August 24th- Book One in the May 3rd series

Chapter 10- Damien the Duck is a Dumb-ass

Warnings ⚠: Child Abuse, Rape, Violence, Religion, Drug Use, Alcohol Use, Use of Slurs, Homophobia, Bullying, Mention of Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Actions, Gun Use

Josiah's P.O.V.
-Friday September 3rd-

"I'll walk." I say instantly when Damien leads me to his motorcycle.
I stare blankly at him as he gets onto it.
"You're going to walk all the way to Wal-Mart? Then back to my house? That's stupid."
"I've been walking to and from school for like, eight years. You're stupid."
"I'm not stupid, just get on."
I don't want to. I know what will happen when I get on.
I'll wrap my arms around him and he will freeze up and do nothing until I yell at him.
"Don't you have a car or anything?"
"Nope. Just this. Let's go, you always take forever on everything."
"You're the one who takes ten minutes to go after I get on."
"Bullshit."
We'll see.
I pull myself up onto the bike behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face against his back for emphasis.
As expected, he tenses and freezes.
"Bullshit." I mock his tone.
"I don't like being touched." He mutters unconvincingly.
"Seems more like you like it too much." I tease.
I take my head off of him and just stare at his jacket in front of me. Leather is an awful material.
"Don't say that." He warns seriously.
It's very funny how he says things. Then he doesn't do anything.
It's so stupid. There's something wrong with him.
"Are you going to go?" I go on.
He says nothing. He just starts the motorcycle.
I genuinely don't like this. I think he thinks I'm joking.
Maybe just keep bugging him about it and he'll buy a car with his parents' money.

...

He drives to Wal-Mart.
I wonder if he's going to buy more chicken nuggets. That would be cool.
I wish I could just take them home with me. I'm sure Damien would let me, but I'm also pretty sure that my aunt would be pissed.
...Maybe I should try anyway. She's always mad. It doesn't matter.
I follow behind him as we go into the store. I try to keep more of a distance between us, but it's not easy.
There's no reason to make him upset again. Especially not about that.
"Damien," I begin, unsure if I have his attention or not, "Do you think we could buy a bit of food and stuff for me to take home today? If not, then it's okay. It's really not a problem."
"Of course. I really should be paying you for tutoring anyway, but you won't let me."
"I don't let you do half the shit you do, but okay. Thanks."
I run a hand through my hair and pull just a bit. I can't do nuggets because those would be kept in the fridge. It would be hard to get them there and access them once they're there. And my aunt isn't blind like I am. She would notice.
I wonder if there's something easy to make that doesn't need microwaved or refrigerated.
Something I could hide.
"What's something that, like, doesn't need to be cooked or put in the fridge or anything? Something easy...?"
"You said you like Pop-Tarts?"
I guess those are pretty easy. I could just keep them in my backpack.
"Yeah. If we could get some of those."
I assume he nods or something, because he doesn't respond verbally.
He starts talking to the glasses person. He's awfully nice.
Considering he is definitely in the top three most threatening people at school, that is still strange to me.
I guess he knows how to pretend to get what he wants.
My dad was the same way.
After a minute of talking to that lady, Damien turns to me and takes the glasses off of my face, putting the new ones on instead.
I guess he got sick of holding things out to me.
...It's very funny.
"Wow. It's a miracle. I can see." I say.
The glasses barely changed anything. I wonder if they work for other people, or if this is the situation everyone is in.
"Oh my god! That lady must be Jesus!"
"She's a girl. Jesus is a boy." I point out.
"Okay. She's God, and if Ariana Grande has a say in anything, which she does, God's a woman, so..."
"I don't think so. Since God was made up, you can view it however you want to." Since it doesn't matter.
"You think God's made up?" He questions.
Oh.
"Yes. Just like all the thousands of other ones. Zeus, Allah, Odin... There's a bunch of other mythology and religion. Not all of them can be real. Probably none of them are."
"So you don't believe in like...anything? Must be nice."
"I could just as easily make up my own religion. With gods of chicken nuggets, and Pop-Tarts. Then I can believe in something." I suggest.
"I'd join that religion."
"Thanks. It's actually a cult. But aren't they all?"
"As far as I can tell, essentially, yeah."
"I figured. I did a little religion class that the school offered last year. It was weird. People fall for a lot of shit."
"People like to believe they're going to get rewarded if they're good, and go somewhere happy. People will do anything to keep other people in line. Religion is just more rules."
"Rewarded if they're good. I thought that's what Santa Claus was for."
"Santa is MY religion."
"It can't be, if you're in the cult. And you're a bad boy. Does Santa even bring you stuff?"
"Every year. I'm sleeping with Mrs. Claus, I have an in."
"You're an awful human being." I inform him.
"I know." He laughs.
"Then change it."
"Why?"
"Because you'll be punished one day. If you stop breaking the rules, then you'll be okay."
"I thought you didn't believe in anything." He says, stopping. "What kind of Pop-Tarts do you want?"
"I don't. Why would you think I do? And get strawberry...please."
He reaches out and gets a box. "Because, you said I'd be punished ...Like hell, right?"
"Maybe. There's no way to know for sure. But I meant, like, your parents. Or the police, or the school, or...just someone who's pissed because you're an asshole."
"Good."
"Good? Why?"
"I don't care. Whatever happens, happens at this point."
"That's...stupid. Aren't you afraid of anything?"
"Snakes."
"Well, you're an idiot. Snakes are awesome. I want one."
"Have fun dying, then."
"Snakes don't usually eat or kill people. Just rodents and stuff."
"That's why you're not safe! Cause you're a rodent." He laughs.
"Thanks." I reply.
"No problem. Wanna go study? Or do you need more food?"
"Can we get something to drink...? Water?"
"We have water at my house, unless you wanted some for yours?"
"Yeah. Or, juice. Juice would be cool."
"Juice it is then."
"Thank you. Really." I tell him softly.
"It makes me feel less like I'm forcing you. So I really don't care...But you're welcome."
"You're not forcing me to do anything. I like hanging out with you... And the studying is nice. It's all just really nice..." I murmur, "Except, the motorcycle, of course. That's the only thing I would change."
"Right. Well, I don't exist to make you happy, so you're going to have to get used to it, because I'm not waiting on you to walk everywhere."
"No one said you had to wait for me. Again, I'm not the only smart kid in school. In fact, I'm pretty sure there's actual tutors." I say.
I don't know why, but he gets upset when I bring this up. Just slightly upset.
Then he makes up some lame excuse.
"I had to pick someone. You seemed as good as anyone else."
Bullshit.
He's really persistent about it being me. Even when I make him mad.
This is just weird. I don't know what he is doing this for, but it isn't just to piss off Logan or to study.
I wonder if he is tricking me into something. I'm just waiting for him to bring me to his buddies Ethan and Hunter Lewis. So he can be like surprise, I was being nice to you so you would trust me.
I don't know if I would say I'm particularly afraid of it. But it's on my mind more and more lately.
"No. You're probably plotting something. You realize you don't have to trick me or anything, right? I don't need to be manipulated into going along with things like you do." I tell him.
If he's planning anything, he can just do it. Get it over with. Stop pretending.
"I'm not being manipulated by anything. And if I was planning something, I would have done it already. I'm not into plans. They're too hard. I'd rather just hit people."
"Sure you do. Considering that you haven't."
He pauses a moment. "I'm not going to hit you. I need you." He says, quickly going to explain himself afterwards, "I mean, I need you to study with...I don't need you."
"You're surprisingly bad at lying."
"Maybe you're just bad at knowing what lying is and what telling the truth is because I'm telling the truth."
"What if I told you that I can read minds?"
"I'd be fucked." He mummers. "You can't read minds."
"Really? You think so? What if I told you...I know exactly why you're doing this?"
"Good luck, 'cause most of the time, I don't know why I'm doing this."
Now he's playing dumb. Okay. I can work with that.
"Don't act stupid."
"Don't act like you can read minds, then. That's acting stupid."
"You're doing this because you need a friend. Yeah." I claim.
"I have friends. I sure as hell don't need any more. And I don't need you, either."
"You don't have friends. We've been over this. You have Ethan and Hunter Lewis."
"Yeah. They're my friends. Why the fuck would I need you as a friend?"
"We've been over this, too. It's because they're not real friends." I remind him.
I guess he still believes that they're right for him, or whatever. That's fine. He can think that if he wants.
I'm still going to keep telling him otherwise. But, that doesn't mean that I care.
"How would you know? You don't have friends. You eat lunch alone and I've never even seen you talk to anyone but Logan, and that's when he was beating the shit out of you!"
"That's because I'm a very quiet person. I don't talk a lot, y'know."
I call bullshit. On myself.
I don't talk a lot because it's a rule at home. Anywhere else, and I'm mostly free to say whatever I want, whenever I want. As long as my aunt doesn't find out.
"You talk more than I do! And that's not true. No one wants to be friends with you!"
"Yeah, you're right. People don't like me because I test their limits a lot, and most people aren't okay with that." I confirm.
"Like right now." He realizes.
"Pretty much. But you don't seem to care like other people do."
"I don't care. You're right. Because I'm not your friend. We won't ever be friends. This is strictly a business relationship. You help me get good grades, and I'll buy you shit. That's it."
I never said otherwise. I don't know why he's so obsessed with the idea of us being friends.
"It's okay. I don't need friends. I don't crave validation from peers."
Also bullshit. I'm on a roll today.
I guess I don't particularly need validation from peers, but I still need validation. From him. For some reason.
"I don't think that's true. Everyone needs friends."
"Why would you think that? Just because you need friends, you assume everyone does?"
"It's human nature."
"No. I don't like people. I would rather live in a world where no one else exists, in fact."
"I get lonely with people around. I can't imagine a world with no one else."
"I like imagining it. There would be no rules. No one would be around to do anything to me. I could just turn on a TV as loud as I want, and eat, and be left alone..."
It all sounds so perfect.
Why have people around when they're all going to hurt you anyway?
"Until you ran out of food. And the TV wouldn't work, because no one would make shows, or movies. And the electricity would go out after a while." He points out.
I guess he's right. I knew it was too good to ever work out in real life.
"There goes my plans to kill everyone else. You know, I think what I really want is to be a dictator."
"Smart. Then you could just force everyone to do what you want."
"I would make you cook chicken nuggets for me." I say.
That's pretty much it. I just don't want rules and punishments.
"That's it? You literally could do anything to anyone and you would make me do something I'm already going to do when we get back?"
"No, not just like...in a normal way. Nonstop. 24-7. You would just constantly be cooking chicken nuggets. Besides, what else would I want?"
"You could do ANYTHING."
"I don't need anything else." I shrug.
He grabs some stuff off the shelves. Why is he carrying everything? Why didn't he get a shopping cart or something?
"Impressed. I would do all sorts of illegal shit." He says.
"I'm sure you already do," I mutter, "But what would you do if no one existed? You said you would be lonely. Like, if everyone just dropped dead right now, aside from you... What would be the first thing you would do?"
"Kill myself." He says without missing a beat.
"What? Why?!" I stop walking and stare at him.
He turns to face me, probably confused about why I stopped.
"'Cause. I told you. I wouldn't want to be alone."
"I don't-... You really wouldn't be able to handle being alone like that? It would be enough to push you to...do...that?"
"It wouldn't take that much pushing..." He mumbles, then laughs in an attempt to lighten the situation a bit, "Why not? If I'm the only person, then I would end up dying and ending the human race anyway. It wouldn't matter if I killed myself, because everyone else would be dead anyway."
He lives without rules anyway. It makes sense.
"Okay. What if... It was just you and me? And, like, a farmer. So we could have food. And a female so you can continue the human race. What then?" I make up a different scenario.
Hell, maybe the farmer is a female. Then there's just three people on the planet.
"Is she hot?" He asks.
What the hell?
"No. She resembles a chicken."
"Oh. Then I guess I would kill myself."
"Fine!" I give in, "She's really hot. Like...um...a really attractive girl. Like Taylor Swift. She's hot like Taylor Swift, and the farmer resembles a chicken." I change it up again.
"...Is it Taylor Swift?"
It wasn't going to be. But it makes things better for me and for him, so...
"Yeah. Who needs girls who aren't Taylor Swift?"
"Well, in that case, I would fuck her, then kill myself."
I hate him. A lot.
"That would end the human race! That's why she's there; So that doesn't happen!" I point out.
"You could do it."
Hell no.
"I can't. You forgot about the not into girls thing."
And the fact that I would rather die than ever have sex again.
"Well. You would have to. 'Cause I would be dead. It would just be you, Taylor Swift, and a farmer that looks like a chicken. You would just have to have sex with them, to repopulate."
"I...can't."
That's one thing we can't get into. Ever.
"Okay. New plan. I have sex with Taylor Swift and the chicken lady until one of them has a boy. Then they can handle it from there, and I kill myself. And you can just eat nuggets. I'm sure Taylor Swift would make you nuggets."
"...Sure. You think she would do that? I don't know... I feel like you're better at making nuggets."
I don't want him to die.
"She would handle it, I'm sure."
"I think Taylor Swift should stick to singing. And the farmer could handle the animals and stuff. But you still have to make nuggets." I say.
I start walking again, being sure to keep what I believe is a fair distance away from him.
"You have to live...to make me nuggets." I add.
"No can do, Walker."
"Please? No one else will."
I think I forgot for a second that we aren't talking about this world. We're talking about a world where it's just us, Taylor Swift, and a farmer.
I just...don't expect either of those two to do anything. Not for me, at least.
"Whatever, dude. Let's get out of here."
I shut myself up and just follow after him.
When we get back to his motorcycle, I force myself to speak again.
"...Thanks for the food...and all the rides home from school. I'm glad you don't just give me money."
"Giving you money would be easier." He says.
"I know. But then we would have to determine a price, and stuff... I like this a lot more." I tell him, watching him get on.
I do the same, without making him have to repeatedly tell me to.
"Right. It's...something."
"It's really cool." I say.
I wrap my arms around him, very loosely. Without the intention to bother him with it this time.
"You're going to fall off if you don't hold on tight enough."
I tighten my grip just a bit. "I'm trying to not make you upset."
"I would be more upset if I had to clean your brain off the road."
"Yeah, thanks for that image..." I mutter.
Now I get to think about that again. About getting smashed and ripped apart...
Fun.
I wince. I wish he wouldn't say things like that. The stuff I don't want him to say... That would be nice."
"Are you okay?" He asks.
"...What? That's my line. I'm supposed to say that when we get on the motorcycle."
I have to say that every damn time we get on this fucking bike...
"You just seemed weird. Whatever."
"I'm okay," I sigh, "Let's go home."
For nuggets, and for studying... Two amazing things.
"Home?" He repeats, sounding disturbed.
"H-Home... Yeah. Let me pretend."
Living there would be...
Ah.
"Okay. Home." He shrugs.
Home.
His house is like mine, but with wide open areas, and food, and...being able to talk... Specifically, being able to talk to someone who doesn't attack.
He starts up the motorcycle without another word and we start heading back to his house.