Won't Turn Out Right

The door bell rang on a beautiful California summer day. My parents had just left to go take care of my grandma and grandpa in a couple of towns over. They had left about an hour or two ago to help them move into my aunt’s house, and they just refused to take me with them.

“I know you might get a little lonely-”

“I’ll be fine.”

“-There are snacks in the fridge, and you know where the emergency money is, and you have our numbers-”

“Mom, I’m twenty-two years old-”

“It’s just that your aunt doesn’t have any room for you-”

Ouch.

“-And your grandparents-”

Pity, really.

I opened the door with hopes of a friend to talk to or a package to open.

Silly me.

He was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, a black hat to cover spiky black hair, and big dark sunglasses. I glanced around him and saw a big, rusty, gray van parked in the drive way. Well…

“Can I help?” I asked with raised eyebrows. He locked eyes with me, and his face grew hard. He suddenly reached for something in his pocket, and I froze and held my breath expecting the worst, but relaxed when he whipped out his Blackberry. He lifted up his glasses and squinted at the screen in the glaring light.

“Yeah,” He never looked up. “I’m here to mow the lawn.” He rolled his eyes, stuffed his phone back in his pocket, replacing his oversized glasses back over his brown eyes.

How can a lawn mower afford a Blackberry?

It was silent as I blinked once or twice, and smiled quickly. “Okay, well, if you need anything just let me know.” I moved to close the door.

“Oh, there is one thing!” I gave him a weary smile.

“Yes?” He rubbed his throat awkwardly.

“Do you think I could get a glass of water? I’m rather parched. It’s pretty hot out.” I nodded cautiously.

“Sure, just wait out here-”

“Oh! Then can I use your bathroom? Just really quick?”

“Uh…” I looked him with uncertainty and brushed some of my dark red hair out of my face. "I don't really-" He took off his sunglasses, and stared at me.

“You don't have to be nervous. I’m not that threatening, am I?” I glanced at his tattoos and piercings and stayed silent trying to keep eye contact.

"Actually..." He frowned.

"Look, kid, I'm not gonna hurt you." He said as he tucked his hands into his pockets. "Didn't your mommy ever teach you not to be rude to strangers?"

"Actually, she taught me not to talk to strangers." We held eye contact, and finally I had to look away.

“Down the hall and to the right.” His eyes glinted in the sun.

“Thanks, kid.” He stepped into the air conditioning, and tucked his sunglasses into his pocket. “What’s your name?” I watched him intently, waiting for him to go away from me.

“My name’s Charity. That hall.” I said quickly pointing so I can get to the kitchen. I turned around, but he tried to stop me again.

“You don’t even want to know my name?” I looked at him again, and his eyes had lost any sort of innocence now. I opened and closed my mouth, and swallowed.

This doesn't feel right.

His eyes squinted harshly. “Hm, how about my glass of water?” I cleared my throat.

I give up. How ‘bout your glass of water?

“Kitchen, uh, this way.” He sat down on a stool and watched my every move.

Not comfortable. Not comfortable.

"So where are your parents?" I cleared my throat.

"Upstairs with my four brothers who know how to kickbox." I rushed out nervously, making him chuckle. I set the glass in front of him, and he downed it quickly. He stood up and held out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Charity. Thanks for the water.” I cautiously shook it, nodding and smiling weakly. “I'm Synyster.” I dropped my smile and scrunched my eyebrows in confusion.

“What-” His eyes grew harsh and cold, and his grip tightened. His left hand balled up into a fist, and he struck me hard across the face. I cried out in horror, shock, and pain. I curled up on the floor and cradled the cheek bone and eye in my hands. “P-please, wait.” He kicked me again even harder in the stomach once, twice, three times, and I started begging. He laughed harshly.

“Fucking charity case.” He kicked my face, and I felt suddenly numb.

Disclaimer: I do not own Avenged Sevenfold, but I do own my original character(s) and the plot, and it would make me sad to find that someone has stolen any concept of mine. The events following have not happened and never will happen. A7X are not robbers or rapists and they are not complete jackasses... as far as we know. Plus, before you start reading, please swear to Johnny Christ that you will not plagiarize. Also, I mean no disrespect to Jimmy in this story. I had and still have so much respect for him, and I don't mean to offend anyone. Rest in peace, Jimbo, you are missed. foREVer

Title Credit: "And All Things Will End" by Avenged Sevenfold

Rated R for strong language and mild sexual content.

Some rape, some violence, some profanities. Nothing you can't handle, though, I'm sure.

I like Mibba because you have disclaimers. Back home in Quizilland we don’t have those.

By the way...
"I hope they realize that music is music, and that music is not a scene, not a style. Music is a beautiful fucking thing to listen to. It is not a thing to fucking preach to others about, it's not a fucking cause. It is what it is—and that's a beautiful art form."
Synyster Gates is a fucking beautiful man.