say what he did to those kids in detail. They tracked down the former director who was about to face life imprisonment for committing a murder back in the thirties, but shot himself when he was trapped inside his home when the police cars raided his driveway and street. 

Jack sat at the computer desk stunned and disturbed with the information he had to process. He looked up the care home and found a baby boy with the name David had been taken there in the winter around December. Jack knew it had to be David as he was born that same year. The baby was later taken to Riverbirch because a young woman had placed him in the hands of the nurses there before she left the building. They assumed he was a child of an unmarried woman and man and so he was deemed a baster child in the care home even before he was labeled one at Riverbirch.

Jack went down a rabbit hole before he saw a young man around that time; eyes looking a spitting image of his father's, except the boy sported red hair. David's mother was brunette. No other information was found on the boy or on a baby David or the woman that dropped him off at the hospital. Jack could only assume it was his mother. Maybe it was his desperate determination that drew him to it, but Jack had found something that related to David- it had to be: same year, the same birthdate, same name.... same story. It was David. And the more Jack read through lost files, the more he understood that at one point David tracked down his mother. He never mentioned it... he never visited her... but when he found her, he found out truths about himself that he didn't want to exist.

But Jack found them. And it made him realize more things about David's history that he at one point suspected, but never understood how true it really was.

*****************************************

Henry, a bright student from The College of William and Mary, finishing his last semester. On the rise to be the town's most intellectual professor, Henry carried the world in his fingers. Hands in his pockets as he strolled to the library- old English poets swirled around his mind like a Ferris wheel. Something his teacher made the class prepare for if they were to pass their exams that following Thursday.

The college library seemed to have every book about everything. With the book in his hand, Henry glanced over to see a woman; strong brunette locks, a cheeky little smirk across her face, daring blue eyes and a faint clef over her soft chin. Reaching for a book, the woman stood on her tippy toes. "I gotcha." Henry grabbed the book and handed it to the young lady. "Oh, thank you very much." A blush fell across her face. Scanning her, Henry thought to himself that she looked more like a Bernice or a Destiny. But she was a Clara. Henry envisioned Claras to have long curly black hair and striking gray or green eyes. "Pretty name, dear." Clara's body shifted. Henry sensed her change and introduced himself. "I'm Henry. I go to school here."

She smiled faintly. "Me too... I'm taking a major to be a teacher someday." Henry chuckled. "A decent woman's job, that's for sure." Clara's polite demeanor dropped and she stepped aside until she grabbed the other book she wanted and excused herself out of the aisle. Henry watched her walk away; her body swaying back and forth in that sunflower dress, how shiny and dainty her legs were, the sound of her sandals clicking away. A smirk crept across Henry's face as he held his own book up against his mouth to hide the forming words of filth that were bleeding from his mind. How sharp she looked, he thought. How confident she was, he thought again. Henry tossed the book up and back into his hand before he walked out of the aisle, wondering where Clara went.

*********************************************

Henry found himself in the corridors of the school, eyeing Clara from across the way. Clara had noticed him, but pretended like she didn't, despite her shoulders stiffening when they met eyes, not once... but twice. A spark of playful mischief twinkled in Henry's eyes, before he made his way over to the young woman and gave her a firm pat on her behind. "Oh!" She turned, eyes full of chagrin. "Oh, come on baby.... just a little compliment."

Clara squinted her eyes and stared real good into Henry's sparking green eyes, that seemed to glimmer more in the stare of the sun. "You listen here, and you listen real good!" Her teeth gritted. "If you ever touch me again, then you're gonna lose that hand! Got it?!" Henry held up his hands in fake surrender. "Yes, Ma'am!" A goofy smile sprawled across his face. Clara stared at him for a minute more, before storming away and down the hall. Henry chuckled to himself before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "Crazy broad."

Clara was still angry even all that day. Angered at how the nice guy at the library, turned out to be this chauvinistic jerk. But the memory of his own looks were still locked inside her brain, despite her hating that it was. Chiseled jaw, searing flaming red hair- slicked back in this perfect cut, piercing leaf colored eyes that bore into you whenever you looked into them, and this hoppy smile with faint little sprinkles of freakles under his eyes. A total man's man, as she would put it. Kicking herself for feeling this way; ignoring the flagrant way he treated her, Clara was better than that. Even when Henry would nudge her leg with his foot during class, she ignored him. Or when he would 'play' with her skirt, she would smack his hand away. And then... when he cupped her breast, she slapped him hard against his cheek. 

Eyes filled with rage she said: "Is that all women are to you? Sex things?!" Henry shook his head with the same goofy smile he wore the first time she confronted him. "Oh, come on, sweet thing.... you know you want it." As Clara was about to speak, she quieted herself. Something spiked her mind: did she really want it?

But there was no chance to answer that question. Henry pressed his lips tightly to hers and before she knew it, he had swept her off her feet. Taking her to his car, their lips still intertwined with each other. Her feet gliding up against his back, while he carefully strips her underwear from under her dress. Passion overtakes Clara's good conscience as they hump into each other finally.... breathless. Slipping himself back up, Henry climbs into the driver's seat and takes Clara back to her dorm. "See you around." Clara is left to take one last look at Henry before he speeds away, while she's forced to think to herself: What the hell have I done?

****************************************************

It was three weeks later. Clara couldn't stop throwing up. No matter what she ate, she couldn't keep it down. A stomach bug, she tried to reassure herself with, but it never worked. Clara- deep inside her gut- understood the answer. And it was that night when it finally hit her. She cried the whole night, thinking about how ruined her future was. Her career, gone, Her schooling, gone, her family, gone, her reputation.... super gone. Who would hire an unwed mother? A baby born out of wedlock would be a death sentence for the child. Clara knew if anyone found this out, then her days at the college would be over, her parents would have this scowl etched over their faces and she wouldn't be their precious daughter- but this big fat ugly stain with a tattooed 'A' right on the front of her every clothing; A reincarnated Hester Prynne- her parents demanding to know who the father is. But Clara was a good girl. She wouldn't want to get Henry in trouble... she didn't want to hurt anyone.

Especially herself. So... Clara- in this mist of tears- came up with a few plans. Her first was to tell Henry. 

Flying down to the school library, Clara found Henry chatting up some other girl, while studying for his own exam. The girl looked uncomfortable and was glad when Clara stepped in between the pair. "Clara?" Henry looked up. "What the hell?"

"No, Henry- this is serious, I need to talk to you." He arched his eyebrow. "I'm clean."

"What?"

"I mean, I'm not walking around with Syphilis if that's what you're wondering."

"What- no! I mean..." She came closer. "I think I'm pregnant." Henry's eyes widened, but he still kept a straight face. "So."

Clara took a step back, stunned. "What do you mean so?" 

"So.... abort it. If you don't want it... then don't have it. Kill it. I don't want it." Tears stung the corners of Clara's eyes. How much of a fool she felt to think Henry would want any part of this. "Okay... fine." Her voice cracked. She walked away, biting back the sobs that seemed to be clogged in her throat. Clara was now forced to think of her second plan.

That night, she gathered a sterile coat hanger. Lubricating the sharp hook in solution, Clara inserted it inside of herself. She tried tugging and pulling and piercing the fetus. But nothing. Not even blood was was dripping from the hanger once she pulled it down. So, she used a clean sewing needle. No luck. Lye would surely work. But it didn't. And after a few of these remedies, Clara gave up. Now all that was left was the last plan.

That week, Clara bought big oversized dresses and coats. She wore them for those nine months- bellowing over her little frame, while it hid her little secret nice and well. Clara's belly wasn't overly big, but carried a little round plump bump all the way up until her due date. Clara's nerves were on fire. She prayed that her water wouldn't break during class and she hoped her labor would begin on a weekend. Finally her luck cashed itself in that Saturday night. Clara had prepared for this for awhile. Studying pregnancy and pregnant woman during those months, she learned to time her contractions, how to position herself for the baby's head to crown properly and what to squeeze during those breathtaking contractions.

Clara just hoped nothing went wrong. She had gained this knowledge properly and had mentally prepared herself for the event. Clara ran down to the library and hid herself away in the farthest corner of the library. With her blankets and towels, Clara took of her underwear, squated down and placed the towels in between her legs. Timing her contractions she pushed hard until they stopped. And then another one would start and she would bare down hard again. After a few more, Clara could feel the baby's head crowning. As the head moved closer, she bit back her screams and bared down. Once the baby's head came into view, Clara took her hand and felt to see if the umbilical cord was wrapped around its neck. Then with all her might, Clara pushed out the shoulders and from there, guided the baby into the towel.

Taking two pieces of shoelace string, Clara tied them around the umbilical cord tightly before cutting it with the small sterile knife she brought. Her baby was a boy. Swaddling her newborn in a blanket, she carefully placed him against her chest to nurse. Then she birthed the placenta; wrapping it up and disposing of it somewhere deep in the trash bin. Clara cleaned herself up and took herself and her baby out of the library, making sure not a speack of blood touched the carpeted floors and ran out, holding the baby in her arms.

***********************************************

David. After her sweet great grandfather who lived in Spain. Her baby's boy's name was David. For those first few days, she nursed little David in her arms, rocking him to sleep in a makeshift little cot she made in her dorm. Clara counted down the days until winter break; only two days until she would take her baby to a fondling hospital, just on the outskirts of Virginia. 

The day came; wrapping her little infant in a cozy little maroon blanket she made and stuffing him carefully inside a box with little holes poked through for air, before she dashed out into the cold of December and ran all the way down to the hospital. Walking up to the front desk, Clara set the box on the counter. "I found him last night in this little box just outside of the Leechwood bakery." She said before the nurse even asked for anything about Clara or David. "His name's David," pointing to the side of the little box, she showed the nurse the writing. "he's yours now." Giving one last look to the little baby- his soft green eyes, little whiskers of chocolate brown hair and his cherry lips. Clara sighed silently to herself, giving an internal tearful goodbye to her son. 

Clara put her hood over her head once more before dashing back out into the cold, leaving her child in the hands of a stranger and the system.

It would be after the winter break ended and the semester started again, when Henry would run up to Clara asking her about the baby. She turned to him; sqaure in the eyes staring him down into the core of the earth. "He's gone. Your son.... is gone."

"My son?" Clara nodded. "He's in the hands of the system- they'll find him a good home.... and an even better family than what we could've ever been to him."

"Clara-"

"Don't act like you care! You wanted me to get rid of it.... so I did."

She turned around and walked away from Henry- her brown hair dancing against her shoulders, leaving Henry to just stare until his vision blurred with tears from the scratching cold. It took a few moments before he gathered his breath and would walk the other way to his dorm.

****************************************************

Riverbirch orphanage. The late spring of that year was when David was transferred to the place. Given the last name Chambers from a state picked list that the director of the orphanage picked from, David became a full legal person. But not a respected one. Despite being just a new infant, he was a cursed child. One born from out wedlock- a wild untamed little devil that had spun itself into the form of a human. David was given stricter treatments because of this. Not to say the others had it easy; suffering from untreated smallpox, malnutrition, polio- every child in the place seemed to have their battles to contend with. 

David learned not to cry. He knew no one would come and soothe him. Sometimes they did- they'd hit to get him to stop. Smack his back for walking the wrong way, slap his wrist for being left handed. One time a hot pan was thrown his way because he accidentally knocked over his cup of milk. Dodging it, it slammed into Fred's face. Leaving a small nick against the side of of his cheekbone, Fred hated him ever since. 

Sometimes he'd go outside and dump ants into David's cot. Or he would draw on the walls and blame David, letting the nun snatch him up and give him several lashes over his rear end. Fred would laugh while David cried. 

"Shut up you baster child!" yelled the director. "do as you're told and you'll be spared punishment!" But he never was. David was always punished, sometimes just for existing. Despite the dark looming cloud that hung over and dragged itself around David with every step he went, he was a savvy little boy. Deep down- despite his cynical hopes of being adopted into a family- he knew no one would take a 'baster' child. He had no mother or father, and he couldn't allow himself to believe that they were together when they left him. Sometimes he'd wondered what they looked like. Brown hair, black hair, red hair, blonde.... were they from Spain or Norway? Were they wealthy? Poor? Had they viewed him as a mistake? David learned at twelve that he was given a state appointed last name- his own father's last name wasn't even his.

David could remember several things- bombshells of that year. Fred had been moved to a different home with another family, a fresh group of new children arrived: Ada, Albert, Arthur and Lily had been assinged to his room, and the director had been retired and was replaced with Father Louis.

The snow of winter had withered away and somehow, so did the old naivety of David's youth. He was thirteen. David grew determined to make this year the perfect year of discovery. He would understand himself better and the scars of his old state of mind would maybe even fade away into a such a small grain of mist. But just as the prim white clouds of the summer fade, so did David's new ambition.

David then started to wish for something- a miracle to have the old director back. Sure, she was cruel in some ways. And the nun she sided with could be be amoral in even the best times. But.... he knew how to handle them. The director loved to drink with the nun and they would be zonked out and huddled somewhere in their corner, while the children would play games of chess and hopscotch with old pebbles they found on the schoolgrounds or old little pieces of the nun's cane that would fall off sometimes while she did surprise inspections in their rooms.

Father Louis was the embodiment of Satan himself. He took sick pleasure in making people cry- especially children. At least David swore. Walter Burns- not the nicest kid in the orphanage, but he didn't deserve for boiling water to be splashed in his face. Walter whimpered the whole night, nursing his red face with a cool wash rag. David looked on with deep sympathy- not asking Walter to hush his whimpers, but letting them scratch through the sensitive tips of his empathy and enduring the timid new reality of the understood situation that esculated through the orphanage: no one was okay.... no one was safe.

And David would learn that through harsh smacks across his face from the Father, or when his little hand was placed over the steaming iron pan on the stove for touching himself- Father Louis had caught him one night while he did room checks. Or that dreadful summer day when Father Louis gave a sermon that was so abhorrently bloodcurdling, that David had accidentally wet himself in bed that night. He was woken up by the Father dragging him out of the bed and made David clean the sheets. David didn't think it was unfair comepletly... at first. But it was when Father Louis banished him to the cot for the whole day and was forbidden from wearing any trousers or underwear for the duration. A hard cane was thrashed against his bare bottom by the Father; tears streaming down David's cheeks as he screamed and cried in agony. The other children could hear his cries from the lunchroom as they were enjoying their mid morning snack. 

Father Louis looked David into his eyes; venom swirling around inside of his pupils- foaming at the mouth as his jaw was clentched and his teeth were gritted together. "You baster child," he sneered, "if you ever leak on that cot again, I will drag your hellbound soul out of this orphanage and onto the street!" He bored deeper into David's fragile glass eyes. "You are nothing! Don't think for one moment you're special- as if your mother didn't dump a piece of trash out of her life just so she could continue hers." Father Louis walked around the room, an evil smirk appearing before dropping into a jaded glare. "That's what half the children here are- baster children. Mommies that don't have Daddy around to help raise their children- God knows she'll be sacrificing too much if anyone were to find out," looking to David, the smirk came back, "even if she did want you..... it wouldn't be enough to keep you with her. She chose her life over yours, David." He chuckled. "born out of sin- God put you here like all the others going to purgatory."

"Then why are you here?" David wished he kept his mouth shut. Father Louis shot him a look. One filled with rage mixed with absolute horror that he was even spoken to in such a manner. Walking over to David, carrying the same look, he took his cane and struck David against his face so hard, he tumbled back into a dresser and laid there until he woke up again in the evening. Father Louis had taken David's trousers and underwear, along with his sheets and hung them out for the entire block to see. "Baster child wet the bed," he looked over to David, "must be filled with demons."

David felt his cheeks burn as he was forced to make a makeshift diaper like item just to keep clean. No one in the orphanage laughed... but they still didn't do much to help either. David couldn't blame them. Who could help him? 

****************************************************

And the same would apply when David reached the tender age of sixteen. The same year he learned to drive, earn little chump change for clothes or food and when girl's bodies suddenly were more than just your typical poster girl. David found solance in being a full blown teen- more freedom- able to escape the bitter walls of his children's home more often.

But even David couldn't foresee the most dreadful thing to ever happen to him. It was early winter when David became a high school item with Alma Higgins. Smooth auburn hair, chestnust eyes and peach lips. Curves at every angle of her body that seemed to dance with every little movement. Sweet, dainty, cooperative- the perfect girl to fit with David's more rutted style. As they walked down the halls of the school, David felt this thick presence of stony brawniness. Arm in arm with his girlfriend while everyone stared like they were movie stars. Even, Sammy and Victor. The two jocks from the football team that were the embodiment of masculinity to David. A few years his senior, David admired the young men- their beautiful women by their side, their thick muscles that bulged veins when they would lift Gilbert Palmer, the science geek that lived for science fairs, Paul Sandwood, the scrawny short math nerd that seemed to know every math answer from the top of his head. A proud nerd he was, but it came at the costly price of being pushed around and tourmented by Sammy and Victor.

David worshipped the boys and it was a dream come true when he was invited to watch them practice their football drills. The school stadium- empty and dark from the afterhours. Even the bright brilliant lights were dimmed and withdrawn. But strapping on his varsity leatherman's jacket, David followed the boys back to the bleachers. "Sammy learned a cool move the other day while practicing," Victor escorted David under the bleachers to Sammy. David was filled with excitement from head to toe, curious to what Sammy might've learned. Maybe it would be something he could show to his friend, Oliver, or to Alma during a date. Victor and Sammy whispered something to each other before smirks grew over their face.

"Dave... come here." David took little steps to them wondering what it was they were planning. That's when Sammy grabbed David and held him, while Victor pulled down his pants.... then his underwear. David could only stand in horror as Victor fondled his most intimate part. The weird feel of his hands and the icky feeling of his brain as he struggled not to explode. But like a firecracker, he did. His ears tingled with the laughter of Sammy and Victor as Sammy let go and they high fived each other before walking away. David was left standing there. Legs numb, heart pounding out of his chest and his face too pale to blush.

It felt like hours he stood there with his pants around his ankles and his eyes stuck in the blurry daze. The moon blared down on David's shame it felt like. Stripped of his manly confidence, David felt empty. Of everything else that was taken from him: his parents, his safety, the little bit of material things he had... and now...... his self esteem. At least the last pieces of it. David finally pulled up his pants and underwear, and then stepped carefully off the football field. David didn't want to go back to the orphange that night. With Alma's help, he snuck into her bedroom that night and just passed out. Filled with such a deep ridden shame, layed a sturdy weight over David that he would never be able to shake.

It made him distant with Alma- turning away from her when she wanted affection. It made her leave David- all alone to figure things out. Walking down the halls- once a privilege- now a nightmare. Even when everyone was focused on their books or their other halves, it seemed like all eyes were locked on David. And he would still see Sammy and Victor, tourmenting their nerd victims. They would lock eyes for a few moments, before David would brisk past, spending the next few minutes trying to mentally scrub the images of their twisted faces and his permanent horror of that night. 

Things would always be different from that day forward. David would always have something to prove- even more than he already did. David had to be rougher and bloodthirsty in his personality. He would have to work harder to be a real man- if he were to be seen as one. David would start the fights or join in them with his fists and callous words. David would take what he wanted and never ask a woman for love- she should just give it to him. Never to allow tears or cries of pain slip from his lips ever again. David would never let himself be that sixteen year old under the bleachers that night. He would be a man of his own origin. David would never let his strength be ripped from him again. He would never let another pastor cane him, or be called a 'baster' child. 

He would find his way out of the fire and he would survive this time. David would never be seen as weak again. He would fight for his life the way no one else had. And this time.... he would win.

***************************************************

Graduation came for David. A glorious moment for him when he held his diploma in his hands and grazed down the stage with a prideful smile beaming across his face. Most teens feel the milestone as a sweet passage into their futures. David felt this way too, but for a different reason. 

He had been excused from the orphanage on the day before his graduation, leaving him at the mercy of cheap motel until he could find a more stable residence and financial means. David was leaving the high school where his secret would stay buried on those very bleachers. Those two stones felt lifted from his shoulders as he walked off that stage, sealing it official that he was an adult and firmly in the hands of himself. Proud that he had managed to save for a car and then eventually moved out of the motel and into a townhouse on the corner of Rain Trout Drive. A bright yellow townhouse that stood tall amongst the typical neighborhood homes on the block. As David moved his items into the home, he locked eyes with a pretty red head. Anna was her name and she had one of the friendliest smiles he'd ever seen.

A bright a bubbly young woman only a bit older than himself. David found himself constantly showing off and doing sweet deeds for her on certain occasions. She seemed to admire them, flattering him with prompting compliments and affection. But it was the next spring when David found that Anna had stopped enticing him so much. She had set her sights on Cecil Walter, an upper scale banker with a more than standard degree in financial literacy. They had wed a few months later upon meeting and soon Anna was expecting.

A little boy- Oliver was born with dark auburn hair, striking dark gray eyes that nearly looked an olive green in dimmer lighting. "Isn't he beautiful?" Anna smiled to David, showing off her brand new baby. David could see all in Anna's eyes of the typical maternal pride she carried. A love so swelled inside her that only a mother could carry for her own child. David scanned the baby's face- so perfect, so round and blooming with innocence. He swallowed back the thoughts brewing in his brain and forced a artificial smile and mustered: "He's beautiful."

That same year, David moved out.

*****************************************

He just couldn't seem to escape it. Cheaspeake was supposed to be a typical seaside town neighbored from his old one. But along with the working men and women of the town, so were the mothers and fathers with their baby carriages and hyper energetic toddlers that were tousled to their parent's sides. His work carried more family men than it did single ones. The diner- a few corners from his apartment- was filled with little boys and girls running and playing with their siblings; their parents off to the side, chatting and smiling pridefully at their children- their little blessings from heaven. A slight furrow would always peck over David's forehead and a sour thought would cross his mind. The more families he bumped into, the more sour his brain would become.

And he walked around with this sourness until he decided that the seaside wasn't his place to be anymore. That fall, his apartment was emptied out and he was on a plane into the city.

Queens, New York was where David found his future. He enrolled himself in community college and studied law for awhile. Graduating a year after, he, transferred over to the Brooklyn presinct and snagged a police patrol job. Partnered with Tim Carson, David had plenty of calls that surrounded broken homes; mothers and fathers fighting in front of their scared children, kids rebelling and getting into trouble with the law, fathers walking out for the week because of another drunken rage fight either with his oldest son or his timid wife. David hated to admit it, but he felt this slight link to those families. Broken and bruised in everyway- he found himself cheering for the prodical son, or booing the little boy who wanted Mommy to come back.

Families without the jagged edges weren't particularly boring to David... they were too happy. He would scruntinize to find something- anything that was hidden in the roots of those homes, even when he couldn't find anything, he couldn't accept that they were just simply normal. Everything he never came from. The sourness embedded itself into another layer over David's already existing pain. Then he met Lucy.

Already moved his way up to top detective, he followed his future to Buffalo, where on a call, he found a slim brunette donning the most sleek form fitting black dress and sheer black pantyhose with webbed toed heels. Investigating a crime scene- some drunk man had shot one his dealers and escaped just minutes before the police arrived. It was only when the case became one of federal crimes, did the detectives and eventually FBI have to involve themselves. "Lucy," she introduced herself, letting David plant a kiss to her hand. "I'm glad I was able to help you with the investigation." She playfully said. David looked deep into her blue eyes and smiled to himself and then to her.

"Detective Cham-"

"Please, call me, David." And then he kissed her lips. Lucy fell for David just as hard as fell for her. 

She had the perfect body, the sweetest smile- obedient and nothing less of a decent woman. David would take Lucy into the city and swoon her away into this whimsical wonderland of love and lust. While David wanted to touch her more and more, Lucy wanted to save herself for marriage. So, David waited and would continue to swoon Lucy with his money and affection. It was a spring wedding and David invited his presinct friends and Lucy invited her family and friends.

The bright bouquets and the white strings twirled around every reef or bush centered around the large community garden that held their wedding. David could remember exactly what he was thinking the day before his wedding. Lucy wasn't the strongest woman, but she made him feel strong. A picture fit of what a man and his woman should be. A man's woman should be his assistant- her dainty hands would be smaller than his. Her feminine mind would think differently- more soft and poised, tamed and plesant. She would be beautiful and bright and he would be more stony and boisterous. Her blue eyes to his green ones, her slim and curved figure to his straight and brawny one, her cherry red lips to his hidden face stuble.

David at first was scared to be a husband to Lucy- he never knew what a husband was supposed to be like. He knew a man should provide a stable income and home for his family. He would work and provide the material things they needed while the wife was to tend to the home and children. A grim shudder quivered through his spine like a cold wind wafting through an unsealed crack. The thought of creating a happy family both excited and terrified David. Lucy was only pretty enough to be beside him and making her his wife would comeplete that image of everything he wanted to be. The husband was just a title to David he knew he wouldn't live up to, but jumped into anyway. Standing at the alter and staring into Lucy's eyes the words "I do" somehow formed from his lips and their marriage became sealed and Lucy became Lucy Chambers.

*****************************************

When Lucy annouced she was pregnant, David didn't know how to respond. The sourness of his own bitter fails of obtaining a better family, David still saw every kind and gentle family as a mockery to what he was robbed from. While he watched Lucy fret and fuss over preparing for the baby, he just sat back drinking and worrying over her weight. 

Lucy was too plump- her belly was growing too fast for his liking and the more it grew, the more fearful he would become. A reminder that his life was about to change and that he would soon be responsible for a fresh new life in his hands- just like his parents were. They gave him up to the wolves at the orphanage. Those nights were all he could think about was the pain and the grim phantasm as he lied in bed and could see those harsh memories of Father Louis and the director beating him and labeling him as a 'baster child' that deserved nothing less than hell itself just for merely existing. As the tears threatened to spill from the corners of David's eyes, he would yank them back up into his head and bury them there with the rest of his sorrows. David found solance in looking through nudey magazines- woman with plump breasts in their lingerie and their matching high heels, posing and flaunting their sexualized bodies with no shame in between the centerfolds. Lucy eventually found those magazines in David's desk drawer, but just put them back in their spot and kept silent about it.

David would be lying to himself if he didn't feel even just a twinge of guilt for hurting his wife. But his mind layed its focus somewhere else- too busy to even care.

Jack was born and a premature baby; one of the few babies to use an incubator until his official due date would come the month after and he would be ready to take home. Lucy spent her days in the hospital, monitering every inch of Jack's process, while David spent his days at the presinct trying to earn the money to pay off the bills of Lucy and Jack's hospital stay. Annoyed that Jack racked up too much money for David's convenice, David already felt this twinge towards his newborn son. David wanted to have this linking love towards his child, but was so consumed in his own sourness that it covered every inch of affection he could ever have towards anyone.

He would look into Jack's eyes and see that they shared the same green ones and that he had his frown when he was provoked. He also saw that Jack had his temper- a bright blazing one, except with ambition.... not unleashed bitterness. Jack wasn't a force to be reckoned with like his father- he was a genuinely kindhearted person who had a strong adhere to right and wrong. Jack didn't take well to being seen as just an item that people store on pretty shelves to fit their prettiness. Jack saw himself as a strong human being- not an obtained piece of a puzzle that connected his mother and father's dry happiness with their status at being the typical blue collar family.

David didn't have a hate towards children- he could find them endearing at times. But he didn't exactly take any pleasure in being a father. If he did, it probably would've disgusted Jack even more. Jack was a wild card to say the least at sometimes.

Like gasoline and fire, David and Jack could blow a whole city down. To David, Jack was supposed to be seen and not heard, he was in subject comepletly to his parents- especially his father, and he was to be happy with whatever was given to him. Jack followed different rules: he would talk back, fight back and he had no problem putting David in his place. David could stare over the top of Jack's head, but it didn't stop the youngin from staring his father down in the heat of the moment. Jack- even at a tender immature age- was unafraid. He wasn't scared and he didn't like to hide from David all the time. 

Jack thought whenever David lost his temper at Jack because of his own mistakes, it was because he took- whatever little thing- Jack would do as a sign of disrespect. David however, was disturbed by his son's stubborness. A somber reflection of all his broken pieces; carefully crafted into a more dominant version of what he hadn't been himself. Jack was never one to take a fight lying down and made his loud roar prominant around the city. This became fuel for David; competing to be the alpha male and take control over his repressed nightmares. They had all spiraled into his little boy and they were gnawing at him in every corner with every fight the two had. David became even angrier-  more sour and hungrier for power. He would hurt Jack- smack him, shove him, burn him, punch him, whip him, beat him.... and Jack would fight back. He was smarter than David- fiestier, he could get more angrier and Jack could use his wits to up his own hand in the matter. He wasn't like Lucy.... and he really wasn't much like David.

He was better than the both of them.... something that ate into David everytime he looked at Jack. David still held this image of manliness and what manhood really was and he would pound onto himself and onto Jack. If he were to prove to himself that was as strong as what he wanted to be, then Jack would have to pay the price for challanging that notion in the first place. But not once did it really Jack the way it was intended.

Jack grew up with the same firery spirit. He overcame his struggles and held his head above water the whole time until the day he left New York for good. David remembered when Jack had given him hugs and kisses and had tried to be a good son in the midst of needing to survive. Jack never let affection or compassion dissapate from his body or mind. He could be happy and he could dream happy thoughts and make those thoughts his reality. Jack could be better than David.... and he was. Even as a small child... he always was. And deep down, in the wake of the hurricane that swirled around David like a rapid ache.... he was proud. 

Those empty nest years when Jack was gone and long forgotten David and Lucy still sheltered in the same old worn in home, David would still think about Jack. And he would always regret not hugging him back the last time he was in the house. He regreted being weak and letting his inner demons win and push him as far away from his child as he could go.

He hated himself for being what he was running away from. Inside, David was still somewhere in that orphanage and somewhere in between those bleachers. David was never really here.... he never came back from the hell he didn't want to take himself out of. David could only feel the abroad pride of Jack not being who he was and he would have to live with those sour pains for the rest of his life. David was never meant to be a father; something he understood a little too late. Jack was gone and he had no interest or love for David anymore. But David still loved Jack. He still wanted him to be okay- to live life to the upmost fullest he possibly could. 

And that was the best he could want for his son. And David died with that wish. Something that was perfectly hidden underneath the bitter webs of his anger. There was love. It was buried down.... but it existed... even if Jack chose not to accept it.... it was still there. And it always was.

*********************************************

David wanted to win those battles- he didn't win. Jack understood that. Closing up the books, taking the pamphlet and crumbling it up into his pocket, Jack walked out of the library- the cold slapping his face, but it was just numb to Jack who was still in deep thought from what he figured out about David. 

A shell of a man. Broken at every seam of himself till he collasped into a suken gritty state of hate- for those around him and mostly himself. David couldn't crawl out of the fire himself and Jack watched him engulf in the flames. It made him feel some pity for him; a drunk type vunrability that lanced Jack when he wanted to keep a tight grip on his bitter feelings towards the man he didn't think he could ever know. A pain that was so hidden yet exposed at its ugliest light. Jack stumbled into his car and felt this sense of jadedness befall over him. Glancing from around the spaces of his car, he drove away from the library. He didn't want to go back to his hotel yet... he wanted to breathe. He needed Alice on the other end to tell him it would be okay and that he got what he wanted.

Jack felt this tight pinch in his stomach. His father- an embittered man from drab experience- found no peace in life. No happiness. A moment worth living for and one to cherish for his days around the sun. Jack had thought he mended his broken pieces together one by one... and for awile, they were glued. But still frail.... frail like David. Jack wasn't the same man of course of David.... but he carried a similar piece. One that he couldn't let go of. David has guard that he needed at all times; scanning every room for its hidden shadows or black figures that liked to haunt him with every thought. Never could spare himself any more grief and instead became accustomed to it; he begin to see pain as a companion... not an enemy.

Jack carried a piece of the same fear. Not able to let go of the past and it became his future. It became....Roger.

David couldn't learn to live to be happy.... Jack couldn't learn to live without Roger. Two broken souls that couldn't lift their own wings and fly away for their own sake. Barricading themselves in anything to keep control over their losses. Both knew that the minute they let go... they would only have themselves to face at the end of the day.... and it would depend as to what they saw, that would determine their inner strength. 

Driving through the streets, Jack saw that the sun was blooming out again. That snow was starting to became water and the streets were becoming drier and less squeaky. Jack took in a deep breath before he decided to return to the same park he onced parked at to eat his breakfast.

Arriving there, Jack turned off the ignition and just sat back in his seat. He was so sure he had it all figured out. He was supposed to be free from David- him not even existing in Jack's new life with his own family. But now he could see it; it still lived inside of San Deigo- inside of Alice, Susan and Roger. Jack had hurt Alice... he hurt Susan.... but he nearly destroyed his love with Roger. 

An overbearing force of neediness and clinging onto the this facade of just him and his little boy against the world. That facade had now dimmed and turned into Roger against his own father. How distant he was now- barely letting Jack in and not even wanting to breathe the same air he did. Jack couldn't pretend that it didn't kill him everytime he thought about it. Jack cried himself to sleep that night Roger disconnected his number from their line. Jack spent a whole month in a bog of depression- so bogged into his own that Alice seemed to slip right past him with her own sadness that she couldn't even understand. Jack never hit Roger, he never drank himself into anger towards him- even when Roger did some very teeth clentching things- he never called Roger out of his name and he gave him all the affection a boy could want. But he still crippled him. 

He held on so tight to needing to be this little boy's life saver, that he let the very thing happen that he was petrified of: losing him. Roger walked out of Jack's life and slammed the door in his face as he disappeared out that door. Jack became another version of his own pain and ultimately bleed it over onto someone he loved with every fiber of his being. And it all started with himself....

When Jack left his parent's home that day, he wasn't whole. He was only smart enough to know what he deserved and what should've happened... but he wasn't strong enough to give it to himself; be his own boulder or shoulder to cry on. Jack couldn't lift the weight himself. He just buried his head in studies and in his happy imagination, but the reality he would have to tear down brick by brick. But he just couldn't. Jack needed to see someone who could help him- who would help him. Someone who could fuel his stated ambition and give him a pat on the back and boost on the shoulders. Jack made choices from his pain.... not his power. He walked from city to city, milestone to milestone still carrying the weight of those nightmares- a constant need to rebel against everything that pushed him back down.

Jack was still that same little boy getting slapped for no reason. He was still somewhere in his old bedroom, stuffing Little Debbies into his mouth with cold milk to soothe his pains from that day. And whenever he looked into Roger's eyes... that same little boy was somewhere inside there. And Jack still needed to self soothe... not heal... just soothe. He never healed and the pain was still there.

Underneath all the layers of his ambition and his success.... there was pain. 

For the first time, Jack just let himself weep for his pain... for himself. He buried his face into his palms and let out a roaring scream before he sobbed quietly into his hands for a long time.

*************************************************

He didn't know where he was going. He was driving along to the road- radio silent and the only the sound the car could be heard. The clouds became darker as the weather became warmer. Jack had a picture in mind to where he was headed... but he still kept himself on the fence for if he decided he would go this far for what he pictured.

Pulling into yard, it read: Green Hollow- Norforlk cemetary. Jack took a deep breath and parked the car close to the exit. Sighing, Jack looked straight ahead and carefully undid his seatbelt and collected the keys as he unlocked the car door and emerged out of the car.

His loafers crunched under the wisp dry snow of the graveyard. Jack felt the fuzzy patch at the back of his neck burn with the little hairs there standing. His stomach swirled- aching for a moment before releasing the pent up irk inside of it out. Jack's eyes scanned David's tombstone carefully. Graveyards were always creepy... but this feeling was something even tenser than that. Somehow, he wanted to picture David standing there right in front of him- the same green eyes and jaded frown that obscured his features would stare back into Jack's and he would be scanning him up and down, wondering what crossed Jack's mind this time.

"Hey Dad.... " he started. "It's been.... awhile..." Jack swallowed. His mind drifting into the fact that he was now the same age his father was while Jack was raising his children. The thought pinched something deep in Jack, but he shook it off to focus on what he needed to say.

"I could never understand.... why you were the way you were. I just.... didn't get why you had to be so angry and violent... hopelessly violent- beating me, beating mom.... just... unhappy. And then, I saw your life. I saw everything that you suffered.... and you never let yourself speak it. And for a moment... I could understand..... because I knew exactly how it felt to feel.... weak. Weakness would be surrendering and... that's what we've been conditioned to believe and feel. And I'm so sorry.... with the cards life dealt to you. No one deserves to be hurt... no one deserves what happened to you.. and it took a lot of guts to carry that for so long... must've been." Jack started.

"But... I'm here because of what you put me through. You couldn't even understand the monster you were to me. You got drunk, you yelled, you hit, you called me horrible names... you did some very disgusting and awful things. You were not a good father..... you were not a good person. You let yourself become this bitter, dried up disappointment, that only hurt people. And while New York praises you for what you did for them, I'll never forget the person you were to me. For years... I have carried the weight of your abuse. And it made me become afraid- I was horrified I would become like you... and in the rush of trying not to be... I became my own problem to my children.... to my son. And there's not a day that goes by where I don't regret what I've done. And I don't know if I'll ever get it back- but I know where the root of it came from. 

I wasn't loved by you. And even though, you can say 'you love me'.... it wouldn't be enough. While I can understand the pain and hurt you went through, when you start hurting others, then you're pain is no longer yours.... it becomes someome else's. And it became mine. I still have the bad dreams about you standing over my bed with this evil grin, I still tiptoe across my hallway because I was afraid to wake you while you were sleeping.... I still restock my knife drawer every spring.... because I fear you grabbing me again in my sleep. I hate you for what you were. And I hated being your son. I hate myself for crying in the middle of the night because of you.... and I hate how at my lowest moments... I would think about sitting in the closed garage with the engine running." A single tear fell from Jack's cheek.

"But... if I blame you for all my pain.... then I have no choice but to thank you for my success too. And I loved being a father.... I love my kids. I love my wife. And because I love them.... I can be thankful for the memories... the memories of what not to be to them, because they deserved better. And...... so did I. And that's where it is.... I wanted to be loved. I wanted a good Mom and Dad, who would fill those cups of what I needed the most. The years I spent learning how to be strong for myself- to love myself.... will never replace the love I could've had from the two people who were the most important to me. With love- a good rooted, deep love... comes this freedom. The freedom of acceptance, of hope, of happiness, security.... possiblites. You can do anything with a deep love. Because you can trust that person.... no matter what they do... no matter what they say... your heart is still and will always be safe with them. And there is a safety in wanting to be happy.... and the people who love you the most are going to make sure.... that they make you happy. And my wife and children, do that for me every day..."

Jack sucked in a shaky breath. "I know... it's going to take me the rest of my life to forgive you- if I ever do. But what I will do.... is let this go. I'm going to set myself free from this once and for all, Dad. You're not going to hurt me anymore.... and I'm going to have the guts to do what you should've done. I'm going to forgive you.... because I want to be happy." 

Jack took one last final good look at David's grave, face settling into one of calm reassurance and peace. Then he walked away, letting the soggy dirty snow flake from the very soles of his shoes, shift back onto the empty dark grave of David.

Jack settled back into the car and decided he'd take the long way back to the hotel.

He drove down the road, the rain had started to peck the windows before they freely falled and panged the windshield ever other second. A secondwind overcame him and his spirit made him want to jump on top of the car and cheer with glee that there were better days ahead. Jack could start over this time. He could make things right. The streets were empty- cars that passed him by would be in rare summits where their flashlights would flash and flicker against the rain stained glass. The rain beated down harder and the wipers had a harder time keeping the entering drops from off either side of the arch they made with their arms.

The rain became more that just little teardrops dripping down from the foggy sky. So much so that Jack needed to pull the car over to the side of the road and wait it out. Jack watched every little drop ping the windows, until something in him moved him from out of the car and he let the rain splash over his head- wetting his hair and soaking his skin and his clothes. Jack danced in the wind of the rain and let it drizzle all over him. 

His clothes were damp and wet- rain still dripping off the edges and water spraying the inside of Jack's mouth. An empty road ahead and behind him as he jumped for glory like a slave with broken chains. Jack.... was free. A free man with a new beginning ahead of him. A new understanding of what had hurt his core the most and he had ripped it out of him, ready to heal his tender wounds of the past.

Jack danced all around the car- his hair dripping and staining his vision as he jumped as high as he could in the middle of the empty street. No one was around to see him dancing like a fool from pure bliss of feeling the earnest keen. Jack came back into his car, shaking his hair from the rain and smiling to himself as started the car again. The rain slowed as Jack made his way through the different roads. Damp and cold still, Jack didn't care. Making his way back to the hotel, he packed up his suitcase that evening after a warm shower and a fresh change of clothes and dropped his rental car off in exchange for a greyhound ticket.

On the bus, Jack stared out at the passing city. The little town of Virginia would forever hide David's most despondent secrets. Jack let his head rest against the bottom rim of the window and let the sound of his small breathes echo his little space in the bus. Only three other people sat on the bus and Jack found solace in this. A private space for him to think about what his mind needed to flush out first. 

Jack needed to take care of himself; a therapist would help Jack and so would a better footing in his relationships. Jack knew what he was going to do way before he bothered to think it out on the bus. San Deigo would be his last stop.... Seattle would be his first.

***********************************************

Seattle was rainy. With the address in the pocket of his suit jacket, Jack felt this tight grip of hope knead itself inside him. His heart felt lumpy and squishy and his lungs felt smaller than his body. Tight little breaths puffed in and out, like a lung crushing belt was wrapped around him. Jack leaned his body up against the door of the car- cheek pressed against the cool window. The tall alpine buildings reminded Jack of New York. How busy the streets were, how the cars zipped past like speeding bullets or how on weekdays, the men wore thick trench coats over their office suits or how the women clicked up and down the sidewalks with their chunky or skinny heels and hot red lips with big dangling earrings. The sounds of pagers beeped and the hiss of the steamy buses settled through the streets of the city.

Jack really begin to see himself in Roger. How much he preferred the big life- big dreams over small hopes that could be buried in the dust of California. Jack remembered how high his own dreams were at Roger's age. California held them- the golden life of a family- the family that he wanted. They were all set in the city of San Diego; fleeing from the city that reminded him of his own pain- his own past that he didn't want to become a part of, Jack began to understand what Seattle held for Roger. It tugged something inside of him, a broken piece that was already cracked. But it was swollen- tender and beaming with layers of hidden heartache that were trapped through the thick peels that Jack would cover them with.

Roger's apartment came into view. Abode Lofts. An elite apartment- one of Seattle's finest, Jack read a while ago.

The big gleaming high rise that brimmed its sheeny glow even from a block away. Jack knew how pricey the place was. The big thick shrubs flowing over the silver buckets parked on each side of the front door. Its parking deck parked towards the back- its ramp built into the side street. The walls were straight glass- a blue glossy hue over each window as they stood higher and higher up to the top. Jack stared up at the windows, wondering which one was Roger's apartment. A modern design- front terraces and back terraces on every apartment level, for every tenant.

Jack left the taxi, paid his tab before walking down the sidewalk into the apartment. A chapfallen glower fell on top of Jack's shoulders. Heavy breaths seemed to collaspe with every little step he made towards the front desk. The lady- drapped in every makeup there was- lipstick, eyeshadow, blush, eyeliner- thick and underlined over- and fake eyelashes that had to blink twice to even make out Jack's face a little. "Hello miss, I was looking for a Roger Chambers's apartment?"

The lady typed something in the computer. "It's apartment 23 E on the thirteenth floor." 

"Thank you." Jack felt his heartbeat in his stomach the more he stepped closer to the elevator. Legs felt paralyzed, yet still took into the little small box headed up to Rogers's floor. Jack scanned the elevator buttons. How they rose from level one to level sixty. Jack's eyes wanted to pop out from his head in complete marvel, amazed at how high this building really went. As the buttons slowly rose from one level to another, Jack's heart pounded louder through his chest. He could feel his heart inside of his palm, like he was holding it right in front of him. His mind shuffled through the rights words- what he would say to Roger, what he would do for Roger to make it up to him for all these years wasted by his own petty behaviour. 

Thinking about it made Jack's skin spike with goosbumps. A burning feeling sizzled inside of his body, forcing a cool sweat from his forehead. As the doors opened, the fresh smell of clean carpet is what Jack was met with first. Carefully stepping off, he looked at each door, scanning where Roger's could be. 21 E, 22 E, 24 E...23 E. 

Taking a deep breath, Jack reached his hand out, curled a fist and knocked on the door. Jack heard shuffling inside the apartment. Roger's feet stopped in front of the door, looking through the peephole, Jack assumed. He heard a deep breath sound from the door. "Dad?" Roger opened the door only halfway with the chain lock holding it in place. "Dad... what are doing here?"

"Uh... well, I came to see you."

Roger furrowed his eyebrows. "How did you find out where I lived?"

"Roger, can I come in?" Roger just stared at Jack, not budging from the door. "How did you find my apartment?" His voice with more sterness to it. Jack furrowed his eyebrows.

"Roger...." He sighed. "I looked it up, because I wanted to talk to you."

Roger thought for a minute. "Give me a second," Closing the door and unlocking the chain, Roger invited Jack inside. Jack could only awe at Roger's place. Two levels like a full house, big kitchen with a silver fridge, stove and dishwasher. Living room so big, that classy greek white pillars stood on each side of the front door with little podiums built under them. A picture window with a window seat in the back of the living room and a hidden little hallway towards the left where the terrace must've hid as well. That's when Jack spotted the large glass tank where different colored little fishes swam around and another tall glass tank that stood vertical for Stone, the iguana. The couch was this fine leather- textured and treated for protection against rips or scrapes from the cold weather or the friction of clothes or even light bodies.

The whole living room was this mellow light blue color with this classy modern theme to it. Jack felt a sense of familiarity from the last time he was in Roger's apartment. How much his style represented his own space. His own little planet that he lived on- away from Alice, from Susan, from Sean.... from Jack. The one person who was so close to him, they were like twins. Hearts connecting to each other like they were meant to sync. The other half to Jack that swam through his very bones- that was from his very seed and became a part of him like the amber stars became one with the sky. Those deep green eyes Jack would look into every night before bed with his very own. How the first touch was something so natural, like they had bonded with each other before Roger even existed. In a dream, Jack would think of not the perfect little boy that he could share his fatherly wisdom with... but a friend, who could understand some of the deepest depths of himself. Who would inspire him every day to be that one of a kind person he always wanted to be. And his wish came true the first time he pressed his lips against the damp and soggy head of a gooey little newborn born right in the mist of a June summer filled with fresh watermelon and honey bees.

It was just that somewhere along those tight knit lines, Jack's pain formed into a little bubble of its own- following him around like an ugly shadow and morphing him into the overbearing rootless pest, that had to take control for himself. Shattering the very brims of the person he loved the most. That he understood the most. That understood him the most. Except, Roger handled himself. He walked away and challenged the pain. Festering and emptying it into a better life; Dreams that Roger took ahold of and made happen for the sake of himself. He understood the cores of his pain and wasn't afraid to look it straight into its face and stare it down with his rooted confidence. Roger.... set the Chambers's home on fire. Only running away from the flames after dancing in the ashes and shaking them off on the front lawn, and settling to the opposite country. His first move as a youngin moving out for the first time. And he didn't need Jack. He didn't need anyone that would hold him back from his life. Including himself. 

Roger got into therapy and made the change before, having a sloppy one night stand with a stranger, or getting drunk in the middle of the night... or blaming Jack for his deepest pain of a close bond being thrown right into the blazing fire of the home that was already burning. Roger moved on.... even when Jack couldn't. Roger burned it all down with just one match.... and built it back up, brand spanking new for himself and for everything in his future that wanted him.... that would need him. Without looking back, Roger set himself free and ran arms wide into the life that had been waiting for him. And Jack was left to look back and wonder what he should've done. Maybe when he was Roger's father... maybe when he was Roger's age.

***********************************************

Roger invited Jack on the couch, while he went into the kitchen and made them both a glass of iced tea. "Lemon or without lemon?"

"Uh, without." Roger set the drinks down on the coffee table before sitting next to Jack. "So... what did you want to talk about?"

Jack turned to Roger. A sympathic little smile spread across his face, before dropping. "I... I wanted to first just apologize to you, Roger." Roger raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For... the last conversation we had.... a few years ago." Roger stiffened. "Oh, yeah.... that one."

"I shouldn't have said those things to you or spoken to you like that. Truth is- you're a very mature, kind, sweet, generous and smart young man. And you deserved more respect." Roger kept quiet but just stared.

"When I said those things- on the phone- I was already feeling very....." Jack took a deep breath. "Very... afraid. When you and me were just a little bit younger... we had a very close relationship. Very tight knit and.... I started to grieve that relationship when you started getting older."

"Why?" Roger's voice, steady but shaky. "Why did you get so freaked out about me growing up? All I wanted was to be independent.... and it broke me when all my efforts- all Mom's efforts were undermimed with you trying to control everything! You couldn't let me drive, you couldn't let me go out by myself, you had to always have control over me and what made me happy... everything that built me up and you would demolish because you just didn't want it to happen! Do you know how much it hurt me when you would do those things! I wanted to grow up.... and leaving you... somehow.. gave me back myself. I felt better about myself... I felt like a man.... a real man. And I knew I deserved it. I became a writer- something I always wanted to be- I moved into a beautiful apartment, I have my own life... I travled... I lived. And I continued living and I didn't let that pain of everything.... everything that hurt me... stand in my way, Dad. It may have taken moving down to a different city... but at least I can say... maybe even just a bit... that I'm okay."

Jack's eyes brimmed with tears. Roger's did too; pain that was still settled inside him finally emploded in the face of the man responsible for it. And now Jack would have to face his own. "Roger.... I know how wrong I was. I know I don't deserve a relationship with you after everything I did, and I'm not here to justify that. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for doing that to you, to your mother, your sister.... to the family."

Jack walked around the living room, pacing the floors like he always did when he needed to make a serious point. And Roger knew that. So, he just sat down on the couch and listened quietly to everything Jack needed to say.

"When I was.... when you were- no..." Jack sighed. Taking a deep breath, he let his heart do the talking for once.

"I didn't have a good childhood... or one at all if you can say. Your grandfather, David.... was horrifically abusive- physically, mentally, emotionally.... it was a nightmare. And I'm not using that as an excuse to say that 'I did what I did because' as a means to make it go away. But you do need to understand. I was beaten, slapped, kicked- sometimes in the privates- and... I had no one to defend me. Lucy, your grandmother, had problems upon problems and she was so adamant of staying with Grandpa because of how she thought a woman should be or whatever, that it interrupted her love for me. I felt like an orphan. And everything that happened to me still rings in the back of my head even to this day. And that pain... the embarrassment- still lives inside of me and it's very real. So, when I was twenty years old, I moved out and found my own apartment. And I had to work very hard to get that. But... what I thought about the most- growing up and even in my early adulthood- was about being happy. Having a family, having life goals and dreams that I wanted to accomplish. And that made me feel good and I thought I was okay. So fast forward, I got married to your mother, and then we had Susan and then you. And... I had always secretly wanted a little boy, because I didn't get affection from David, the way I was supposed to...the way I wanted to. Having a son, would fix that. It would fix it, because I could be his father and we wouldn't have those problems.

I wanted to be the type of parent that would give endless hugs and kisses, endless time on Daddy's lap and bedtime stories and cookies galore! And it was exactly like that....and I begin to see myself in you, Roger. In fact... I always have- since the day you were born. And even though you weren't.... you just felt... like you were broken in the way of needing so much attention. So, I made it my mission to be that person for you that you could lean on and just... have a deep connection with. And I thought that by doing that.... I would heal some of the pain that I felt in me still as a child. Then you started growing.... and you didn't need me as much anymore. So... I panicked- I was losing control over our relationship- over the closeness that we had... and.... I did some... really awful things. I overprotected you and tried to keep you from growing up...because then... maybe you would leave and I would be tossed aside and one of the most important people to me, would leave me and then I would lose a big part of myself. Being a father made me feel good about myself because.... I was still hurting. You shaped the way I saw fatherhood, Roger. But my biggest regret is, instead of handling my own insecurities and pain first.... I passed it on to someone who I loved the most. You gave me another chance- that phone call we had just before your birthday.... and I blew it. You didn't run away from home.... I kicked you out. And for that... I'll never forgive myself." Jack looked into Roger's eyes.

"I deserved to be cut off. And because of that... it made me realize.... just how broken I really was." He sniffled. "I did what I wanted to do..... and it paid a terrible price. You're a very strong man, son. You're stronger than me in many ways and.... I am so proud of you. You make me proud every day... and that's never changed. Truth is... I always thought I'd be the one to break the cycle..... but the whole time.... it was actually you."

Roger met Jack's eyes finally. Tears streaming down them. "I love you, beyond what's possible, Roger. I only ask- humbly so- if you can one day, find it in your heart.... to forgive me even just a third of what barely exists for me." Jack licked his lips and started towards the door.

"Dad!" Jack turned around. "I never stopped loving you. Yes, I cut you and Mom off because I wanted to heal. But I never stopped loving you. And I never will." Roger held his arms open as Jack ran into them, sobbing thankfully into Roger's shoulder. "I'm sorry!" He sobbed. "I'm so sorry!" Muffled into Roger's neck, Roger cried into Jack's shoulder blade. He never wanted to admit that he missed Jack.... or that he secretly hoped he would one day be the person he wanted his father to be. 

Roger knew it would take some time- he didn't forgive Jack suddenly, and Jack could tell. But... it was a sure thing that was happening. And for that, Jack would always be grateful.

*************************************************

San Deigo was bright and beaming with sunny shadows. Jack felt a sense of mundane jolt through him as his coat would be simply inapproprate for the weather. He didn't know how much he missed sunny days until he came home. The taxi pulled up to the front door of his home and Jack felt something shift inside him. It didn't settle even after he unlocked the front door locked eyes with and empty living room. Alice was somewhere in the kitchen.

Jack stumbled into the house, like he was thoroughly intoxicated. Without a drop of alcohol touching his lips, Jack wanted to soberly face Alice. He needed to see into her lime eyes and face her. Jack could see the pain all over her face. He could sense her deep anguish deep inside her body. Her soft dainty frame, dolled up in a sunflower skirt, a figure hugging shirt and small silver heels. Underneath it all was this thick coat of deep resentment. Jack tried to pretend like he couldn't see it- it wasn't there right in front him. But it was. And Jack knew why it was there and why it festered so severely inside of Alice.

Alice didn't have the same haggered look she had when the children left home; mothers usually have that look from this sombering sense of empty nest. But Alice carried something else inside and around her. Her looks to Jack were stern and irked- especially when the topic of Roger came up. She would become especially irritated when Jack would come up with a list of excuses for his overparenting of their son. It singed in Alice and it sent this fiery gash of pain shooting from her head to toe. Alice thought her poker face to be professional. Jack saw otherwise through it everytime And deep down.... Alice knew. She wanted to flaunt her anger around like a new dress for Jack to see it. Jack saw how Alice went to bed with it, cooked with it, ran errands with it and sat around the house with it. Never taking it off- forcing Jack to look into it. Stare and bore deeply through the dress to see the deeply hidden sadness underneath all the blazing red fury she felt.

Jack made his way across the living room. Alice standing neatly at the kitchen island cleaning off the countertop. Eyes locked and so focused on the counter that she barely even made eye contact with Jack. "Hey Alice," He came closer and pressed a kiss to her neck, nearly make her pull away a bit. "Jack...." He bit the side of his lip. 

"On my way back home, I visited Roger's new apartment.... it's very nice." Alice looked over a bit, but still didn't make eye contact. "He let you go inside?" 

"Yeah... I wanted to- we talked." Alice stopped scrubbing the counters. "We had a very long talk..... because I apologized." Alice turned around and met Jack's eyes. "What did you say to him?"

"I told him that I made a mistake.... that I deserved for him to.... cut me off."

"Except when he did that, he no choice but to cut me off too, Jack." Jack stared at Alice. "I tried so hard to give Roger the independence he needed. I didn't want to be one of those parents who.... would cause so much to their child like that." Alice shook her head.

"But it wasn't enough... he left the way he did anyway because.... well... you, Jack. It was all your fault..." She broke, tears dripping down her shirt. 

"I kept telling you that he was a teenager- that kids deserved their freedom. Roger.... was a free spirit. He didn't want to be smothered and so I tired to make sure I didn't do that, Jack. It's been like this ever since he was a little boy- and you kept tighting and tightning the ropes because of this selfish obsession with trying to keep him with you like this china doll or something. And I told you- pleaded with you to stop and you wouldn't. He was struggling Jack.... and you just pushed him out of this house, out of our love- and then you invited yourself into his home and then embarrassed him in front of his peers. Do you get how traumatic that was for him? Do you not understand the common denominator?! Roger is not here, but in a different country because of you! What could you possibly say to him that would make him not feel the way I have felt about you for a long time, Jack Chambers!"

Jack stood back, eyes glossy staring back at his wife. Alice's eyes filled with tears, staining her eyes red. Sniffling back her tears, Alice turned away from Jack. " I thought things would be different. I would like to think.... I would really like to believe that because of everything you went through with your family.... you would want to create a better one here. And for awhile... it was. It was good. But you just couldn't stop, Jack..." Alice turned to Jack, eyes glistening.

"When Roger let you go..... I lost him too. And as much as I do believe you deserve it.... I still missed him. And there wasn't a day that went by where I didn't want him back."

Jack slouched a bit, eyes staring at tile in the kitchen floor and then to his wife's heels. "I know....." 

"Do you? Do you know how badly.... it hurt to see him broken. To feel his pain from not having what he wanted. It was never about you and that's exactly what you made it to be.... and now... he's not here. He has his own life... one where we simply... don't exist. So, tell me, Jack..... do you really know how that feels?"

 Jack thought for a second. "Yes." He looked up. "So... I went down to Seattle and I apologized to Roger and...." Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out Roger's phone number, written down on his business card. "When you're ready to talk... he's ready to listen."

Alice sobbed in her hands, letting Jack hug her tightly in his arms. "I'm so sorry, Alice.... I was selfish... I'm so sorry." Alice wept, but eventually embraced Jack in her arms. "It'll be okay.... we'll be okay.." She said. Jack looked into her eyes again. "We will?"

She nodded. "We will."

*************************************************

The appointment was today. Jack dressed in a neat dress shirt with gray slacks before he headed downstairs. "Hey honey," Alice greeted. 

"Hey," Jack pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, "I gotta get going now, but I'll call after the appointment." Jack grabbed his mug and let Alice pour in some coffee before he skidded out the door.

He wasn't too worried about making the appointment on time, but he didn't want to be late either. First impressions were everything. Pulling into the office, Jack took a deep breath and then walked inside. He took a seat in the sterile waiting room. It was comfortable, but still stern in it's address. Jack just thought that it was because of his first impression of the office. Everyone else seemed to be relaxed like they knew what to expect.

"Jack Chambers?" The receptionist called. Jack got up and followed her back into a hallway where several rooms were. Room 201 was his and as he made his way inside, a fresh pair of eyes turned around and introduced himself.

"Hello, I'm doctor Damien Reed, how are you today, Jack?"

"Good... it's my first time." 

Dr. Reed chuckled. "Therapy can be nerve wracking at first... but that's the hardest step there is. Making the choice that you need help is the hardest part... but this session will very easy, promise."

Jack smiled. "Thank you."

"Why don't we start with an introduction first? Why don't you start by telling me your name?"

Jack sighed and made eyes with Dr. Reed.

"Hi.....I'm Jack Chambers."

[adaki]

Sry I’m late, I was being held in a maximum security prison on a secluded island and they had no wifi.

[glazeliights]

what the helllll who are these guys

[imalovernotabiter]

Random drawings I did while in the hospital

Drawing a biblically accurate Jeff is satisfying af

Plz give my other art some Sugar too

Vacation sketches: 30th july 2024

Drawing them so cartoony feels so nostalgic

[crushedsweets]

Seems that every time the weather’s on our side, I turn it right back into rain

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Only he can make him laugh like that...

Jack Desmond is the silly guy. Gavriel Huffman is the scary guy. They come from different worlds that has contrasting genres, one more cartoonishly comedic and the other much dramatically darker.

It's kind of a running gag that Sir Huffman is unable to laugh without looking absolutely wicked. Both in the cartoon world and his own world.

That doesn't stop Jack from being completely smitten with him though, his voice is the most mind-melting thing he's ever had the pleasure to hear

[AUDIO USED:] Men I Trust - show me how

[missanna001]

꙳ ꩜ ✿ ꕤ 彡 𖦆

(ʘ‿ʘ)

[fishiteeth]

Tf is this guy doing

[justsomedumbstuff]

Old favs (and Jeff /j)

[rainrot4me]

Ticci Toby General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Toby as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw!

Words: 1.6k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- Even though he is socially awkward and tense, he’s a master at people watching. Can read a room and know more details about a person within seconds of watching them interact.

- Likes his alone time.

- He would probably say Tim and Brian are his closest friends, the same can’t be said about Masky and Hoodie, however.

- A pro at zoning out. Takes you waving your hand in his face before he snaps back.

- Bipolar? More-so emotional switch. Tends to be soft-spoken and awkward, trying his best to keep conversation while fidgeting his hands, looking anywhere but at your face. Otherwise, he’s an in-your-face, aggressive, no emotional resistance when that flip is switched. Lots of teeth gritting and yelling, swings his ax around like it’s a toy to intimidate. It takes a lot for him to get to that point, but it takes double the time for him to come back down from it.

- Not easily scared. Will throw himself into a fight and come out victorious somehow.

- Sleeper build. Wears lots of baggy clothing and layers so you can’t tell, but secretly he’s jacked. He may look scrawny, but don’t be fooled. Really strong shoulder and chest muscles from dually swinging his ax and dragging bodies around. He doesn’t think it’s all that impressive. Wishes he was bigger.

- The worst posture you’ve ever seen.

- Let his facial hair grow out from time to time. Thinks it makes him look too mature, but appreciates the compliments he gets.

- Has a secret hobby of playing a guitar he found on a mission. His tics mess him up a lot, but it’s worth the trip out deeper into the woods where no one can hear to practice a little.

- A little shit.

- Hates the heat. Would rather freeze to death than spend one moment in the too hot sun. Favorite season is late fall, around the first snowfall time.

- Big on territory. Never had privacy or respect as a kid so he values having his own things and belongs that nobody else can touch.

- Definitely shy, but not in the “UwU” way, in the “Can you get this from the gas station for me? The girl in there looks mean.”

- Bites his nails, the skin around his nails, and his cuticles LIKE A MF.

- Very light sleeper. Unless he’s absolutely dead beat exhausted, he’ll wake up from just the floorboards creaking. Has to be physically exhausted to actually rest.

- When listening to music, he needs it as loud and close as possible. Headphones are a must and they must be at max. He wants to feel that bass.

- A stray animal lover, feels similar to them in a way.

- Breaks down a lot. Hard to console or even talk to in those moments but some time alone in his room will do the trick.

- Has the education level of a middle schooler.

- Enjoys Gorillaz, Rainbow Kitten Surprise, and surprisingly, older country artists like Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. “Outlaw shit.”

Dating Him/SFW:

- “Love” “Y/N…” “Baby”

- Loves when he touches you and you don’t pull away. Like when his knee accidentally rests against yours or his elbow bumps your arm while sitting on the couch and you don’t tug away, just sitting there letting him rest. He gets all giddy.

- Playing with your hair. Currently trying to learn how to braid.

- “Wait. O- Okay, so, right th- then left? No? F- Fuck, okay…”

- Favorite sleeping position is with you wrapping around each other, legs and arms tangled together as he hooks his chin onto the top of your head, rubbing your back. Even though you both get extremely hot and sweaty after a while, Toby enjoys the moment before you eventually shove him off.

- Likes to feel your body weight on him, whether it’s laying or sitting, he just likes the pressure and warmth you give.

- Big on physical touch, could really care less if he’s mad or not, just needs to have some part of his body touching yours.

- You could wear or look like absolutely anything and he’d still think you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

- Loves how you smell after getting out of the shower, can’t get enough of it while he kisses your warm, damp skin.

- Loves the way it feels when you comb through his hair with your fingers, practically purrs as he melts into your warmth, angling his head so you have better access.

- An admirer for sure, stares even when you catch on, studying every freckle or sunspot on your cheek.

- Self conscious about being your boyfriend. In reality, he’s an amazing lover, but he’s been conditioned his whole life that he’s not good enough and that ideal carries over.

- Tried to lick you through the hole in his cheek once, you both freaked out.

- Sensitive to high stress situations or loud noises so constantly reaches for your hand or crams himself into your side to block out the panic he can feel oncoming. You really help.

- Slasher movie date nights are always a bust because he’ll describe just how inaccurate that blood splatter was, followed by what would actually happen in detail.

- “If he c- cut the arm like that, it wou- wouldn’t spray out that far. This g- guy doesn’t even l- look like he’s ever even he- held an ax before.”

- Didn’t have a favorite color until you told him yours. Says his is the same, just cause it’s your favorite.

- Very immature in the sense of relationship problems. He thinks everything can be solved if he just avoids it, and that includes you. It takes a lot of bickering and patience, but he’ll eventually get over himself and force a solution.

- Doesn’t open up about anything ever. You’ve gotta fight tooth and nail for him to even mention his mother’s name. Will tell you all about his latest mission, however, whether you want to hear or not.

- Throws things or hits you playfully just to turn around and go “Who did that??”

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Boobs. Tits. Breasts. He needs them in his palms immediately.

- A big biter. Will never bite hard enough to draw blood but gets so turned on at seeing his teeth marks in your skin. Big territory thing.

- “Mine. See, I m- marked ‘ya. You’re mine.”

- His dream is to fuck your tits, too shy to ask though.

- Always been a “jerk off as fast as you can” kind of guy, fisting his cock fast to just get off. So when you slowly slide down his cock for the first time, taking your time to adjust and grind your hips at a steady pace, he nearly cums on the spot from how overwhelming it is.

- Bisexual, definitely.

- Starts at a fast pace at first, thrusting and grinding until both of your hips hurt, but then slowly his pace changes, more intentional movements and sinking deeper, more focused on stretching you out then getting deep. Just wants to get you dizzy before he gives you the good stuff lol.

- “Th- That feel good? You’re sq- squeezin’ so tight, ah-”

- His fingernail imprints all over your skin from how hard he holds you.

- Pervert but not in a creepy way. Pervert as in gets a boner from just watching your ass as you walk across the room. Has to clench his fists every time you bend over or raise your shirt up. Can barely breathe if you’re showing too much skin.

- Not big on degradation, but is very big on affirmation, loves to be told he’s doing good.

- Secretly, sooooo secretly loves the idea of anal. For both you and him. He wants to be buried in your ass, your back laid into his chest as he shoves his fingers into your cunt, panting into your neck. But at the same time, wishes you would just read his mind and push your fingers into his, fisting his cock as you stretched him so well.

- Surprisingly, very flexible. Whatever position you’re in he can easily contort to get the best angle to sink his cock in.

- Jealousy sex. Another resident of the mansion catches your glance for too long and suddenly you’re shoved into the bathroom, pants at your ankles as the brunette swipes the pads of his fingers against your clit, biting against your shoulder as he ruts into your ass.

- “Mine, mine, m- mine, nobody els- else makes you feel this good. Right? R- Right? Yeah?”

- A WHINER. Grade A pro at burying his face into your neck/pillow/chest and just sobbing his pleasure through tears and moans. He’s so loud, obnoxiously groaning and huffing as you slap your hand over his mouth. It doesn’t help though, as soon as your hand pushes down his tongue is already out and licking your palms.

- You in his hoodie? Yeah, it’s the only thing you’re wearing while he snaps his hips, pushing your knees back as far as they’ll go to get even deeper, mewling about how good you look.

- Loves to sit back and watch you suck his cock, his fingers pushing strands of hair out of your face as you try to take it all in, eyes twitching the further down you get. He’s not insanely big, just lengthy enough to make you choke and reach all the best parts. Likes to put his goggles on your forehead and watch them dangle as you bob up and down.

- Cumming in you? No. Cumming on you? Every single time. Goes absolutely crazy when he sees his seed shot across your stomach or thighs, your flushed skin and post-orgasm twitches getting him so turned on he can’t focus.

- “You ju- just look so good… Couldn’t he- help myself, okay? Sorry… Can we, u- uh… Can we go ag- again?”

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[masked-hatchet]

Sorry for being kinda inactive, i have plenty of drawings of these two being worked on

[gumballavocadoharry]

Unjust Corporate; Jack Chambers:

*This is the 50s, so corporal punishment was around and that meant teachers were allowed to administer swats with paddles or canes then. It's unethical, but I have to be historically correct to set the scene. I do not agree with this, and it's a trigger containing: mentions of abuse, abusive childhood, student abuse, hitting, beating, some racisms, bad parenting and bad educational system. *

Mr. Driscoll. Hated by every student (and teacher) in the building. Possibly the district. 

A very strict and callous type who would punish for even the simplest infringements. Assignment was a day late- an F. One word misspelled on a paper- F. Whispering in class- a hard paddle against your backside. None of the teachers in the school used the paddle or the cane. But Mr. Driscoll did. He expected perfection from every student, despite even if their best attempts couldn't come to par. A painly thin older man with white hair, a thin pasty mustache and liver spots all over his hands. A slight slouch in his posture, but still managed to stand a solid six foot in a half.

Then he met Roger Chambers. The boy swore he hated him from day one. His name was spoken stringent against his lips. Sharp and stern looks into Roger's mischievous but innocuous green eyes where filled with this utter disgust like the way you spot maggots in rotted fruit. "ROGER! STOP TALKING!" Roger wouldn't say a word. 

"ROGER STOP DAYDREAMING AND PAY ATTENTION!" Roger would force himself out of his gaze through the classroom window and snap back to the teacher's lesson. It was during class that Roger realized he could use both hands when writing. Left and right.

Finishing the last piece of his Benjamin Franklin- using his left hand- a harsh burning sting was slapped to his wrist. "Ow!" grabbing his wrist and looking up to Mr. Driscoll. "Use your right hand, Mr. Chambers!" Tapping the ruler against his palm, Mr. Driscoll gave Roger a acrimonious glare. Tears brimming his eyes, Roger slowly picked up his pencil with his right hand; ignoring the mordant pain that was shooting through his wrist. 

The walk home from school was quiet. "Hey Roger, what did you get on that Algebra test?" Roger shrugged. "Maybe, a 56- I don't know." Susan glanced to Roger with a slight furrow. "Did Matthew Malkin give you wedgie?"

"I don't know, probably." "Did Mom and Dad jump across the moon and into a pile of turnips that shoot out raisins?"

"Yeah, probably." A laugh escaped from Susan. "Did you even hear what I just said?" Roger turned sharply to Susan, almost ringing himself out of his world. "Uh... what?" Susan crooked her head to the side. "Roger, what's wrong?" Roger scratched the side of his head. "Oh, nothing. It's just.... I have a lot of homework." Susan bit the edge of her lip and kept quiet. Letting the sound of the swishing spring wind bellow her skirt, Susan would occasionally look to Roger and then back to the sidewalk. "Hi sweeties," Alice wiped the last path of suds off the tables from the cleaner. "I'll make you a snack in just a minute."

"Thanks." Susan said, taking a seat on the couch. Roger smiled before charging toward his bedroom. His wrist brushed against his slacks, twinging the boy with pain. Roger scanned his left wrist again. A thick red welt formed in the center of a purplish-pink bruise. Roger stared at the sore. Watching it ooze from his skin like an ugly patch. Changing into a droopy maroon sweater that hovered over his legs, making them look little under the cloak of garment. Roger trollied down the stairs, ignoring the stares from his sister and mother. "Roger, you changed your shirt." Roger smiled and took a seat at the bar, reaching for the fresh baked cookies on the platter in front of him. Alice let a slight furrow arch through her eyebrows. "I got cold, so I changed my shirt." As if Roger could sense Alice's buried question. Alice raised an eyebrow. "Okay...." Roger kept his gaze on the counter. A fear slithered through him- wafting in this musky glower of already having blown his cover.

Roger perked himself up with a smile. "Sorry, if I'm coming off mysterious.... it's been a long day." Alice gave Roger a small smile. She leaned in closer, pouting her lip a bit. "Are you alright honey? Feeling okay?" Alice put her hand on Roger's left wrist and rubbed- pressuring the fore of it against the brim of the counter. Roger bit the inside of his bottom lip. "I'm fine- it's just that- my new history teacher had us doing a lot of work in class today." Alice smiled wider. Rubbing her hand against Roger's cheek, she leaned back and went back to the stove. Roger kept his stare on her a bit longer- wondering if her mind was already made up. And.... it was.

Jack came home and hour later. Roger was already at his grainy oak desk, finishing the last of his assingment. Signing the last cursive word on the paper, Roger's heartbeat sped up. A warm patch heated against the nath of his neck. A burning heat flashed through his skin. Mr. Driscoll taught history. Mr. Driscoll would fail him for one mistake. Or maybe not one at all. He hated Roger after all. He would cane his wrist again. Or berate him in front of the entire class. Roger didn't tell anyone of how Mr. Driscoll seperated his desk to the outside of the classroom for laughing too much. The memory burned deep into his brain- sauntering the grimness of how he couldn't even cry because of the passing students and teachers. Embarrassed and angry, Roger was banished to the outskirts of the class until lunch, where his desk was brought back inside, but with his crayons sprawled out over the hallway. They were swept up and thrown into the garbage when asked about them.

Roger scratched the itch by his eye. His finger became wet, letting the realization of brimming tears that trickled down his face sink in. He swallowed hard- letting the hollow of his woe slide down into his gut to loll there.

A knock on the door sounded. "Rogie?" Jack's soft voice was both a reassurance, and a parcel. Roger couldn't afford to carry a burden. His mind was weighted with Mr. Driscoll's rasping jarring voice. Jack invited himself in. He always did that when he thought the problem was big. It annoyed the children, but it would disperse with realization of Jack's love and concern. He took a seat on the bed, letting his eyes- filled with worry- bore into Roger's. "Hey bud.... you've been quiet today... everything okay?" 

"Yeah. Why, why wouldn't it be?" He frowned. "Because, you came home and didn't say anything-"

"I was tired. Mr. Driscoll piled on a lot of homework." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Driscoll?" Roger nodded. Jack rememberd Mr. Driscoll. He hated him too.

He never taught Jack's grade as a child, but when he moved to California as an adult, he found Mr. Driscoll to be the biggest prick of an educator he met. Uttering several words about him behind his back, the old man was embittered, in Jack's mind. He hated how he demanded unquestioned respect, despite never showing it back to anyone. Sometimes, even to his own superiors. Jack never forgot how in the line at a supermarket, Mr. Driscoll glared at the young ebony man, a bagger, who was extraordinarily polite and kind. His name tag read, Dan, and Jack didn't think twice about him. He just thought good business was good business. 

"I bet he steals from the registers." Mr. Driscoll snarled. Jack puncated his frown to the elderly man, who was in his early sixties at the time. "He probably has kids all over with different woman." Mr. Driscoll didn't say this to anyone but himself. But Jack heard him. He heard everything the man said. "I think he's doing a good job." Jack wished he hadn't opened his mouth. But was still glad he did. Mr. Driscoll turned around, but Jack stared straight ahead. "Respect your elders." He said before turning back towards the line. Jack towered over the man slightly. He stared deep into the back of his head like he wanted to burn holes through it. He did want to.

Mr. Driscoll turned around with a scowl over his face. "Maybe you could learn something from us elders, hm?" Jack smirked. "I think society's already beat me to it, hm?" 

"I can help the next customer!" A lady clerk yelled. Jack happily took his cart to the next line. Ringing up faster, Jack pulled an extra five from his wallet. Handing it to Dan, he smiled. "Thank you very much sir, have a nice day." Dan smiled. "You too!" Mr. Driscoll watched as Jack walked out of the store with the biggest smile across his face, before turning around to share one last smart alec smile toward the old man. 

The name sent this ping of anger through Jack. "Mr. Driscoll." He repeated. "He's your new history teacher?" Roger's eyebrows furrowed as he gave another nod. "Racist bastard." Roger gasped. "Oh! I'm sorry Roger! Don't repeat that, okay?"

"Mr. Driscoll's racist?" Jack nodded. "I know him. Don't worry it'll be okay." Roger felt reassured. A warm glow had illumentated through him like a candle in the dark night. Jack's face was set serious. Serious into this deep rigid frown. Jack turned back to Roger after staring at the specks of carpet for too long. "What did he do in class?" A cool fanned through Roger's chest. He didn't want to tell him what happened today. But he knew Jack would find out. He would come to the classroom and surveillance Mr. Driscoll like a prison guard. And he would deserve it. But it wouldn't help Roger forever. It wouldn't etch the pain from his mind, or the fear in his gut... or the twinge of heat from his bruised wrist.

"Roger?" Jack's voice softened and warm. "He.... was strict. Very strict- he always is with everyone. Even some of the teachers." Jack narrowed his eyes. "But what did he do to you?" Roger swallowed. 

"I was talking too much in class. So....." Roger looked down. Jack wanted Roger to come closer to him, but couldn't choke out the words to say so. "What did he do Roger?" His voice laced more thickly in concern. 

"He yelled at me." Roger held in his tears. But Jack could sense them. He could sense the pain snaking through Roger, while his head was held down and his voice as frail as parchment paper. "What else?" Jack knew. Roger didn't know how, but he did.

"He put my desk....." Roger choked. Tears- not even having time to brim- begin dripping onto the carpet. He looked back up with tears and a wobbly mouth. "He made me sit out in the hall because I was laughing too much!" He brokedown. "Today in class, I decided I could use my left hand to write. And I did pretty good. Mr. Driscoll- ow!" Jack perked up. Roger had brushed a particular sensitive part of his wrist against his pants. "Ow.. ow...ow." He cried. Jack hurled himself up from the bed and grabbed Roger's wrist without question.

A big welt on his wrist. Bruising and burning with pain. The sight shattered Jack's heart to a million pieces. David would whip Jack's legs with a thick belt, till welts would sprout over his little calves. Sometimes, he whip his bare back or strike a paddle against his bare bottom. Coupled with slaps across the face and a throng of curses thrown at him, the sight of Roger's wrist nearly made Jack sick. He never bragged about his disciplines- there was nothing to brag about. Who could take pleasure in being beaten senseless for pratically nothing? Some boys at his school would laugh or brag about how many beatings they took from their fathers. Jack never joined in and in fact, would judge the boys. 

"What's so great about that?" he said once. Steward Hollister looked around before piping up. "Well, hasn't your dad ever beat ya?" 

"Yeah. I just don't laugh about it. It's ridiculous and abusive..... I'd much rather take pleasure in striking him back." He said, before walking back to his locker. "Sensitive little pussy." Steward laughed along with his friends. Jack slammed the books into locker and continued to the bleachers for the rally.

Looking at Roger's little wrist- his soft little wrist that was hurting, causing his little boy to welp in pain- sent an angry shiver through his spine. A muderous desire to wrap his bulky hands around Driscoll's neck and choke the life out of him until his face was as blue and purple as the bruise forming around the welt. 

"He... caned me." Roger's voice was so little. So innocent and fragile. Jack looked into Roger's eyes before cuffing his little lanky body into a bear hug. "Oh my little baby.... it'll be okay. Daddy's here. I'm so sorry.... I'm so sorry." Jack sounded regretful, despite not doing anything. "We'll take care of the boo boo." Roger didn't mind Jack's baby puns. In fact, he wanted it. He needed it. Clinging to Jack as he took him into the bathroom, Jack smoothed an ointment onto the welt before applying some kitchen ice. Placing a gentle hand on Roger's cheek, Jack looked into Roger's eyes with unfathomable sympathy and blazing fury. "Just hold it onto the welt and the bruising will go down in no time." Roger nodded, still sniffling. Jack placed a long big whistling smooch to Roger's cheek. Then another one, then another one. He didn't want to leave Roger's side for a second and would rather hold him in the hollow of his chest, placing candy kisses onto the ridge of his forehead.

Caned. It stuck out in Jack's brain all night. He would cane Mr. Driscoll. What he did to Roger, Jack would do to him thrice as hard. Jack kept his fists balled up all night, making the knuckles stiff in the morning. Jack finally hit it.

He would surprise Driscoll. He had no idea Roger was his son... but he would soon find out. Today... in the middle of history class.

Roger was sitting quietly at his desk. Mr. Driscoll spiting out nonsense facts about the british war of whatever. "ROGER! SIT UP STRAIGHT!" 

Jack could hear the harsh address from down the hall. Storming harder up to the classroom door- Jack dressed in his navy blue office suit, neat matching black dress shoes with a very stern look- peeked through the window of the classroom. 

"Roger come up here now!" Roger gulped, taking little steps up towards Mr. Driscoll. "It's funny. It's really funny how you think class is a joke? That all these students don't deserve to learn in peace!"

"But-"

"Hush up!" Grabbing a thick wooden paddle, Roger's eyes widened. "Turn around." Mr. Driscoll's voice venomed with hatered. Grabbing Roger's arm and snatching him around, Jack barged through the door- without thinking and yanked up Mr. Driscoll's arm- dragging him out of the classroom.

He practically slammed the old man against the walls of the corridor. "How dare you!" Jack hissed. "How dare you even lay a fingernail on my son like that!"

Mr. Driscoll straightend his suitjacket. "I didn't paddle him for your information- I was about to and he deserved it!" Jack came closer to the teacher's face. "I don't care what he did or didn't do. I saw you. I'll be the one to decide how and whether my child gets punished or not!"

"I am fully qualified to do my job, sir!" "To hell with your job- you ever touch my son again, it'll be the last time, you ever touch him... is that clear?"

Mr. Driscoll squinted his eyes. "Do I know you?" Jack didn't respond. His gruff breaths puffed out like steam out of the nostrils of a dragon. "That man.... you were in the supermarket- defending that colored boy-"

"He was a man. A grown man." Jack hissed. "How dare you." His voice trailed a little. "And yes! It's me! And that's my son."

Mr. Driscoll scoffed. "No wonder. The boy never knws when to keep his mouth shut- I'd pop him if I could." Even the burning glare from Mr. Driscoll, didn't save him from being lifted by the fringed of his collar.

"You're lucky I don't break your jaw into a million pieces! If you ever take that paddle out again- then you can shove it up your ass, because that's the first place I'm gonna come looking for it!" Dropping Mr. Driscoll back to earth, feet pinging so hard against the ground, that an ache begin to radiate. Jack's deadly glare riveted the man, before he whizzed past and into the classroom.

"Roger," Jack took Roger's hand and led him back outside. "How about you and me take the day off? Just the two of us?" A bright smile fell over Roger. "Oh boy! You mean it?!" Jack bent down and hugged Roger tightly. "Of course! I thought you could use some fun after that awful day you had." Jack cooed. Kissing the side of his temple, Jack took Roger's hand- both skipping down the hall with peps in their step. 

For Mr. Driscoll, this would surely be a day that would go down in history for him. He counted that as walked back into the classroom, wobbly and red faced.

The same way he left Roger yesterday, but with more vigour. Not able to look the class in the eye. He picked the paddle from the ground and set it on his desk.

"Class dismissed." He said shakily. As the classroom emptied out, Mr. Driscoll sat his desk and started his resignation letter. Somehow, he believed Jack. And he didn't want to take that risk.

[tryingtofindava]

OMG , OMG, Are you an expert in creepypasta, I want to give you my request If you don't mind ... May i've a request for Jeff the killer,ticcy toby , Laughing Jack ( if you write for him ) and eyeless Jack please?!

With sweet fem s/o who don't know they are serial killers and only give them affection (like kisses every day) NSFW

Preatty please, love you baby

── 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 & 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭! 𝐒/𝐎

: ̗̀➛Back to Source

INCLUDES: Jeff the Killer, Ticci Toby, and Eyeless Jack.

srry pookie bear not touching the nsfw today :c might come back to this idea later with just NSFW tho >:)

╰┈➤ 𝐉𝐞𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

You definitely caught his eyes when he first saw you, immediately taking in your sweet bubbly aura. (You were definitely on his bucket list of victims after he stalked you for a bit)

But one day, he got a little too cocky and you caught him. And to his surprise you didn’t seem to mind at all when you found this questionable looking stranger stalking around outside your bedroom window.

You’re guys difference in aesthetic in personality is what made you guys hit it off. YOU GUYS ARE THE DEFINITION OF SUNSHINE X MOON.

He thinks you’re too sweet to actually be sweet tbh, but you never fail to prove him wrong.

He’s cocky and arrogant, and the god complex on this man is UNBELIEVABLE… The only reason you’re alive in his head is because he was gracious enough to let you continue with your life. Not that he’d tell you that ofc!!

“Do you think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course, you’re so handsome!!”

He likes that you agree he’s beautiful for sure. (He fishes for compliments all the time, anything to stroke his ego.)

He’s possessive, and borderline obsessive. You’re his. And that’s that.

He takes you where he wants, when he wants. The woods? Yep. The shitty convenience store toilets? Double yep yep. Anywhere you guys could get caught in general? YUP.

Double life points because you don’t even know he’s a literal serial killer, like, even though all the signs and red flags are there.

When you guys started to date, he did soften up a bit, not as cruel and mean. But only a little bit. He LIVES for the surprise kisses.

Typa guy who’d ask ‘where’s my hug at?’

╰┈➤𝐓𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐲

This boy THRIVES off how sweet you are, it all works in his favour really. Your house is like his hide out spot, away from his… ‘work’ and honestly just everything.

You’re his safe space. His home.

He does think you’re a bitty dull though, and he often wonders how long his ‘I’m a hunter’ excuse will work.

He’d try his very hardest to keep you a secret from the others, but his Tourette’s to make him tic and stutter out your name and nicknames. Which definitely raises some questions on who this ‘Y/n’ and ‘Schatz’ is.

“A-a-and then he- Y/n- fuh-fuck…”

Please, please, please help him through his episodes and tic attacks. He’ll cherish you forever and ever. (He already did but it’s set in stone now.)

He likes that you’re nice to him, he feels so super duper special that he’s getting love and affection, him! Of all ppl!! (poor boy just needs some loving yall)

He’s ECSTATIC when you guys start to date, he’s not very experienced since he’s only dated Clockwork (my beloved) BUT HE’S A FAST LEARNER AND PICKS UP ON EVERYTHING QUICKLY!! ^^

He was so super shocked when you started giving him little kisses here and there, and it soon becomes a game of who can get the most surprise kisses in a day. (He’s proper pouncing on you to get to ur neck)

╰┈➤ 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤

When you guys first met, it was around 9pm. It was dark outside, the street lamps Turing on one by one. We’re carrying home some grocery bags, and when you bumped into a tall, dark and mysterious man with an eerie mask… you immediately compliment his cosplay.

“Ohhh, cool cosplay!!”

“What…?”

Okiii, so anyways you guys are dating now<3

He’s a sneaky one for sure, out of him, Toby and Jeff, he’s the best at keeping what he does a secret. Not that’d you’d notice either way but… yh.

He’s a possessive bastard like Jeff though, he worries about how sweet you are to everyone, he’d hate if someone were to upset you or even worse, hurt you… (And if they do he’d take care of them for you)

He likes that you don’t question his grey skin, empty eye sockets, the sharp teeth, 3 tongues, and ESPECIALLY the tar dripping from where his eyes should be. Less work for him to make up excuses.

But, that doesn’t stop you from questioning his eating habits…

Always questioning him and lecturing him of he shouldn’t feast on raw ‘animals’. Yeah… you bet your ass he’s not telling you about the cannibal or demon thing. And it’s gonna stay like that.

You’re too sweet and pure to him to be revealed to the horrors that is himself. How he longs to be in a universe with you were he can be normal so you guys could live the white picket fence life style.

But, he doesn’t get that. But at least he gets you all to himself, demon or not.

He’s more stunned by your surprise kisses against his mask, but he does find it adorable, how couldn’t he? The way you lean up on your tippy toes with puckered lips. He can’t help himself but slide his mask up and take you right then and there.

wowee was this long, can u tell I had to get this out of my system:3

[dirtflunk]

drawpile pastas yayyyy

[cheydlerarts]

[sparkyzoid]

i've been busy with finals but here are some silly sketches Hooray!!!