Parental Advisory Explicit Content - Suicide, homophobia, child abuse, drug abuse, and graphic violence.
In a few days I'm gonna propose to Vince.
It's batshit insane to think I've stuck with a relationship for this long, honestly. Long enough to learn everything about him. Long enough for a guy like me to decide that it's time to commit. But, honestly? Sometimes it terrifies me how much I love him.
I know this is a fuckin corny, cliche way to start a story, but half of the way I am is thanks to my dad. Back when I was a little guy, my dad... he sucked ass. And that's the least I can say about him. His name was also Robert-- of course he was too much of an arrogant shithead to name his kid after anything but himself. We lived on a farm in College Station, Texas. Didn't learn about it 'till months later, but mom had OD'd when I was three or so. Dad told me it was 'cause I was too much trouble for her. I don't blame her, honestly. Can't say there wasn't one or two times where I purposefully took a few too many pills for my own good during my SAMURAI days.
Even as a little kid it seemed like I couldn't do anything right around him. Would tell me to go feed the dogs, then go sit on his ass and smoke for the next three hours. Would get back, see that I hadn't put the bowls in the right spot or that I hadn't given them the right food or whatever 'cause he hadn't actually taught me how to do it, then would yell at me for ten minutes straight and lock me out of the house till I stopped crying.
Guess he got fed up eventually 'cause he sold me for a pack of cigs when I was four. Was taken in by the Aldecaldos, but they got fed up with me too. Of course, the Aldecaldos weren’t fed up enough to sell me too, luckily, but they were fed up enough that I had trouble considering many of them my family. Guess the shit that had gone down with my dad when I was a baby had left me skiddish. Skiddish and angry, according to one of the only friends I made there. He's important, by the way. Name was Barrett Grey.
I can't say much about Barrett except that he was pretty much the only thing that kept me from ending it all. We played together as little kids, stirred up mischief around camp, all that sort of thing. He was the manic pixie dreamboy type, borderline hippie but punk enough that he didn't bother the shit out of me. In short, we were really close.
Some of the 'Caldos settled down in NC for a bit when I was six or so-- including Barrett's family and I. Dad ended up moving to NC four years later-- had nowhere else to go after his job as a farmer stopped makin' him money. He spewed the same shit that he did when I was a toddler. Told me I looked greasy and lazy. One time I put my arm around Barrett and dad told me that he didn't raise no fuckin' queer.
Worst part was, when I was around 12, my dad turned out to have been right. I was crushing on Barrett. Pushed the feelings down 'cause I wanted so desperately to prove the asshole wrong, but it wasn't easy to fight. The amount of times I oscillated between fuck you dad, you don't control me and you're talking out of your ass when you call me a queer was too embarrassingly high to count on the days where part of me planned to finally tell Barrett how I felt. Of course, nothing ever came out of it. Whatever poignant moment we were having would end and I'd've missed my chance.
I'd been wrestling with my feelings for a few years 'till the war started and him and we decided to enlist to pay for Barrett's mom's hospital bills after she got shot in a gang conflict-- and we also figured it might inject a bit more excitement into our lives. Wish I could've slapped my pissbrained 15-year-old self and told him that if his idea of adventure is sleeping in cramped trenches and breathing in the smell of shit and blood 24/7, be my fuckin' guest. Anyway, Barrett and I both lied about our ages and we made it into the military. First few days were fun, but it got fuckin' horrible after that. Once boot camp was over, it turned into a living hell. We both wanted desperately to go home, stuck religiously to each others' sides in between firefights and our short-tempered commander hurtling insults at us.
My life came to a screeching halt on the day that Barrett and I were in the middle of a firefight together. Some tough-looking soldier threw a grenade our way and I didn't even have time to register the beeping before the blast went off. All I remembered was Barrett leaping in front of me before screaming and dropping to the ground, the rapid gunshot echoes of me emptying lead into the soldier.
The shock and adrenaline must've kept me from even processing the fact that my left arm was gone. Especially since all I cared about in the moment was the fact that half of Barrett's skin was burnt and flayed off of his body and that his eyes were getting glassier with every short, shaky breath that he took in. I was in tears, leaned over him and kissed his forehead.
It was so stupid, but all I could tell Barrett in that moment was that it'd all be fine, that he'd be fine, that we'd be fine, to hang on for just a bit longer-- all lies, that was. I stayed there clutching his lifeless body, still kissing his forehead, somehow thinking that there was a sliver of a chance that he'd wake up. I started getting tunnel vision and the next few days came in fragments before I finally woke up with a metal arm stuck to my body like a tumor, Barrett's dog tags sitting atop a trifold NUSA flag next to my hospital bed.
I deserted and stayed in a hotel in Pacifica. Just stared at the ceiling for a month straight, and there I resolved two things. One, I was Johnny now, not Robert. It was Robert who'd sold me, Robert who'd made me feel like a worthless piece of shit for everything I did, Robert who, in reality, was part of the reason I'd joined the military. Robert who made me think that maybe, just maybe, me winning a war would make him proud. And I was more than happy to give up that asshole's name.
The second thing I promised myself was that I'd never let myself love another guy again. If I had to see Barrett in every single person that I tried to date, I'd lose my fuckin' mind. So, I kept that promise. Fucked every chick I met in some stupid attempt to forget about the way that Barrett had made me feel. It was also more or less drilled into my brain that I'd be seen as less of a rockerboy for it. There was an image I needed to keep up for the good of SAMURAI-- one that didn't involve getting dicked down every night. Sure, I had flings with guys every now and then, but I never dated one-- especially not Kerry. Honestly, that’s probably part of the reason I lashed out at him so often. Was somehow mad at him for trying to be the boy I loved, as if somehow, Kerry could've known how painfully similar to Barrett he was.
Anyway, everyone knows what happened after that. SAMURAI, blah blah blah, sex and drugs, blah blah blah, Arasaka tower, et cetera. Obviously, though, the tabloids and interviews aren't half of what went down in SAMURAI. They portrayed me as this punkass who took shit from no one, but in reality, I was hanging on by a single thread. Hammed it up onstage and then went to drown myself in booze after every gig.
Fifty years under ice, then Vincent came along. And that man... holy shit, he was the reality check I needed. Fell in love with him after several months, and honest to God, it scared me. I knew that dad was probably either dead or in a booze-induced slump several miles away from me, but that didn't change my adamant denial. After Vince rescued my engram from being experimented on by Arasaka, though, I finally relented. Vince was the man who had saved my life, and the least I could do was... well... give him the love that he deserved. Embarrassed to admit that I had a few breakdowns about it in front of him. Even after the first time that Vince and I fucked, I ended up dumping half of my emotional baggage onto him. Feel like a lameass for doing it.
I slowly, slowly got over it, though. Still have nightmares about dad sometimes, but I've stopped being weird about calling Vince my input in front of others. This sort of thing takes time, I guess.
So, now I'm here, just days away from asking this guy to marry me. Again, it's batshit insane how far we've come since I first met him.
Love you, Vince. More than anything.
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