#unhealthy family attitudes out the whazoo

[ask-the-desrosiers]

Ian, I have a few questions. Do you think you would still be attracted to your brother if you didn't have such a fucked up childhood? If you could go to therapy without ANY risk of being legally incriminated, would you? And, if not, would you go if your children asked you to?

You find Ian on the couch of his living room, a bottle of expensive rum sitting on the table, droplets of the hard liquor clinging to the bottom of his emptied out shot glass. Even with the flush to his cheeks, a red handprint stands out over his cheek.

The only reason why he's letting himself do this at home is because the kids are out for the day with Terry while Luna is, once again, at work.

Meeting his mother always puts Ian in a bad mood. That's what the alcohol is for.

He blinks up at you with cornflower blue eyes, then grins. Whoever slapped him split the corner of his lips in the process.

"I...I have no clue," he admits, then laughs. "Probably! 've got something rotting in me, 'fter all! All ffffucked up. Bad egg. Bad seed. Was never gonna turn out right. M'not that slutty lil substitute with those big starry eyes who wraps you 'round your finger f'you talk t'him for fiiiive proper minutes. Doesn' help how pretty the lil slut is. Practically asking for it."

Your second question has him snorting in derision. "I'm a Desrosiers. We don' need no therapy. M'not a pussy." He snorted, tipping the glass back past his half-swollen lips to let gleaming droplets dribble onto his tongue.

"Not even the lil slut'd go, pretty lil good boy that he is. An' why would I go just because the kids tell me to? They're kids, I'm the adult. I make allll my own decisions." He scowled. "The bitch couldn't stop me. Why would they?"