Future Stories?

Out of Hell - (NOT OFFICIAL TITLE)

Note: I wanted this story to give more depth to characters and give them a much more specific background. This story is going to be more personalized than probably any other - though the facts are fiction. This fic might end up way more angsty than my other stories. Let me know if I should make this into a full-fledged story please and thoughts are appreciated!

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I grab my art project that I've been working on for the past week and sit at my usual table, where I had originally hoped to sit alone, but it hadn't gone as planned since the first day of school. It was the ideal spot, directly in the back corner, where I assumed no one would bother me. I was more wrong than I'd like to admit, as not just anyone sat near or next to me - it happened to be the person I hate most.

It takes a lot for me to even dislike anyone, I'm the type of person who has more patience than I'd like to admit. If I get angry, the person I'm pissed at would know that they definitely fucked up. He apparently didn't get the memo, though it should be more than obvious, considering what he did to me. He should know just how horribly he screwed me over, as he was the reason my life had taken a downfall.

He's not your average teenager with a normal, happy life. His dad passed away in a car accident when he was around two and his mother had been subjected to a crippling depression and drug usage ever since, eventually being forced to live in a god-awful trailer court filled with horrible people. I'm not sure if he was ever subjected to them like I was, but either way, there's no excuse for what he did to me. He's a couple years older than me, being the oldest in his grade - which was the year above mine. Even so, he knew better than to do what he did to me.

I wasn't a happy-go-lucky kid either growing up. At the beginning, my mind was consumed with thoughts of death and I was obsessed with ghosts and the supernatural, as odd as that is to have as an interest at such a young age. I wasn't entirely saddened by the thoughts going through my head, just terrified by the nightmares I suffered through every night. I still have the same problem, it's just gotten worse. I was also living in the same trashy neighborhood, as my family couldn't afford much. We lived mostly off of instant noodles and free cereal my dad got from work. It wasn't near as horrible as his early life, but after we met, he seemed determined to make my life a living hell.

I don't know why he chose me to hurt or why he even did it in the first place. My guess was he wanted to make me feel the pain he felt, as most of the time, he'd persuade me to come over to his trailer because he was feeling lonely without his dad and his mother being half out of her mind most of the time. I understood it was a difficult life and even though I knew what would happen as soon as I left the comfort of my own trailer, I would go anyways. I felt too much sympathy for him and wanted to help, even if it meant subjecting myself to endless pain and suffering.

The best way to describe our friendship was abusive and possessiveness. He hated all of my friends and would bully them to no end, never allowing me to talk or see them. If I was at a friend's trailer, he'd find out who I was with, hunt us down, and drag me back to his trailer, hurting me more than he normally would. He'd physically abuse me in many different ways, from hitting me to not letting me eat for a day or two. In the winter, he'd even go as far as making me wear shorts and a tank top and lay in the snow without anything else - including shoes. I can still remember the burning cold and numbness that followed.

Mentioning the physical abuse is the easiest way to emphasize just how horrible it truly was without getting to the worst part. He'd not only force me to sit against a bed laying on it's side with the nails sticking out and kick me into them in the middle of the night, but he'd also flip the bed back to normal and help himself to whatever piece of my body he wanted. I was his whore for five years, not fighting back the way I should've and perhaps it was all my fault because of that.

I broke away from my thoughts as I heard a table nearby get pushed right up against my own table. I looked over and saw him, Brad Delson - the person who ruined my life and forced me to do things that haunt my mind day and night.

"Hey, Chester," He smiled at me, followed by a smirk that burned into my mind as I looked down at my painting. I suddenly lost all interest in art, which was something I loved almost as much as music. I frowned, wondering if he had smiled at me just to mess with me. I always assumed he was trying to gain my trust back after I moved out of the trailer court and tried to cut all ties with him.

I watched him get up and quickly grab his painting, settling back down in his seat that was next to me, making our knees almost touch, even though he was technically at a different table. He'd usually do this, as his friend didn't seem to like me and wouldn't sit at the same table with me or something - that was something I didn't mind. I spot his friend come over and sit next to him, even though they were pretty far apart, considering Brad had slid his chair over as fair as he could.

I rose, pushing my chair further away from him. I went by the sinks to my right and picked up a clean palette and a thin brush. I was painting a person who was hunched over, being skin and bone, with an abstract fire behind it. I was surprised it was coming along nicely, considering I wasn't that great at art, no matter how much I loved it. I went to grab some paint, taking white, black, red, yellow, and blue - knowing I'd rather make my own colors than take pre-made secondary colors.

A short walk, and I was back at my table. I had my chair pushed more towards the middle of the table and sat down, sliding my canvas closer to me, so I could try and keep away from Brad. Suddenly, my chair was being pulled and I glanced to my left, seeing Brad yanking my chair closer to him. My heart raced and I wanted to push away again, but I knew I couldn't without him saying something. I wanted to avoid our past at all costs and never discuss it, no matter what happened. I decided to let it be and pulled my phone and headphones out of my pocket, plugging them in and slipping them in my ears, pressing shuffle on my playlist.

With a heavy sigh, I looked down at my painting and back at Brad, wondering if he noticed the pain within it and how it reflected upon myself. I hoped he knew I was probably in more pain than he's ever felt, considering he's gotten a release by hurting me. Another thought erupted within my head. What if he still didn't feel better after all that's happened? What if he still wanted to hurt me? Even after five years, he still acts like he's my friend. What if it's all a trick and he just wants to build me up, so he could break me down again? Maybe he loves toying with the human mind.

Either way, it seems my future isn't looking too bright.