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With Hard Work

This chapter contains scenes of self hate, Quinn being a sad boy, strict households, homophobia, and swearing. Viewer discretion is advised.

Quinn POV

   I had found Circe. She had gone out and didn't come back, so I went and looked for her. I'd found her in some bushes with her shirt and pants torn and muddy with oil, and now I was busting my ass to try and fix her, and I didn't know how this had happened. I wondered if drugs work on rob- AI. She had said to call her an AI, as she was smarter than just a robot. "C'mon!" I mumbled under my breath. I walked over to my desk and sat down harshly. I rubbed my nose with my index finger and thumb, sighing as I said, "What have you gotten yourself into," I shifted to rest my forearms on my knees. "Honestly, Circe, really?" I sat back up and walked back over, looking over her tangled hair and her matte skin. I sighed and stalked out of the room. I stopped in the kitchen, then the bathroom, looking over my features. I took note of my oil-ridden face and hands, my pale face, and my tangled hair. I was extremely tired. I guess forty-eight hours with minimal food and water, bathroom breaks every fifteen hours, and no sleep whatsoever would do this to you. I groaned and stretched lightly. I chugged my small glass of water, quickly ate the apple I had grabbed, and then walked back into the room I was in. Back to Circe.

      Circe, she didn't deserve me. She didn't deserve to be stuck in a house with a coffee-addicted workaholic. Not a pessimistic, clingy, dull person like me. Not a person like me, no, she deserved to be fixed by some rich guy who wasn't a workaholic. Not a pessimist nor a clingy person, not a dull, lifeless, and thoughtless person such as I. She deserved someone handsome, someone who had the money to treat her right. I know it sounds like I'm self-hating, but I'm not, not that I think.

     I came back to the hell we called Earth and felt a warm liquid coming in small streams down my face. I felt up and realized that I was crying. I was crying? Why in the hell would I be crying? I'm not weak, and crying is! Right? I was always told as such by my Aunt and Uncle Woodward. My mom and dad were having some... issues, and Enn Woodward, my uncle, and Amy Woodward, my aunt, took me in. They told me not to cry, play with dolls, and not, under any circumstances, play dress up. I was always curious as to why this was a rule. They would always say that a man kissing another was bad, and so was a woman kissing a woman, as was someone not wanting to be a boy anymore, a girl anymore, or not wanting to be either. They were always homophobic asshats with no sense of justice. I cleared my throat, wiped my tears, and went back to fixing Circe.

     "Finally!" I sighed. I did it, and Circe should be awake any moment now. I decided I would have some fun with this. I bolted to the kitchen, grabbed a bag of flour and a plastic spoon, and sprinted back just in time for her to wake up. She groaned, and I flung the flour at her. She yelped, and the next thing I knew, we were engaged in a very intense battle of flour. After an intense battle, she reigned victorious after pouring the flour over my head, causing what looked to be a mushroom cloud of flour to appear above my head.

     After we both washed up, we settled on the couch before Circe had an amazing idea, "Why don't we build a pillow fort?" And so we did. We built an amazing fort to watch our show inside of with popcorn, Skottles, Sniccers, Prungles, and Lids. We laughed until we almost passed out and didn't stop until daylight. We had a blast! An amazing end to an otherwise clusterfuck of a day.

(A/N)
Yes the Skottles, Sniccers, Prungles and Lids are off-brand names, even if I don't need them. Also, this is part of the main storyline. Also, a warning, the chapters are going to slowly start improving in quality. The chapters also shall begin to be more detailed and descriptive. Also with more gore and sensitive topics.

This is the calm before the storm, but they don't need to know that! Not yet at least.