prompts ;

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Q:   WHAT BRINGS YOU IN TODAY?  ( his answer is written in the way he carries himself. from head to toe. there's a smile on his lips, but it's less happy and more... calculated. as if he knows that it's the appropriate thing to do in social situations, as if he's been trained to put on a show, but he hasn't quite learned to cater to a specific audience base. that's the first cue among a long list that would grow with each passing moment of silence.   the second is the way he grips the smooth leather-bound chair. short, clean nails dig into the material so hard that when he forces himself to loosen his grip, there are tiny crescent - shaped indents in the thick material. he flexes his fingers, he shifts ever so slightly in his seat, and glances at the clock. the slight tilt is done so carefully that he doesn't think anyone would notice. he's used to being reprimanded for being disrespectful  he never answers the question. ) Q:   DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU'RE HERE?  ( he knows, that's precisely why his smile vanishes, just for a second, replaced by a frown and a deep crease in his brow. he knows why he's here, but he doesn't think he deserves it. he doesn't think he should be punished for his actions because he doesn't think he was wrong.  but he knows that everyone else see's his actions as wrong and that's why his expression changes, back into that unfeeling smile. his posture changes with it, he's almost relaxed. in all the ways that matter, anyway - in all the ways that people can see. deep down, he's coiled tight, desperate to go home.  still, there's no verbal response. ) Q:   /SIGH/ HENRY, YOU BROKE A LITTLE BOYS ARM. YOU INTENTIONALLY BROKE HIS ARM.        YOU HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT. THAT'S WHY YOU'RE HERE.  He deserved --  ( he catches his temper before he can say something too incriminating, but those two words are more than enough. he's smart enough to know those words were foolish to utter, but he doesn't have enough control over his temper to stop himself from saying them.  his breathing comes in rapid puffs for several moments, while silence blankets the room. he's trying to get himself under control.        1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ...   the clock ticks by as every muscle in his body slowly unlocks and his voice takes a drastic change. he's no longer the angry little boy that believed he had done the right thing by harming another child. he had managed to trigger tears in his eyes and contort his expression into one that vaguely resembled pain.   it was a pity that nothing else about his demeanor matched. he wasn't that skilled. yet. )  He's... he's a bully. He bullied me... And other kids. Ask anyone! He just... he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't stop hurting me. He kept hitting me and I... I grabbed his arm. I didn't know... that would happen. I just grabbed him and... Q:   AND WHAT, HENRY?   ( the conversation proceeded much the same. his temper would flare at the insinuation that he did anything wrong and he would immediately turn on the water works. he was no expert, but as young as he was, it was easy to see how quickly that could change. he was manipulative and he was aware his actions had a negative impact to those around him, but he took no true ownership of his behavior, he just made everyone belive he was right. and it was easier to go along with it.  he was diagnosed with anxiety with a recommendation to transfer schools. no follow-up therapy required. ) _____________________________________ AUGUST 20, 2002; AGE TWELVE

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She's the most beautiful woman -- girl, really -- that he's ever seen. Golden blonde hair, perfectly crimson lips, long tanned legs from a summer of soccer try-outs and a fall spent training for the season. He had watched her from across the field, joking with his friends about the freshman girls. He was a freshman too, but it was different. They were practically different classes of people by nature. The girls, fresh out of their childhood and thrown into a cesspool of horny teenagers, were objects to bet on for the boys. They weren't real, they were just pretty little things. And she happened to be the prettiest of the lot.     Which made it all that much better when he was the one that managed to convince her to let him take her to homecoming. It took weeks of her being apprehensive. They had been thrown into different groups, after all, and his was the kind she feared. The kind of timid, beautiful girl, just coming into her own skin that would be prey to boys like him. And she was. Eventually. His intentions hadn't always been entirely bad. He had wanted her for his own to wear as an accessory, at first. Then it became a bet. One that the little devil on his shoulder was all too willing to accept.            "STOP..."    Her voice is as soft as a breeze and he pretends he can't hear her. Mostly because her body seems to say otherwise, at least, that's what he convinces himself. He mutters her name, Ruby, and tells her it's alright, that he'll take care of her, that he won't let anyone know what they've done. To him, losing his virginity was a feat to brag about, but her's was something he already was mocking her for. Even before he's inside her, he's no longer smitten with the girl. He's no longer obsessed with possessing her. She's already been tarnish. Slut. How could a fourteen year old girl have sex with a guy she barely knows in the stifling silence of his basement?     She lets him do what he wants, let's him mentally berate her while physically worshipping her. As well as a fourteen year old with no experience can manage, anyway. It's cruel, really. The games he plays with someone whose done nothing wrong, but there he is. Not caring about anything she wants or needs in that moment. As soon as he's done, he's itching to remove himself from her company, but he's not accomplished enough in these games to be able to put much effort into it. He's tactless and disconnected. Every charm he spewed at her over the last couple of months had been foolish whispers to get at one goal and he hadn't even understood it until that moment.            "IT'S LATE, YOU SHOULD GO HOME."    He flashed her a charming smile and bent down to press a kiss to her cheek. He was making her leave because it was in her best interests, obviously. Not because he was over her. The crushing disappointment came as soon as she realized this night wasn't romantic, that there would be no cuddling and proclamations of love. But she still returned his smile -- hopeful, he thought, maybe even understanding. He mutters kind words about how beautiful she is while she gets dressed, but he's disconnected from the moment, sending a text to meet up with his friends. To brag to them about what he had done and scope out a new target.     By Thanksgiving he was already charming another girl, ignoring Ruby -- as if nothing had ever happened. He was kind enough when they spoke in public, but in private he was a new person, he treated her as if she had shamed him in some way, as if she were beneath him for their brief relationship. He was cruel in ways that were private until themselves and his closest friends. No one else saw it, not even the girls that followed.  _____________________________________ NOVEMBER 12, 2004; AGE FOURTEEN

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Fingers tighten significantly around the slim throat of a woman he barely knows. She doesn't protest, she doesn't complain, she moans, and in that brief moment, he's done for. They haven't even done anything yet and she's already the picture of perfection. She enjoys that he chases her, but she doesn't play hard to get, just... out of reach. At the tips of his fingers, always a fleeting thought whenever he decided to slum it with the locals. Not that he put it to her that way. Oh no, he was charming, all smiles and expensive gifts. Then she was invited to parties, events with the family, introduced to his girlfriend, introduced to his friends.    Now she was being pined to a wall in a darkened hallway of his family home. Letting him bruise her throat and grip both of her slender wrists between one of his much larger hands behind her back. This is what he wanted, this is what he needed. Finding that she needed it just as badly had his liquor fueled libido firing off in a thousand directions. How could he find someone so attractive, so submissive, so perfect... that could never fit in with his world? He would never make her his wife, not even his girlfriend. She knew that, didn't she? She saw the way his friends looked at her, they knew what he was doing. He was testing the waters, seeing if she could be mistress material. That's all she could ever be to him.           "KISS ME, HENRY."    That was the beginning. And the end, more or less. They had continued for a short time, fucking whenever they got the chance, exploring the needs he wasn't able to sate elsewhere. And she understood. She knew to the world, she was just a nobody, someone that he took pity on for a short time and would eventually grew bored of. People didn't get the extent of their behind-closed-doors relationship. Not that it was ever love... no, there was no making love or feelings involved here, though for a time he could almost swear he was in love. But it was just his need to be in her at all times. Because she was submissive and she let him play Christian Grey. For awhile.     The last time he see's her, he hates her. She's saying goodbye. In front of his parents, in front of his friends, in front of the petite brunette sitting so patiently in his lap while he spoke to the woman he had been sleeping with for the last two months. Does India know who she is? Is she savvy enough to understand that their vanilla sex hadn't been enough for someone who got off on violence? Who was too selfish to enjoy anything less? He doesn't dwell on that thought, mostly because she's distracting him and he can't bring himself to acknowledge anything that may have been unfair to his young girlfriend.    He's angry that he can't confront her. That he has to sit there, impassive, a bored look on his face, never conveying the anger coursing through his veins. Not when their was an audience. He'd be a dick for the rest of the day, his girlfriend would suffer the brunt of his temper, until his friends took him out for a night of drinks, drugs, and women. Women he wouldn't go home with, but would be pretty enough to gawk at and tell off when he was bored. He doesn't buy her excuse that she's leaving because she got into a school in Washington. Washington, really? She was nineteen, if she wanted to go to some fancy school, why hadn't she gone when she first graduated high school? Was that how the poor lived?     There's more to the story, but he doesn't ask... ever. He doesn't contact her, she doesn't contact him. He doesn't know why, he doesn't care. In a few weeks time, he'd be over it and she would just be some bitch he fucked when he was bored with life. A mistake, someone that wasn't worth his time and didn't even have enough self-respect to sleep with someone that was single. What kind of trash did that? He would never really know that his mother had given her specific orders when she handed over a check, that she had forced her to sign a confidentiality agreement, that she was supposed to eliminate the issue that had arisen. Instead, she spent the next seven months learning how she was supposed to be a single mother.  _____________________________________ AUGUST 3, 2009; AGE NINETEEN