Bitter Tears
By: Holly R
Summary: John Allerdyce. Pyro. Egocentrical, cocky, smart-ass bastard. Or is he? Is he really what he seems? Plagued, hurt, and bleeding, John Allerdyce has one true friend. A friend that most people look down upon.
Disclaimer: Let's think about THAT one shall we? Hmm...................no. Fucking duh. *angelic grin*
A/N: I love Pyro. And, sorry to say, some fics (not all, I don't wanna get flamed already) just don't do him justice. Yes, this is a romance - but my way.
Rating: R. Most definitely.
Warnings: Language, sexual content, and self-harm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter One: Fingertips
Locked in all alone here
Fate is in my fingertips
There isn't anyone that can hold me here
Do you think this is selfish?
Does this make me crazed?
It's just a consequence of the easiest choice that I've made
~Fingertips, Tapping the Vein
************************************************************************
People call me John. Some who're close to me call me Johnny. Others just say Pyro.
My parents named me St. John Allerdyce.
I am anything but a saint.
Even the acquaintances can say that truthfully.
Mind you, they don't know the whole reason behind it.
I had a dream last night - a rather odd dream.
I dreamt I caught myself on fire.
It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. Odd, huh? I guess maybe because my "element" of mutation is fire.
Not by choice.
If I'd had one, trust me, I would not even be a mutant. To be normal.
Yet in a way, I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
Ever.
I don't feel good.
That's why I'm not in class right now.
I guess even the X can tell I ain't doin' so good, cause he's left me alone and, most important of all, let me skip class.
Sometimes, he and the other teachers look at me funny. I guess I shouldn't be bothered about it, I mean, who doesn't get look at funny once in a while, right?
But they do it constantly.
And it does bother me.
Maybe I'm not doing too well.
Maybe they expect more from me.
I'm such a worthless little shit.
I sigh, thinking that phrase over and over.
Well, not really thinking. My head is pounding, a faded voice screaming into my brain over and over. It won't stop, and it just keeps getting louder.
I'm surprised Rogue hasn't ever said anything. She touched me at Bobby's house, drained me of my powers to stop me from avenging Wolverine on the police. That would've meant she got my memories, right?
Well, wouldn't she know about this?
I look around me and chuckle under my breath.
Well, I look at it this way...
Jesus, is that chicken I smell?
I hate chicken.
I hate a lot of things.
According to Bobby.
But what the fuck does he know? Nothing.
Shit-fuck nothing.
He's been too caught up in Rogue-the damn vixen-to even notice his, self-proclaimed, best friend.
Then why don't you act like one?
Just cause we share a room doesn't automatically make us best friend, Drakey boy.
I glare around.
I'm angry now.
Not sure why.
Ah, I know.
I'm a teenager. It's my motherfucking job to confuse the shit out of everybody, even myself.
Yes.
Understood.
I still feel really sick.
In fact, I don't think I haven't felt, well, not sick for...
That is chicken. Damn it.
I don't imagine I'll ever get well.
Jubilee, I think, is a whore.
For me.
I chuckle under my breath.
She's not my type, yet she keeps trying to get into bed with me.
And I don't mean to sleep.
I think I might just to be able to drop her off outside my hall the second after we're done.
I stretch, peeling my shirt off.
A quick, heartless act of sex can't hurt, right?
I mean, it's not like she's gonna acquire herpes around this joint and pass it on to me, right?
Course.
I lift my hand and peer at the object I'm holding.
Strange, I don't remember ever going to get it.
Oh, well.
I have it. Why not use it?
I place it on my stomach, press, and rip.
More.
Over my legs, arms, stomach, anywhere I can physically reach without pulling a muscle or something.
I lay here in the tub, as the water pounds my head along with the voice, and stare at the door, waiting for the handle to turn and be caught.
I know I won't though.
Besides, there aren't any stains.
It's all down the drain.
All my blood.
*****
Review, please. I love C&C!
By: Holly R
Summary: John Allerdyce. Pyro. Egocentrical, cocky, smart-ass bastard. Or is he? Is he really what he seems? Plagued, hurt, and bleeding, John Allerdyce has one true friend. A friend that most people look down upon.
Disclaimer: Let's think about THAT one shall we? Hmm...................no. Fucking duh. *angelic grin*
A/N: I love Pyro. And, sorry to say, some fics (not all, I don't wanna get flamed already) just don't do him justice. Yes, this is a romance - but my way.
Rating: R. Most definitely.
Warnings: Language, sexual content, and self-harm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter One: Fingertips
Locked in all alone here
Fate is in my fingertips
There isn't anyone that can hold me here
Do you think this is selfish?
Does this make me crazed?
It's just a consequence of the easiest choice that I've made
~Fingertips, Tapping the Vein
************************************************************************
People call me John. Some who're close to me call me Johnny. Others just say Pyro.
My parents named me St. John Allerdyce.
I am anything but a saint.
Even the acquaintances can say that truthfully.
Mind you, they don't know the whole reason behind it.
I had a dream last night - a rather odd dream.
I dreamt I caught myself on fire.
It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. Odd, huh? I guess maybe because my "element" of mutation is fire.
Not by choice.
If I'd had one, trust me, I would not even be a mutant. To be normal.
Yet in a way, I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
Ever.
I don't feel good.
That's why I'm not in class right now.
I guess even the X can tell I ain't doin' so good, cause he's left me alone and, most important of all, let me skip class.
Sometimes, he and the other teachers look at me funny. I guess I shouldn't be bothered about it, I mean, who doesn't get look at funny once in a while, right?
But they do it constantly.
And it does bother me.
Maybe I'm not doing too well.
Maybe they expect more from me.
I'm such a worthless little shit.
I sigh, thinking that phrase over and over.
Well, not really thinking. My head is pounding, a faded voice screaming into my brain over and over. It won't stop, and it just keeps getting louder.
I'm surprised Rogue hasn't ever said anything. She touched me at Bobby's house, drained me of my powers to stop me from avenging Wolverine on the police. That would've meant she got my memories, right?
Well, wouldn't she know about this?
I look around me and chuckle under my breath.
Well, I look at it this way...
Jesus, is that chicken I smell?
I hate chicken.
I hate a lot of things.
According to Bobby.
But what the fuck does he know? Nothing.
Shit-fuck nothing.
He's been too caught up in Rogue-the damn vixen-to even notice his, self-proclaimed, best friend.
Then why don't you act like one?
Just cause we share a room doesn't automatically make us best friend, Drakey boy.
I glare around.
I'm angry now.
Not sure why.
Ah, I know.
I'm a teenager. It's my motherfucking job to confuse the shit out of everybody, even myself.
Yes.
Understood.
I still feel really sick.
In fact, I don't think I haven't felt, well, not sick for...
That is chicken. Damn it.
I don't imagine I'll ever get well.
Jubilee, I think, is a whore.
For me.
I chuckle under my breath.
She's not my type, yet she keeps trying to get into bed with me.
And I don't mean to sleep.
I think I might just to be able to drop her off outside my hall the second after we're done.
I stretch, peeling my shirt off.
A quick, heartless act of sex can't hurt, right?
I mean, it's not like she's gonna acquire herpes around this joint and pass it on to me, right?
Course.
I lift my hand and peer at the object I'm holding.
Strange, I don't remember ever going to get it.
Oh, well.
I have it. Why not use it?
I place it on my stomach, press, and rip.
More.
Over my legs, arms, stomach, anywhere I can physically reach without pulling a muscle or something.
I lay here in the tub, as the water pounds my head along with the voice, and stare at the door, waiting for the handle to turn and be caught.
I know I won't though.
Besides, there aren't any stains.
It's all down the drain.
All my blood.
*****
Review, please. I love C&C!