The Singer's An Asshole // 2Doc

Chapter Two

2D POV

I woke up with another headache.

This wasn't unusual for me, ever since the hit-and-runs that a couple dents in my skull and caused my eyes to go black, I've had migraines most days, especially in the early mornings. They could last anywhere from a few minutes to most of the day, but the short ones hurt the most.

I look out the window and see that it's still dark outside, so I silently reach over and grab my phone to check the time, it's 4:51 AM. I groan quietly, loud enough to express discomfort but quiet enough that it won't piss off my asshole of a father, or worse, wake Sprinkles, who might start barking if I interrupt his sleep. That would really land me in some shit with the old man.

I try to go back to sleep, curling into a ball under my thin blanket for a solid 10 minutes, but I can't. My head still hurts too much, a sharp throbbing pain that doesn't seem to be going away any time soon.

I slowly open the top drawer of the old bedside table I got at a garage sale, and pull out my medication, the white bottle of pills assigned after the first accident, and swallow two of the small blue pills, dry. Closing the bottle, I shove it back into the drawer and shut that too.

I pull out my phone, and spend a while online, going wherever the links wanted to take me.

I had been redirected to different porn sites no less than six times in those short 40 minutes, and I'd had to open new tabs each time it happened. I was nearly tempted to stay and watch for a while. But in my eyes, porn was just for those losers who can't get any in the real world. I was too good for it.

Once it rolled around to about 5:30AM, when I knew my dad would be getting up for work, I plugged my phone back in and pretended to sleep under the old blanket; Until eventually I heard  footsteps and my door creaked open. Though the headache had dulled to a smaller but noticable ache, from the medicine, loud noises would still cause some pain, which is why I knew I'd have to get dressed fast.

My father's gruff voice finally boomed, slurring out the direction to, "Get up, you stupid shit!"

I did, pretty quickly actually, I really didn't want to be yelled at again, not with this headache. It was probably going to last all day though, which is why, when he left my room, I stretched and shoved a few of those headache pills into my pocket. On the way to my bedroom's door, I bent down to pat Sprinkles on the head, and the large, black dog just huffed quietly in acknowledgement.

I ran to the bathroom where I took a minute to shower, singing quietly the whole time. When I was done rinsing myself off, I thoroughly dried off, then dressed myself with unreasonable speediness. I wore black jeans with a tight, long-sleeved grey T-shirt, and shiny black boots with a silver cross necklace around my neck.

When I'd finished getting dressed, I ran into the kitchen to grab a coke from the fridge, then back to my room to grab my bag. Then I attached the wheels to my boots, so I could just skate there. Once I have all of my shit together, I start moving towards this month's school. I'm excited, I finally get to go to the same place as Russel and Noodle again.

I usually don't mind using my drift plates on my boots to get around, but a car would be nice in the winter when the ground is icy and skating becomes dangerous. I don't even ask for a ride on those days, my dad would actually murder me if I messed up the sleek black Impala he drives to whatever shady stuff he got up to in order to pay the bills.

Notan exaggeration, I would never bless another human with my godly voice or my magnificent dong ever again if I even thought about screwing up his car.

He loves that thing more than he's ever cared about me, an angry voice in the back of my mine whispers. I know it's true, but the emotional abuse stopped hurting when I was 9, and I don't even try to convince myself that he loves me anymore.

What hasn't stopped hurting, on the other hand, are the many small cuts and large bruises from when he gets drunk and decides fighting his kid is a good idea. I've always given as good as I got, but lately I've been winning more and more of these fights, and as a result I've been getting less of these injuries, but all that's done is make him angrier.

Another consequence of this moron's alcoholism and tendency to start fights is the fact that I'm never home, and when I am it's usually just to sleep.

I never get back before midnight, since I only get attacked by him when he's awake. I usually don't even show up till around 2 or 3AM, if I do at all, so it's late enough where he won't stay up to wait for me.

What I'm doing while I'm outside of the house all day, is an entirely different thing. Some of it's fun stuff like flirting with birds (and the occasional dude), playing games on the library's computer, and skating at the park near Russel's home.

A newfound passion of mine has been practicing song covers with Russel and Noodle in their basement. We want to write our own music one day, but so far we only play covers, Noodle is still learning English and Russel and I don't have a single spark of originality or creativity between the two of us.

The other side of what I do when away from the house isn't fully legal, like getting into fights (with parties and bouncers alike) at bars and the occasional "gentlemen's club" my friends and I sneak into.

Another vice of mine is shoplifting from the local Walmart. It's not like the asshole at home is gonna buy me my clothes or snacks or anything at all, really. I'm sure spray painting in alleys and setting off big fireworks (the kind smuggled from across the pond) out in the middle of nowhere fits neatly onto my list of interests somewhere, but thats just normal stuff for a kid without parents that care.

Other parts of how I spend my average night are very pleasant, and actually most nights end that way somehow. Sometimes, when I'm at my regular bar, nursing a nice drink and avoiding fights (don't wanna get kicked out of that one for good), an attractive man or woman will catch my eye.

Other times, I'll be hanging out with friends and my phone will go off, with a message from a 'friend' that needs me to warm their bed for a while.

Occasionally, whoever I'm with that week will decide we go back to his or her place for the night, or they'll want to come to my house and I'll change their mind and we'll end up at their place, in their car, or even in a hotel sometimes.

As I'm rolling up to Generic British High-School™, I notice that the building is huge, with around 4 floors that take up an area a little larger than a city block. The building must be big enough to fit at least a few thousand kids. It's easily one of the bigger schools I've ever seen, and that's counting the two weeks I spent in that boarding school last year.

I'm finally approaching the parking lot, which seems to be gigantic in its own right, but nowhere near as big as the massive school building. The area for bicycles alone is larger than your average convenience store's lot. On it's own the lot is massive, but it's crowded enough to show that a few more parking spaces wouldn't hurt.

I set my bag down on a bench on the sidewalk, and plop down next to it. I remove the wheels from my boots and shove the attachment into my backpack. After I make that adjustment, I get up and walk quickly towards the entrance.

Once I shuffle into the building, I run off towards the sign proclaiming the school's office is nearby. I grab my schedule, and see that I have math first.

Fuck.

AN: This has been in my drafts for like a year and I forgot about it, or else I would've published it ages ago.

I'd like to say that this story isn't abandoned, I'm just kinda lazy.