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Confused, Addicted, Hurt

California

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a part of Confused, Addicted, Hurt, by bandgeek.

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bandgeek holds sovereignty over California, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

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California

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California is a part of Confused, Addicted, Hurt.

6 Characters Here

Alistair Costello [3] Don't be so quick to judge me....
Dean Mars [2]
Monty Lewis [1] "You. Me. Bed. Now."
Niko Sanders Leandros [1] There are times when I wish I could forget her
Bryony Haven [0] WIP "the best feeling in the world is when the one you love looks into your eyes, and sees only you."

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Character Portrait: Monty Lewis
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It happened again. He didn't know why or how, but it did and now there was no going back. Monty curled his lips into a disgruntled sneer as he eyed himself in the mirror. The circles under his bright hazel orbs were darker than before, but that was to be expected from yet another sleepless night. His bronze hair was facing different directions while the scratches on his arms were a bit soar. He wasn't happy with himself, and for good reason. He promised himself, not even a day ago that he wouldn't give in to the temptation. Unfortunately, he wasn't very reliable.

So there he stood in his bathroom, nothing but a towel covering his lower regions. The deed was done. With a sigh, he turned the faucet, allowing the water to filled his cupped hands. As he splashed water onto his face, Monty felt a slender arm wrap around his waist.

"Morning, sexy," she giggled as she kissed his shoulder. He turned off the water, glancing at her warily. She kissed his lips, but he didn't kiss back. He didn't even know why she was still standing in his presence. He pushed her away before giving her a small scowl.

"You can get dressed and get the fuck out," he said as he entered his bedroom with her right on his tail. "And Rebecca, don't forget your thong this time."

"For the hundredth time, you asshole, my name is Katie," she sneered, pulling on her clothes with haste.

"Whatever you say, Wendy." He stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it as he shimmied into his basket ball shorts. He stood by his window, watching the cars fly by and the potential clients roam free. Blowing smoke from his lips, he heard the satisfying sound of a door being slammed. She was gone. It was for the best, for Monty was unable to give her what she needed. He was a man of lust, not love. No strings attached, that was his rule. He glanced at the time, frowning when he realized that his group session was going to start soon.

This would be his first day there. He wasn't really interested in it, but his roommate managed to talk him into going. So far, he wasn't off to a good start since he'd already broke his pact to himself. 'NO SEX,' was his plan, but next thing he knew, he was in bed with some random girl screaming underneath him, or in this case on top. Was he addicted? Yes. Would he admit it? No. Monty wasn't looking forward to being surrounded by addicts and psychos, crying about how their mothers wouldn't hug them. Though, to his dismay, he was obligated to go. He'd just sit there silently and count to one hundred as pathetic soul after pathetic soul spills their heart out to perfect strangers. Oh, what fun! He puffed more smoke before flicking the rest of his cancer stick out of the window.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered, grabbing his towel and heading back to the bathroom to shower.

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Character Portrait: Alistair Costello
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Ali sighed softly as he washed up the dishes from breakfast his parents had sat in silence as usual even as Ali's half hearted attempt at conversation. Even when he asked how his mother was feeling after battling a bad case of the flu, but again nothing.

It seemed that everything he did, even the smallest thing meant nothing to them. Sighing again he took an anti depressant and finished washing up the plates, drying them quickly and stacking them away. Today was the first therapy session and he was both looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time he didn't want people knowing how hard he was finding his home situation and the fact that if he had not have told his parents that he was gay it would have been much better. Everything would be, well almost.

Pulling on his coat he called to his parents " I'm off out ill be back later " yet again silence. Shaking his head he walked out of the house and began the shortish walk to the therapy session. His mind wandering about seemingly pointless things.

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Character Portrait: Alistair Costello Character Portrait: Charlotte Ambrose Character Portrait: Dean Mars
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Dean was attending these therapy sessions because of his mothers death. At least, this was what he kept telling himself. It was the only logical reason for him to be going, it certainly could not be because of the accident at the beach. The kiss between him and Alistair had been a big mistake, simply an accident that was never going to happen again. Especially since his girlfriend was sitting beside him in the passenger seat of his beloved Camaro. The car had recently gotten a lot of new additions. It was something he worked on when he had to think about something, or get his mind off that something. So of course he had been working a lot on it the last few weeks, and even Charlie was beginning to notice. His lovely black and white car now had new tires, had changed from green to the current colors, had a better radio system, and he was even working on putting a stereo into the back.

His girlfriend glanced over at him, looking worried. Hearing her ask if he was alright, Dean just nodded and started the car. "Just fine C." Everyone called her Charlie, so Dean called her C. It usually made her laugh, but this time she just looked even more worried about him. "Promise," he assured her, pulling out of the driveway and heading towards the therapy group. He wasn't entirely sure why Charlie was going, and she wasn't very willing to offer up such information. Just asked him if he would drive her there, and since he was already going he couldn't say no.

As they got closer to their destination, Dean began taking side streets. There was multiple reasons for this, to avoid traffic and such. But the most obvious one was that he was stalling.



Nine years ago her parents tried to kill her. Less than four hours ago she woke up screaming because these memories still haunted her. It was unfair, in her mind. That even though it happened so long ago, she could still be bothered so much by it. Most nights it kept her up until the early hours of the morning, and she barely got more than twenty minutes of sleep a night. The bags below her eyes got worse and worse, but anytime someone would ask about them she would dismiss their questions. In her mind, no one needed to know why she couldn't sleep. They didn't need to know why she could only take a shower, and only in a bathroom that didn't have an actual bathtub. Or that she was terrified to look in a mirror because she didn't want to see herself. And they didn't need to know that the reasons her arms were always so red-looking was because when she did sleep, she literally went insane trying to scratch the scars off.

Why was she going to this then? Because her older brother was pushing her into it. He was the one who had found her, nearly dead in a bath that was mostly her own blood. Since her parents went to jail, she had been living with him. They were very close, but like most siblings they still fought all the time. This had been a particularly bad fight, and he said that if she wouldn't go that he would kick her out as soon as she turned eighteen. He had never been so serious about something, and it frightened her enough to push her to go. When she found out her boyfriend was going too, it got a little better. Currently they were in his car, and she noticed he had begun to take side streets- probably trying to waste time

"Dean," she began, but her eyes caught someone familiar. "Hey, isn't that Alistair?" After convincing her boyfriend to pull the car over near him- he was rather reluctant to do so, which confused her very much -she rolled down the window and called out to him. "Alistair! Want a ride?"

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Character Portrait: Alistair Costello Character Portrait: Charlotte Ambrose Character Portrait: Dean Mars
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Alistair jumped slightly as a car pulled up, he sighed in releif to see Charlie asking him if he wanted to catch a lift to wherever he was going. He went to speak but the words left him as unreasonable amounts of unsafe thought sped into his mind about what would happen if he got into the car. Then he saw who was driving, Dean. He forced a smile and began to blink quickly as he thought of a good enough exscuse as to not get in the car. " er well...thanks but no thanks...I'd rather walk. The place I'm going to is only a few minutes up the road" he explained gesturing up the street with his hand he turned to them both and spoke again wanting to end the conversation in a somehow happy note " but Ill catch you guys later yeah?" He smiled again and waved quickly as he walked up the street.

" that was close Alistair" he mumbled to himself sticking his hands in his pocket as he walked.

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Character Portrait: Niko Sanders Leandros
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#, as written by yuffey
Niko sighed as he sat up in bed. Nothing was going to be great this morning. A stack of papers waited on his nightstand, wanting his signature to approve of new things for the company. "Why can't I just go back before they split?" He asked himself as he moved out from underneath the blanket. His feet hit the floor with a thump that someone who was extremely tired would make. His eyes shifted though as a bag laid beside the papers.

The bag of crack was brought to him from his butler. The man was good at finding the best kind, but a bag everyday was going to kill Niko. Shaking his head, Niko moved away from the bag. He wanted to forget that the thing ever existed. He wanted help.

When he looked in the mirror he saw his eyes were wide with bags under. These things showed on his face whenever he was having withdrawal symptoms. He shook his head and his fist connected with the dresser. "Damn it!" I shouted as he looked back at the mirror. Her face was smiling at him from the picture they took one day in the summer. He wanted her, he missed her.

He also wanted to get better for her. Picking up a piece of chocolate from a bowl, he grabbed his robe and went to the shower. When he got out, he dressed and picked up the brochure that was on his shelf. "I will get better." He grumbled as he put on his clothes and grabbed it. "For her," He said as he picked up his keys and went to the 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

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#, as written by yuffey
Niko sighed as he sat up in bed. Nothing was going to be great this morning. A stack of papers waited on his nightstand, wanting his signature to approve of new things for the company. "Why can't I just go back before they split?" He asked himself as he moved out from underneath the blanket. His feet hit the floor with a thump that someone who was extremely tired would make. His eyes shifted though as a bag laid beside the papers.

The bag of crack was brought to him from his butler. The man was good at finding the best kind, but a bag everyday was going to kill Niko. Shaking his head, Niko moved away from the bag. He wanted to forget that the thing ever existed. He wanted help.

When he looked in the mirror he saw his eyes were wide with bags under. These things showed on his face whenever he was having withdrawal symptoms. He shook his head and his fist connected with the dresser. "Damn it!" I shouted as he looked back at the mirror. Her face was smiling at him from the picture they took one day in the summer. He wanted her, he missed her.

He also wanted to get better for her. Picking up a piece of chocolate from a bowl, he grabbed his robe and went to the shower. When he got out, he dressed and picked up the brochure that was on his shelf. "I will get better." He grumbled as he put on his clothes and grabbed it. "For her," He said as he picked up his keys and went to the 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

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#, as written by yuffey
Niko sighed as he sat up in bed. Nothing was going to be great this morning. A stack of papers waited on his nightstand, wanting his signature to approve of new things for the company. "Why can't I just go back before they split?" He asked himself as he moved out from underneath the blanket. His feet hit the floor with a thump that someone who was extremely tired would make. His eyes shifted though as a bag laid beside the papers.

The bag was from his butler. The man was good at finding the best kind, but a bag everyday was going to kill Niko. Shaking his head, Niko moved away from the bag. He wanted to forget that the thing ever existed. He wanted help.

When he looked in the mirror he saw his eyes were wide with bags under. These things showed on his face whenever he was having withdrawal symptoms. He shook his head and his fist connected with the dresser. "Damn it!" I shouted as he looked back at the mirror. Her face was smiling at him from the picture they took one day in the summer. He wanted her, he missed her.

He also wanted to get better for her. Picking up a piece of chocolate from a bowl, he grabbed his robe and went to the shower. When he got out, he dressed and picked up the brochure that was on his shelf. "I will get better." He grumbled as he put on his clothes and grabbed it. "For her," He said as he picked up his keys and went to the 1967 Chevrolet Impala.