“I’m warnin’ ya, if you so much as twitch an eye in my direction, yer gonna get it,” Jack growled. To emphasize his meaning, Scott was picked up by the collar of his shirt to the extent that he could feel foul breath on his face. Immediately, the fingers retracted, and Scott felt his guardian start to pull him down the hallway by the arm, warning him to keep his “bazooka blasts” to himself. “No!” Scott said, struggling against the touch. “How’re yer eyes, kid?” he said, and Scott felt the fingers on his face trying to pry his eyelids open. He heard an amused chuckle come from him, and felt hands on his face. Scott immediately got up, moving to go through the door, but to his surprise, he bumped into the stationary Jack.
“Scott, come with me to the livin’ room.” Or the Lady Deathstrike, whose entire body was indestructible. Up there with the Living Diamond, a man so cunning the police never caught up to him. It had made Scott feel horrible afterwards.
The first time this happened, he’d been taken outside and forced to demolish their car to collect insurance money. It was bad enough to be discovered home, but it would be ultimately worse if it was learned that Scott was in the midst of a headache. When he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming to his room, he whipped the blindfold off. As it was right now, his “guardian” didn’t know he was home, and that was the way Scott preferred it. When Scott picked up a sound from the next room over, he sat deathly still, afraid that the mattress of the bed would groan, giving him away. Scott had been beaten so badly that he’d been rushed to the hospital, and despite his pleas for help to the doctors, he’d been restored to an extremely irate Jack who didn’t appreciate his “little antics” in the emergency room. Scott soon realized that he was probably better off on the streets when he first became a victim of Jack’s foul temper.
He had met a shady man who just called himself “Jack.” This man had taken him in off the streets, even knowing of his dangerous power. That had all changed when Scott decided to run away from the orphanage. After that, he’d been in a number of orphanages, and numerous foster homes, but no one wanted the angsty little boy who had headaches, and destroyed property. His real family had died in a horrible plane crash when he was very young…the trauma had put him in a coma for several months. And he wished sometimes he’d never been born. He let a scowl cross his features as he thought of the bad life he’d lived so far. Scott just sat on the edge of his bed, listening intently for any sign that his “guardian” was home. He only hoped the headache would end soon. He tied it firmly around his head, ensuring that he wouldn’t accidentally blink, or let his eye twitch, for any opening, however small, was taken advantage of. Making his way blindly to the pitiful closet that served as his room, he expertly maneuvered the obstacles in his way, extracting a thick strip of cloth from a drawer by his bed. After accidentally putting a hole in the wall of the house he lived in at the time, he learned to keep his eyes shut whenever another headache began, lest he do serious damage to something-or someone-else. He had headaches, and sometimes his eyes would burn. Since he was about 10, he had known he was…different somehow. Scott Summers closed his eyes tightly as he felt an all-too-familiar headache forming at the bridge of his nose.
#SIMAIRPORT GONNA GET SUED SERIES#
Part 1 of the Dysfunctional Teen Mutant Club series Next Work → Stats: Published: Completed: Words: 73415 Chapters: 20/20 Comments: 2 Kudos: 15 Bookmarks: 2 Hits: 489
0 kommentar(er)
