The Black Bus (Marilyn Manson FanFiction)

The Acceptance of Mechanical Mayhem

Aries, Scotland, 18; Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. 

 Life was never perfect. It would never “be okay”. The lowlife excuse for a household my sister and I lived in was abysmal, to say the least. By sister, I mean the closest thing to family I have.. as surely, I could be the same to her. Skipping the depressingly depressing details, we have basically been stuck in this hellhole together for sixteen years, and we’ve finally hit the red mark. We’re running away tonight. 

 Aspen is only a few months older than I am, and I see her as an adult not quite ready to grow up. She’s in her graduating year of highschool, but she’s not going to finish it, if we work up the nerve to leave as planned tonight. I should be in school with her, but I was forced to drop out when I was a sophomore to take care of the demon child Samantha (our foster mother) gave birth to. The kid died before his first birthday, and our “father” buried him in in the backyard and neither him nor Samantha could probably tell you where he is. 

 Obviously, they were very compassionate people. Their agendas were: wake up, drugs, yell at foster children, drugs, have sex, drugs, fight, drugs, hit foster children, drugs, sell the couch, drugs, sell drugs, buy a new couch, and usually Samantha disappears into the night mysteriously and doesn’t come back for weeks at a time sometimes, leaving Aspen and I with Robert, our abusive, controlling, terrifying excuse for even a substitute father. Words cannot describe what he does to us when Samantha’s away. 

 It’s usually Aspen that he targets, being that she’s the prettier of us. But that doesn’t mean he never touches me. Hell, I get the worst of it- just because he knows. Before this gets out, I must explain: I don’t believe in love. I think it’s a legend, it’s a myth, because have you not noticed that every time someone thinks 100% that they’re in love, they wind up alone in the end? And then, just as easily, they find someone else that they claim to have been sent from the heavens? No. It’s not love. That’s an infatuation. 

 Anyways, having discovered this in eighth grade, I took it to heart when I turned sixteen. I started sneaking out at night. I never did drugs or anything.. I didn’t want to wind up like my parents. Nor did I up and have sex with the first drunk male I saw. I simply walked along the roads and went where my feet carried me. 

Which were not always the best places. 

 Aries, Aspen, 18, Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. 

I had hope. Unlike Scotland, I had hope. 

“GO ON, GIRL. GO CRY YOURSELF TO SLEEP AGAIN, MAYBE YOU WON’T WAKE UP IN THE MORNING,” 

Scotland clenched her fists as I ran out of the room before Samantha’s hand could collide with my face. I heard a crash and Robert yelling and assumed our father had just thrown an ashtray at Scotland’s head for the third time this week. I shut the door quietly as not to give them a reason to hit me again as I collapsed onto mine and Scotland’s bed, sobs rippling through my body. Scotland came in shortly after me, dropping down beside me and trying her best to comfort me. 

“What happened this time?” 

“Robert did it again.. and Samantha saw it.. and she- she... threw a chair at him a-and started.. yelling at me.” 

Scotland nodded and I sat up, leaning back against the faded gray walls of our room. I took in the sight of her- brown hair pulled up in a messy bun, brown eyes frowning in concentration, her slightly tan complexion countering with the detailed tattoos tracing down her left arm. She’s always loved tattoos. Don’t get me wrong, never in our lives have we EVER had the money to freely get tattoos. But, Scotty here illegally uses home-made equipment to do them herself, sanitizing them with alcohol and whatnot. She never reuses the same things, being that she strings them together and cleans them by hand. She’s always loved tattoos, never in obscene places, though. She doesn’t like piercings, either, not even in her ears. 

I was always dubbed “naïve” by Scotland. I’m just optimistic, really. I may not look like it, what with my black and purple hair and relatively dark clothing, but I have confidence in a better ending. I guess I’m just a little bit more emotional, I’m not “emotionally cut off” like she is. She doesn’t feel anything anymore. She doesn’t believe in love, religion, or even the future, sometimes. I try so hard to get the Scotland I used to know out of her cold exterior, but I feel like she’s too far gone for that wish. 

I love her all the same. 

 “Aspen, I told you, when he does that, you can’t fight back, otherwise he’ll make it worse.. and he’s so much stronger than us, anyways, he’s bound to force you into it..”

“Has he done it to you?” 

“Last week. H-he.. Never you mind. Just.. go to sleep.. I’ll do your chores tonight.” She smiled, but my conscience spoke before I could stop it. 

“What’d he do? He… stopped, right?” 

She shook her head and a mixture of rage and fear swept through me. “Scotland! You could be-!” 

“I know, I know.. just.. go to sleep, don’t worry about me. If it happens, it happens.” She shut the door behind her and I immediately heard Samantha yelling at us from upstairs. Probably calling us emo whores again, complaining about how much we eat- every three days –how much space we take up, how much air we breathe.. 

Scotland*

As I walked by their bedroom, Samantha grabbed my wrist and threw me into their closet. My back impacted with her collection of vintage dresses, slamming itself and the plastic bags around them into the wall, causing the rack that they hung on to fall into my lap. I felt the tip of the metal hangers come in contact with my face in several places. I tasted blood. 

“How long has this been going on?” she growled. (Most literally.)

“What are you even--?” 

“You and your sister. Robert… doing those… things to you?” 

I fought against the weight of the large metal pole currently sitting on my thighs. “You mean molesting and taking advantage of us?”

She hissed. “So, it’s been you, too?” 

“Honestly, Samantha, we’re not big fans of it ourselves. I have nightmares. And Aspen does, too.” I faked a shiver. 

SMACK. The back of her hand collided with the side of my face before I knew what happened. “Stupid girl! I forbid you to talk to me this way!” 

“I’m just telling you the truth! Your husband has been doing this to us since we turned thirteen!” 

She turned around, seemingly contemplating what I’d just said. “..I often wonder why he was so keen on adopting young girls.. He was so good with you when you were young..” 

For the first time ever, I heard her actual voice. A kind voice. Not yelling or screaming, or moaning. A generous tone of voice. It was unreal. 

“Then he started with the alcohol.. nonstop. Made him feel so invincible, invincible enough for cocaine. He didn’t stop there. And, well.. you see him now.” 

I nodded. She looked at me, pain visible in her eyes. She lifted the metal rod off of my body, and I gratefully stood up, wiping the blood off of my sore face with my shirt. 

“You girls.. can go now..” 

“What?” 

“Go. Go now, before he sees and before I change my mind. Please, just get out of his house.” 

So as to not upset her, I nodded and hastily ran out of the room, all the way to mine and Aspen’s bedroom. I threw open the door and shook her awake. 

“What? Scotland, are you okay? You’re bleeding-“ 

“We have to go now,” I said. We made eye contact and I knew she understood. She got up and helped me throw whatever belongings we thought were worth saving into a plastic bag. We opened the window and looked at each other. I pushed her out of the window before me, and slid out just as I heard Robert’s footsteps thundering down the steps, accompanied by Samantha yelling. 

“Fuck, Aspen, run!” I shouted as I heard him fight with our doorknob. With a final glance back, I took her hand and we ran through the streets, not stopping for anyone or anything. 

-WalkingBlasphemy