acting_chica
Cadet
this is julian sark beginning as a fifteen year old boy. he's growing up. unfortunately, i don't own any of the characters. i'm putting this as rated-r because there's death and some sex. i've been writing it for a while. got maybe four chapters done. let me know if you like it.
the temptress
“julian, be reasonable,” the voice on the other line said.
he threw the phone against the wall. he did not want to be reasonable. he did not want to be patient. he was almost fifteen years old god dammit. how much longer did he have to be patient before his father took interest in him? before his father stopped beating his mother? how could his mother stay married to a man who pummeled her face in a few times a week and call that being reasonable?
julian heard the phone ringing in a far off room. the receiver he had thrown against the wall had unhooked from the line and was not ringing. but he ignored the sound. he did not need his mother to tell him that everything was fine. that his father would always love him. he hated it when she said that.
eventually the phone stopped. but it still took sometime before his anger subsided. when it finally did, he looked around the room. everything was perfect, set in its place. the brown leather sofa faced a closed entertainment system that housed a 39” tv, a dvd/vcr and a stereo. in front of the sofa sat the mahogany coffee table with magazines stacked just so on it. two matching brown leather chairs were on either side of the sofa, tilted diagonally so the persons sitting in them could watch the television, or talk to someone on the couch by only having to turn their head. paintings lined the walls. candles adorned the coffee table and tables next to the two chairs. floor lamps spread their light on the room. it was the perfect pottery barn living room.
julian glanced to the entertainment system. he thought of the movies he had seen his father watching late one night. pornographic movies. types of movies any teenage boy would like to watch. first he went to his bedroom, pulled his down comforter and pillow off of his neatly made bed and went back to the living room. he dropped them on the couch and headed for the liquor cabinet. then he rifled through the dvds. finally he was content.
scotch and lesbian pornography. what more could a teenage boy want? how about his father not to beat his mother? julian thought. but he wiped the thought from his mind as the movie started.
soon everything bad seemed gone from his life. one hand pouring scotch down his throat, the other stroking his solid c***, eyes on the screen as one woman strapped on a dildo, he was happy.
yet a noise pierced through his joyful bubble. he heard his father stumbling and muttering as he walked down the hallway. soon he would be fumbling with the keys to open the door. and then he would discover his son with his scotch and his porn.
julian leapt from the couch. a thought crossed his mind. killing his father. then and there. he had thought about it before, but now he had the chance. he poured the scotch all over the living room. as his father tried to find the right key on his keychain, julian poured vodka in the kitchen, rum in his parents’ bedroom. then his father was inside, yelling at the fact that the porn was still on the television. but julian was in his own room. he packed a few new outfits, money from under floorboards and a picture of his mother. then he pulled out the matches. his father was so drunk, it was easy to sneak past him. when julian was on the other side of the living room, he struck a match and dropped it. the penthouse went up in flames, his father stumbling around inside.
by the time the fire alarms went off, julian was already heading out the front doors. he blended in with the rush of people, racing out of the building. then he slipped into the night.
***
gunshots rang out in the distance. first two. then another. two more. another. two more. another. who shot in such a tapped out beat? then one. then three. another. four. the slamming of a car door. two more shots. another shot, a different gun. the first gun, a beretta d cougar l, one shot. two more. how many people were dying? the second gun shot one. another. the first gun again, two shots. another. four shots. one shot. another. two quickly in a row. one. three, no four. a car screeched by. one last shot and it was over. forty-three shots, julian had counted. who wasted that many bullets? how many times would the f***er have to reload? and how many people did he kill in the process?
after school, walking home
fresh dirt under my fingernails
and i can smell hot asphalt
cars screech to a halt to let me pass
he was on his way home from jenny’s, or was it carrie’s? or tara’s? which ever one of “the girls” had served him that day, he was on his way home from their place of work. it was sweltering hot out, the tar of the road seemed to be melting under his feet. he wasn’t watching where he was going. he was trying to calculate in his mind how many times the beretta would have to have reloaded. a car slammed on its brakes, the bumper lightly tapping his knees. how classically cliched he thought to himself. he hadn’t so much as flinched when the car hit him, and the car hadn’t leaned on its horn.
the air was more than human
the heat was more than hungry
the cars were square and spitting diesel fumes
the black passenger’s door opened and a woman stepped out. she was tall and dark and beautiful. tall dark and handsome. classically cliched julian thought. she looked him right in the eye. even though he was only fifteen, few people were able to stare him down. his blue eyes seemed to pierce theirs and they always looked away, but not her. her brown eyes tore holes into his; it was he who had to look away.
“come,” she said.
“aren’t you at least going to offer me candy?” he smirked.
“now.”
he did as he was told without hesistation and hopped in the back seat of the car. the woman got back in the passenger’s seat, and the car took off. they sat in silence as the car drove down the residential streets. there was a driver in a chauffer’s uniform, eyes straight on the road. julian was alone in the back seat, the woman who had told him to get in was in the front seat, staring out the window, eyes wandering as though aimlessly.
“that was good reloading on the beretta. very fast,” julian said.
he liked making an impression, and since very few fifteen year olds could identify the beretta and know how many shots it had before it had to reload, he thought it would be a good way to impress the woman. but she was quiet, didn’t even move.
“i couldn’t identify the other gun though, what was it?” he continued his attempt at a conversation.
“it wasn’t my gun, i do not know,” the woman replied.
short and sweet. leaving him simply begging for more. he knew he shouldn’t, but he asked questions.
“who’s was it?”
the woman turned around and once more stared him down. she seemed so fierce, so in control. julian longed to know more.
“why did you get in the car with me?” the woman asked, turning around and looking out the window once more.
“you told me to.”
“you should learn not to do all the things people tell you,” she said.
there was silence. he desparately wanted her to keep talking.
“well why did you ask me to get in your car?” he asked.
“you need to answer my questions before i consider answering yours,” she replied. “why did you get in the car with me?”
“i already said, because you told me to. you are gorgeous and looked a lot better than where i was headed,” he explained.
“where were you headed?”
he didn’t answer. he hated this line of questions. anything but his personal life, where he lived, where he worked. he slept in an abandoned building. every once in a while he would find a job he could do for someone, make some money, but usually he had to steal. he took clothes off clotheslines and slipped food under his shirt while the market owner bartered with someone over prices.
“judson street,” he replied, intentionally not being specific.
“that isn’t a residential area,” the woman said.
she waited for him to respond. he knew he had to, it had been his choice to get into the car with her after all.
“yeah. i sleep in an abandoned building,” he said. he tried to say it with as much confidence as he had before, as though he couldn’t care less.
“where are your parents?” she asked.
“my mother lives in ireland,” he replied. “i killed my father.”
his voice didn’t waver. it was the one thing in his life that he was truly proud of. the son of a b**** deserved to die.
“how?”
he couldn’t detect the slightest variation in the way she talked. he couldn’t get anything from her.
“lit fire to the flat,” he said.
she sighed. “are you sure you killed him?”
he wondered. he hadn’t read it in the paper; he hadn’t bothered to look.
“look lady, why does this all matter to you?” he snapped.
she turned around once more. her eyes traced his face. he tried to stay stoic, but was pretty sure he looked like a lost child.
“you didn’t flinch,” she said quietly.
“what?”
“you didn’t flinch,” she repeated. “the car hit you, tapped your legs. but you didn’t flinch. you didn’t care if you were going to die right there.”
“so you want to know everything about me?” he asked.
she sighed. “i need someone like you. to work for me.”
what?! the question formed in his mind but his mouth wouldn’t let it out. she just shot thirty-nine shots from a beretta into someone, and she wants me to work with her? but slowly, he calmed down, considered the possibility.
“what would i be doing?”
m-c
the temptress
“julian, be reasonable,” the voice on the other line said.
he threw the phone against the wall. he did not want to be reasonable. he did not want to be patient. he was almost fifteen years old god dammit. how much longer did he have to be patient before his father took interest in him? before his father stopped beating his mother? how could his mother stay married to a man who pummeled her face in a few times a week and call that being reasonable?
julian heard the phone ringing in a far off room. the receiver he had thrown against the wall had unhooked from the line and was not ringing. but he ignored the sound. he did not need his mother to tell him that everything was fine. that his father would always love him. he hated it when she said that.
eventually the phone stopped. but it still took sometime before his anger subsided. when it finally did, he looked around the room. everything was perfect, set in its place. the brown leather sofa faced a closed entertainment system that housed a 39” tv, a dvd/vcr and a stereo. in front of the sofa sat the mahogany coffee table with magazines stacked just so on it. two matching brown leather chairs were on either side of the sofa, tilted diagonally so the persons sitting in them could watch the television, or talk to someone on the couch by only having to turn their head. paintings lined the walls. candles adorned the coffee table and tables next to the two chairs. floor lamps spread their light on the room. it was the perfect pottery barn living room.
julian glanced to the entertainment system. he thought of the movies he had seen his father watching late one night. pornographic movies. types of movies any teenage boy would like to watch. first he went to his bedroom, pulled his down comforter and pillow off of his neatly made bed and went back to the living room. he dropped them on the couch and headed for the liquor cabinet. then he rifled through the dvds. finally he was content.
scotch and lesbian pornography. what more could a teenage boy want? how about his father not to beat his mother? julian thought. but he wiped the thought from his mind as the movie started.
soon everything bad seemed gone from his life. one hand pouring scotch down his throat, the other stroking his solid c***, eyes on the screen as one woman strapped on a dildo, he was happy.
yet a noise pierced through his joyful bubble. he heard his father stumbling and muttering as he walked down the hallway. soon he would be fumbling with the keys to open the door. and then he would discover his son with his scotch and his porn.
julian leapt from the couch. a thought crossed his mind. killing his father. then and there. he had thought about it before, but now he had the chance. he poured the scotch all over the living room. as his father tried to find the right key on his keychain, julian poured vodka in the kitchen, rum in his parents’ bedroom. then his father was inside, yelling at the fact that the porn was still on the television. but julian was in his own room. he packed a few new outfits, money from under floorboards and a picture of his mother. then he pulled out the matches. his father was so drunk, it was easy to sneak past him. when julian was on the other side of the living room, he struck a match and dropped it. the penthouse went up in flames, his father stumbling around inside.
by the time the fire alarms went off, julian was already heading out the front doors. he blended in with the rush of people, racing out of the building. then he slipped into the night.
***
gunshots rang out in the distance. first two. then another. two more. another. two more. another. who shot in such a tapped out beat? then one. then three. another. four. the slamming of a car door. two more shots. another shot, a different gun. the first gun, a beretta d cougar l, one shot. two more. how many people were dying? the second gun shot one. another. the first gun again, two shots. another. four shots. one shot. another. two quickly in a row. one. three, no four. a car screeched by. one last shot and it was over. forty-three shots, julian had counted. who wasted that many bullets? how many times would the f***er have to reload? and how many people did he kill in the process?
after school, walking home
fresh dirt under my fingernails
and i can smell hot asphalt
cars screech to a halt to let me pass
he was on his way home from jenny’s, or was it carrie’s? or tara’s? which ever one of “the girls” had served him that day, he was on his way home from their place of work. it was sweltering hot out, the tar of the road seemed to be melting under his feet. he wasn’t watching where he was going. he was trying to calculate in his mind how many times the beretta would have to have reloaded. a car slammed on its brakes, the bumper lightly tapping his knees. how classically cliched he thought to himself. he hadn’t so much as flinched when the car hit him, and the car hadn’t leaned on its horn.
the air was more than human
the heat was more than hungry
the cars were square and spitting diesel fumes
the black passenger’s door opened and a woman stepped out. she was tall and dark and beautiful. tall dark and handsome. classically cliched julian thought. she looked him right in the eye. even though he was only fifteen, few people were able to stare him down. his blue eyes seemed to pierce theirs and they always looked away, but not her. her brown eyes tore holes into his; it was he who had to look away.
“come,” she said.
“aren’t you at least going to offer me candy?” he smirked.
“now.”
he did as he was told without hesistation and hopped in the back seat of the car. the woman got back in the passenger’s seat, and the car took off. they sat in silence as the car drove down the residential streets. there was a driver in a chauffer’s uniform, eyes straight on the road. julian was alone in the back seat, the woman who had told him to get in was in the front seat, staring out the window, eyes wandering as though aimlessly.
“that was good reloading on the beretta. very fast,” julian said.
he liked making an impression, and since very few fifteen year olds could identify the beretta and know how many shots it had before it had to reload, he thought it would be a good way to impress the woman. but she was quiet, didn’t even move.
“i couldn’t identify the other gun though, what was it?” he continued his attempt at a conversation.
“it wasn’t my gun, i do not know,” the woman replied.
short and sweet. leaving him simply begging for more. he knew he shouldn’t, but he asked questions.
“who’s was it?”
the woman turned around and once more stared him down. she seemed so fierce, so in control. julian longed to know more.
“why did you get in the car with me?” the woman asked, turning around and looking out the window once more.
“you told me to.”
“you should learn not to do all the things people tell you,” she said.
there was silence. he desparately wanted her to keep talking.
“well why did you ask me to get in your car?” he asked.
“you need to answer my questions before i consider answering yours,” she replied. “why did you get in the car with me?”
“i already said, because you told me to. you are gorgeous and looked a lot better than where i was headed,” he explained.
“where were you headed?”
he didn’t answer. he hated this line of questions. anything but his personal life, where he lived, where he worked. he slept in an abandoned building. every once in a while he would find a job he could do for someone, make some money, but usually he had to steal. he took clothes off clotheslines and slipped food under his shirt while the market owner bartered with someone over prices.
“judson street,” he replied, intentionally not being specific.
“that isn’t a residential area,” the woman said.
she waited for him to respond. he knew he had to, it had been his choice to get into the car with her after all.
“yeah. i sleep in an abandoned building,” he said. he tried to say it with as much confidence as he had before, as though he couldn’t care less.
“where are your parents?” she asked.
“my mother lives in ireland,” he replied. “i killed my father.”
his voice didn’t waver. it was the one thing in his life that he was truly proud of. the son of a b**** deserved to die.
“how?”
he couldn’t detect the slightest variation in the way she talked. he couldn’t get anything from her.
“lit fire to the flat,” he said.
she sighed. “are you sure you killed him?”
he wondered. he hadn’t read it in the paper; he hadn’t bothered to look.
“look lady, why does this all matter to you?” he snapped.
she turned around once more. her eyes traced his face. he tried to stay stoic, but was pretty sure he looked like a lost child.
“you didn’t flinch,” she said quietly.
“what?”
“you didn’t flinch,” she repeated. “the car hit you, tapped your legs. but you didn’t flinch. you didn’t care if you were going to die right there.”
“so you want to know everything about me?” he asked.
she sighed. “i need someone like you. to work for me.”
what?! the question formed in his mind but his mouth wouldn’t let it out. she just shot thirty-nine shots from a beretta into someone, and she wants me to work with her? but slowly, he calmed down, considered the possibility.
“what would i be doing?”
m-c