bencent "benny" ivory {d2 - fin}

Parents are supposed to teach us how the world works and shit. Mine were professionals at fucking that up. It's like someone handed them a child one day and they said "What the fuck do I do with this?" My dad didn't care about anything, and he taught me the same. Don't give a shit about anything and you won't get hurt. The kid getting the shit kicked out of him for not being a career? Don't care. The old lady down the street reaching for her cat in a tree? Keep walking. That cunt kid throwing rocks at my window next door? Ignore him. The day I punched said kid in the face? I didn't care about it afterward.

It's easy not to care.

Whenever some cunt friend back-stabbed me for whatever reason, it was the easiest thing to kick their ass and shut them out. I always had other friends. The bunch of us were fucking wastes of space, smoking weed on fences and trying to throw cigarette butts into a girl's cleavage. At night we drank liquor until we threw up because we were lightweight bitches that hadn't hit puberty yet. My mom was the polar opposite of my dad; wanted me to worry about every little thing. Weed, alcohol, drugs, fighting, all of it was "dangerous" but I'd already tried all of it before I was seven because I didn't give a shit about anything. Sorry, Ma. Dad's advice was easier to follow.

Problem is, not caring doesn't end well. If I follow in my dad's footsteps I'm fucking screwed. There was a night he came stumbling in, shitfaced and reeking of another woman's fruity perfume, and I swear he wanted to be caught cheating. The panties in his pocket were some kind of trophy, like "Hey look, I cheated!" My mom deserved better. At my age I was done giving a shit about most things, but my mom had to be an exception. She's that "caged bird" metaphor everyone writes about in their diaries. She has a gentle touch and a gentle soul. It didn't work out, but she wanted the best for me. Sitting in my bedroom helplessly listening to her cry really sucked. I cared, I just didn't know what to do.

I'm not much of a problem-solver.

If I was, maybe my dad wouldn't have put a bullet through their skulls. Murder suicide, it's called. You shoot someone you love, and then you shoot yourself.

Not caring must've really fucked with his head.

I was nine, and a bunch of Peacekeeper pricks forced me out of my home before I could clean the blood out of the carpets. They brought me to an orphanage. There are a million of them stuffed in every corner of the District because people don't know what the fuck condoms are. Couples and knocked up teen moms drop babies on doorsteps like they're used cigarettes. The young tiny ones get sent to foster care, or get adopted by some couple who wants to save the fucking world or make them into a privileged career. I was too old for that shit. Nobody wants some fucked up kid that got ruined by his dad's shitty life lessons. Nobody wants to pick up another couple's trash off the sidewalk. I had a heart made of molten tar.

They also train careers here, so they tossed me into the gym my first morning and laid down the law of my new life. I still go to school because I have to learn history and "how to kill people 101" type shit, and then I train with my instructors slash guardians. I'm pretty sure they're all rejects - the ones who got fired or never got hired into the better career academies. We're not top notch. There aren't any Julians or Crickets up in here, so even though we know how to kick ass and take names I don't really want to volunteer. Fighting for my life sounds shitty. I could do it and I'm not a fucking coward, but why risk it? My life doesn't suck that much, and I couldn't be bothered to give a rat's ass about Victor politics.

I made it a goal to start caring more. Probably so I won't end up hating myself like my dad did, or whatever the fuck was wrong with him. Adjusting to a new environment with new faces isn't easy when you're a piece of shit, but it turned out most of us had that rowdy personality type so I got myself a group of guys I knew I could trust. Most of them I live with. When we were all twelve and still fucking stupid all we did was talk about training and try to be the baddest bastard of the bunch. Then we all hit puberty and shit hit the fan. I spend more time away from home than in, and my instructors have given up on trying to stop me from showing up the the gym hungover. People lie when they say there's a "thrill" to being a career. All we do is work our asses off, then we go to parties for the real thrill.

Ask anyone, I'm a fucking dick. I show up to parties to drink and fuck, and when I'm not doing that I have a joint between my lips or I'm destroying the place with my friends because there are some things I still don't care about, like consequences. I prank my friends and get punched on the daily. Sometimes I drink until I black out and wake up in some girl's bedroom, and then her prissy parents kick me out because I'm a "delinquent."

Shit, they're right, but give a guy a break. I'm trying.