Gone OCs, AUs, Good/Bad Ideas and Headcannons

Drevin Pt. 6

Is it because the Kevin he was looking at, the one who had sank to his knees and bawled at Drake's feet...

Had once been him?

He distinctly remembered every second of it. Of a distant memory.

And his mind slowly fell into a flashback, from not too long ago.

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It was a mere matter of days before Drake would be sent to Coates. He was freshly 14, and not the Drake you read about. Yes, this one liked torture and violence as much as the next sadist, but he could mask that. He could cover up his love for hurting with a charmful, charasmatic cover.

He had once been a Caine.

And because he was a Caine, he had the tendency to hang around the wrong people. People who he used and who used him. Not for sex, obviously, they're 14. No they used each other for reputation.
Don't mess with that guy. They would say. I heard he's friends with Drake.

Now, only a matter of days after his 14th birthday had his father taken a bullet to the heart.

It did not help with Drake's psychopathism. In fact, it made it significantly worse, to the point where he was clinicly a sadist.

But he wouldn't be finding that out for a while.

And until then, Drake's mother did not work, therefore she wanted to remarry a rich man instead of getting a damn job. Drake had told her she should get off her ass and find a job but that only got him grounded. He could jump out of his window anyway, it's not like a couple doors could hold him down.

So remarry she did. And because this new husband was so rich and powerful Drake and his mother moved in with him. A mansion in San Fransisco with a view of the beach. It was sure better than that dinky old one-floor pile of shit he grew up in.

His bedroom- his new bedroom- was bigger than his old house altogether. He liked this life. Rich. It felt good. It made him feel even more highly of himself than he already did.

Now, Drake knew life meant pain. There must have been a catch to this seemingly perfect life. Two married parents, a bedroom the size of a small house, palm trees lining the streets, several celebrities living within a mile of this new house, perfect.

And a catch there was. This new husband was not a good one. He remembered the first night it happened.

And this is where his flashback begins.

Muffled shouts came from downstairs. He took out his ear buds and cracked open the door.

"Did I say you could go there? Did I fucking say you could?"

There was a pause.

"Answer me!"

"No."

It was his mother's voice. His step father was screaming at her. What did she do this time?

"You go where I tell you to go. Understand?"

"Yes."

Another pause.

"I told you not to go there in the first place. You did anyway. You think you can just get away with that?"

"No."

"Come here."

A couple light footsteps resonated from the tile floor below.

The sound of a slap. Hard. He heard a light grunt of pain.