Whatever You Want To Be

Fragmented

Monty's POV

I'm a fucking bad person. I don't know if I was born this way, if my father traumatized my brain, or if I'm mentally ill. After all, I'd seem fine at one moment, then I'd feel the extreme urge to put my fist through someone's face. I couldn't explain the need. I'm just a bad person.

My whole life I've been called an idiot. Probably because I am. Theres no exception in who calls me one either. Whether it be my friends, my dad, classmates, teachers, it seems to be the only word in the english language to describe me. I guess I had to feed into the label. I act immaturely and overall happy enough. If you actually knew me, that "happiness" was actually anger, more anger, and hate.

Freshman through most of sophomore year, I used to go as far as to pine after girls. I mean it was expected, a right of passage in a way. Everyone was hooking up with everyone, and it was all anyone ever talked about. I definitely didn't give a shit.

It was one of the more stupid things I'd done... especially since girls weren't boys. I never successfully got with a single one of them, but I never wanted to anyway. I would sometimes hear them talking about me. They would say that I was hot, but that would be followed by the words scary, mean, and violent.

The boys on the team always made fun of me for having the lowest body count. How could I tell them that I didn't want to sleep around? It was another questionable thing about me. How could I tell them I only wanted a person. Just one. Add that to the list of things I hate about myself. It's a weakness, and my dad can smell it.

Everything is just so pent up. There would be small moments of relief whenever I did something dumb with the boys or made a good hit playing, but those were overshadowed by the fallout. I was constantly pretending. I fake that I have the energy to be hyped up all the time, when I can barely find a reason to get out of bed that morning.

Punching things seemed to help with that. Sometimes I like it because it shows people how I feel. Sometimes I like it because it just feels nice to put my anger somewhere. When I hit Winston, it was me punching away everything I'd tried so hard to suppress. Winston was someone who I'd want to hang around with. I could tell that just from him saying a few words.

It made me angry that I wouldn't ever hang out with Winston without feeling ashamed, so I punched him. It made me angry that he was gay, and I was too. I was angry about how perfect and nice he was and how my sorry ass wouldn't have a chance, especially since I'd rather stab myself than admit I prefer dudes over girls.

I punched him because I liked him.

Probably the paramount of my stupidity. My emotions don't know how to differentiate between themselves I guess.

I'm menacing and rude, and I don't even know if that's me. Is it me, or is it my facade? Everything about me is confusing. Questions are all I have about myself. These questions have been answered by the people I've hurt, and their assumptions about me. I'm pretty sure no one I've met has genuinely liked me. That alone should bother me, but it doesn't, because I'm used to it. I suck at being sane and keeping myself together which makes me very easy to not like.

Nothing about me is rainbows or fucking unicorns. Everyone is scared of me, and they should be. Which is why I don't understand how he does it. How does he make me feel like less of a fragment?

~~~

"De La Cruz!" I groaned, sitting up from my bed. "Visitor!"

"Hey." Winston's smile stretched across his face. It almost made me want to smile back. He was with someone this time. I'm assuming a lawyer because we're sitting in the special room today. One where you're interrogated, so no glass, just a table. "Hey," I responded.

Winston searched my face before talking again. "So as you know, this is your provided attorney." "Oh shit. I knew you looked familiar," I said, having just realized it was the same lady that I've talked to before. Winston spoke up, "I shouldn't be allowed in here but they said I could talk to you a bit before you talk to Miss Anderson." So that's what her name is.

Both of them looked at me expectantly. "Ok." I replied. Miss Anderson nodded at me with a wink and walked out of the room. That was weird. Winston cleared his throat, something I've noticed he does a lot when he gets shy. "So are you going to do this or not?"

A/N: don't mind my choppy af writing👌 thought i'd just give some further insight for monty since i did some with winston.