Wasted.

I always thought I was a little gay, like.. enough to hook up with a guy while I was wasted and horny. But the first day I walked into that History class, and saw him sitting there, looking out the window, thinking about god knows what.

I couldn't help myself, he was exactly what I had ever been looking for, he was exactly like me, beat, bruised and fucked up.

I walked out of the Perciado house, after receiving a text from my mother to get my ass home. Although I didn't want to, I knew it would only be worse if I waited longer. I quickly texted back that I was on my way, my feet practically running beneath me, scared of what was waiting back at home.

I entered the ghetto side of town, walking with my head down, making no eye contact with the people around me, knowing it would just get me in trouble.

After a while, I walked in the front door to my so called "home". My mother had been sitting in her old tattered chair in the lack of a living room, a beer in one hand, and a blunt in the other.

"You have someone waiting for you upstairs, faggot." I nodded my head, feeling the tears already begin to burn.

Let me explain..

My mother wasn't exactly the prettiest on the planet, or the most... socially acceptable. She hadn't had a job since my dad left all those years ago. It first started out with her just, selling herself, bringing a different "daddy" home every night. Soon enough, I was about ten, and being the town we were in, I had learned what she was really doing.

Being the dumbass I am, I called her out on it.

That was the first night my mother had smacked me. I remember it clear as day.

"Mom? I heard some kids at school say that my mom gets payed to do stuff with the guys that come over, is it true?"

That was also the first night she used me as her little toy. Her old parts couldn't satisfy anymore, so she pawned them off on the ten year old boy. This had been going on for awhile, and frankly I was used to it, no I didn't like it. I couldn't say much without getting beat to a pulp.

I walked up the stairs to my small room. There was a quite big guy sitting on the edge of my bed. He had black hair and tons of tattoos. I scanned him quickly, my eyes catching the "BANG BANG" tattooed across his knuckles.

It was fucking Radke. I felt the tears come back, letting out a quiet gasp. He turned to me, confirming that this wasn't just a bad dream. He laughed hysterically.

"Jordan, why the hell is your tight ass in San Diego, alcoholic mother down there couldn't afford your old house?" He stood from the bed. I tried to run for the door, but he caught it before me, slamming it shut.

"Please Ronnie, just don't hurt me... you've fucked me up enough." The words came out weak, and strangled. He just laughed again. "You were always a little bitch, weren't you?" He grabbed my throat, throwing me against the wall. "You know what? You're my fuck buddy now. My first rule? Speak to that fucking faggot Tony Perry again, and I will fucking kill both of you." I shook my head, I couldn't leave Tony, I couldn't.

"I can't Ronnie, he's the only one I have." The words came out thin, as my air was short with his hand across my throat.

"Want to fucking bet? You have me now, Jordan, I'll be here." He snarled, shoving his tongue down my throat. I thrashed about, trying to get away from his awful self. "The more you struggle, the harder you get it." I whimpered as he threw me on the bed.

And for the second time in my lifetime, with more to come, Ronnie Radke had taken advantage of me without a single regret.