[OPEN] Shakespeare could have written this life

[Dustin Kurucz]

Ah Dustin... his history was more of a tragedy than Hamlet, his story was more of a tear jerker than Romeo and Juliette, and his life was more miserable than the Beast's before he found Belle. Everywhere he turned there was mishap and pain, everywhere he looked he saw nothing but a dismal downpour of hell, not even so much as a ray of hope, and God forbid that there ever be a rainbow promising a let up in the rain. Like just about everyone else in this town, Dustin was pretty screwed up... only thing was... he was way more screwed up than any of them. Oh sure, some people here had probably killed people before... whether in wars or as police... but none of them had shot and killed an unarmed man out of anger and disgust... none of them except for Dustin, that is... and even if any of them had, they probably felt some guilt about it... but not Dustin... oh hell no, he never once regretted doing what he did. That man had deserved it. If given the chance to take it back, Dustin would do it the exact same way he did before.

Not regretting it didn't make it hurt any less though. He hated knowing that in order to serve that man justice for what he'd done to Dustin's little sister that he had to give up any and all chances he had at a future. No one would hire a murderer. He knew that no one knew that he had been the one to kill the man... but even so, the way his karma worked, as soon as he tried to get a job someone would somehow find out he did it, and he'd end up in prison and he'd die there where everyone could see, where the "death of a murder" would make the news and everyone would know. That wasn't what he wanted. When he died he wanted it to be in the dark shadows where no one would see him... no one could record his dying breath. Of course, he really would like for Riley to be the one whose hand he held as he died, but right now, he was sure he couldn't face her.

Riley had been pregnant with Dustin's baby...had being the key word there. All of his life he had only been battered by the world from every angle. Abusive parents, prison at 15, essentially becoming a sort of father figure at 17, having Shayla taken from him, Shayla being killed, the judgmental stares at the funeral, killing the man who killed her, and now finally being the cause of his own child's death. He had trusted her... he had believed that with her everything was safe and he could believe in her... but boy was he ever wrong. He had told her everything about himself. From the abusive parents to all his current drug addictions, he left no details out... then it all went downhill from there. She had initially lied about being pregnant just to get him back... but later turned out that she really was. Dustin was terrified, completely terrified, of being a father... but at the same time, he wanted to have that baby and prove to himself that he was better than his past.

Riley really had no idea what the death of the baby did to him. If there was one thing in this life that Dustin had believed would never be any part of betrayal of him, it was children. He loved them, he loved their innocence, their lack of understanding the horrors of the world... but now here that had been ruined. Fate had used that adoration of kids against him, making him believe that he was going to be a father only to have that snatched away from him as quickly as it had been given to him. Even though he had been terrified of not being a good enough dad for their child, he had been excited too. This was his second chance... a chance to do better with this child than he had with Shayla. Turns out that chance had all been an illusion. Fate had once again deceived him, and he was more than just hurt by it. He couldn't go without the drugs anymore, and his relapse was far worse than his previous addictions had been.

He had been trying to get over his addictions when he thought he was going to be a dad, but now that he knew it had all been taken away he had gone right back to it. Problem was, he didn't really know what he was addicted to. He would just take whatever he could get to try to numb the pain. It was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't overdosed yet. Another problem was... it wasn't working. He was already so addicted that he would have to take ridiculous amounts of the drugs in order for the pain to be numbed the way it used to work... and he didn't really want to overdoes and die that way... so he couldn't take as much as he would really have liked to just for the sake of making the pain stop. On top of that, those two little voices in his head had returned, only this time louder. His heart screaming for him to go back to Riley, to not let this get between them, and his head bellowing that everyone was just going to end up getting hurt by him just like they always had and that he would be foolish to go back to her. It was a never ending battle and it was driving him insane.

Now I'm sure you don't think it could get worse... but it does. Because of a photographic memory, Dustin was regularly plagued by flashbacks of the things that had hurt him, and they were almost crippling. When he would have a flashback he would be pulled back into it so much that for the length of the flashback he would be frozen and unable to move. When he would come out of the flashback, he would jump almost violently as if someone had fired a gun right behind him when he hadn't expected it. Unfortunately it was never the good memories, of which he had few, and they always ended up exposing unhealed wounds. He had a hell of a life, that was for sure.

Currently, he was in the middle of one of those moments. He was, as usual, very likely slightly high on something from this morning, and as its affects began to wear off, he turned to the ever faithful pot. Dustin was bound to die from liver failure, lung cancer, and god knows what else with all the other drugs he was taking. He was in a rough spot in his life right now... and unfortunately that rough spot comprised almost the entirety of his life.

It was her, he knew it was. He would recognize that step anywhere, he pretended, though, that he didn't hear it. He smiled gently, knowing exactly what was going to happen next. Her arms were thrown around his neck from behind as the little girl hopped up on his back. He, of course, pretended to be surprised for her enjoyment, then put his arms behind him and around her. He flipped the girl over his shoulder and into his lap, wrapping his strong arms around her body as that beautiful little face turned up at him and smiled, her melodic laugh filling the air as she closed one of his arms in her grasp.

Dustin brushed her bangs out of her face, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. Lookit what I made in Sunday school! She said proudly, displaying a small and smooth rock to him, with words "pray" written across it. Dustin hadn't ever believed in any of that religion stuff, considering what his dad had done to him, but Shayla's foster family was big into it, and had been taking the little girl to church every Sunday, and she seemed to enjoy it, so he wasn't going to stop them from taking her. Did you make that all by yourself? He asked with a smile as he looked at her newest prized possession. Well...Mrs. McLaury helped a little... He had known that would be her answer, but it made no difference to him. She was happy, and he was happy...that was all that mattered.

Although it may seem like a happy memory... it was indeed a painful one. She had been so perfect, she didn't deserve to die, and it killed Dustin every day to know that if he had just waited one more year to come to the United States she would still be alive and in his custody. He hated himself for that... and yes, he did partially blame himself for her death. He took a long drag on the joint in his hand, trying to drown the migraine that was building in the back of his head as well as the memory that had haunted him for so long. He wanted to move on. As he exhaled the smoke from his lungs, he sighed and put his head down in his hands, looking every bit as miserable as he felt. Today was not his day... in fact, this whole life was not his life. He had very few times that he could look on as being happy, and those times had been short lived and always ended in pain for him. He needed a reset button... and unfortunately that was impossible, so he was just going to have to suffer the same way he had been since as long as he could remember.

Tagged: open
Words: 1652
Notes: Just to clarify he's on a bench in the park
Outfit: Here

[marie smithson]

Marie walked into the park in a clean flower dress. She was a quiet person, good natured and honest. But she kept secrets, like everyone else did. She never let anyone stand too close to her, she never told anyone of her past, she wouldn't stay in a room alone with anyone, especially a man. She had told a person or two of her past and all she'd received was pity and odd looks. She promised herself she'd never give anyone the responsibility of her secret ever again. No one understood, well, Will did, but Will... Will had secrets of his own, and she was sure they were worse than hers, despite how ugly her past was.

She kept up her little facade of being a stupid little girl who was oblivious to everything. She walked through the park, looking up at the trees and the sun shimmering threw the leaves and pouring over her. She looked around, there were only a couple of people around. She smiled and twirled around, feeling the wind in her hair, reminding her of riding. She giggled out loud and collapsed into the Earth. She lay there, looking up at the trees, feeling at home. The grass, the dirt, the sky, everything was appart of her, just like her horse was a part of it.

She smiled to herself, remembering the good days of when her foster parents brought her home. To her real home, not to... her mother, her own mother, who she, her daughter, had clothed, bathed, fed, and payed for the shelter over their heads, had SOLD her for a few kilos of meth.

Marie's happiness faded as she looked up at the sky. The sun suddenly felt harsh and she averted her eyes, looking to her left, her wavy red hair was fanned out, the green lush grass poking up threw, accenting the vibrant red streaks that would have been easy to mistake as brown had it not been for the sun's glare on the thick mass of hair. She probably had grass in her hair, but she couldn't remember a time she hadn't had anything in her hair.

She sat up, her arms angled behind her to keep herself propped up enough. She looked around, someone was smoking a joint, she'd know the smell of any type of drug, thanks to her mother.She quickly pushed the bitter thoughts out of her head. She had to forget the past, she had to move on. Oh but it was hard, it was so very hard. She sighed, she found a woman with her two children and a baby stroller.

She would give anything to have a child, but she knew that was impossible. Not because she couldn't have children, but because she couldn't stand men, and she wasn't exactly the type to go out and get frozen sperm, it almost grossed her out, but she supposed that if someone was crazy enough to do it, why should she care? It was their life.

She looked at her feet, quietly slapping them together. She glanced over at the guy smoking a joint, silently curious as to why he'd be so blunt as to smoke a joint in the middle of a public place. Surely one of the parents would call and complain, or maybe not, she wondered quietly. She realized she was staring, and very obviously. She glanced away, a little embarrassed at herself.

What was she thinking?! He could be just like the men in the warehouse. She stiffened, remembering the hazy dreams again. She felt tears sting her eyes. All those women, chained to the walls or the beds or how about the kids like her, forced into.... She squeezed her eyes. "Stop it, just forget about it," she whispered to herself. She pulled out her phone, going to the camera and then clicking the left key for the pictures. She found a picture of her horses and stared at it, long and hard.

She had to remember the good. Aw she hated days off, it gave her time to think, she didn't want to think. She sighed and stood up, dusting herself off, the dress dangling softly over her features. They weren't baggy, but they weren't exactly revealing. She checked for her keys and her wallet in the other pocket, the dress had long pockets so she had to dig a little. She found them both there. She slipped her phone in the other pocket, to even out the weight so it didn't send her dress off balance.

[Dustin Kurucz]

He couldn't go another day without telling her. He loved her, and he didn't want to keep secrets from her. I was born in Mexico, and abused as a kid... he said slowly, picking his words more carefully than he normally would and I tried to kill myself when I was 15, but I ended up getting shot by a drunk cop and then he killed himself... With every word he was saying old wounds that had never been healed properly were being opened up. They assumed I killed him, and I spent a year in a full scale prison there in Mexico. When I got out I found out my parents had divorced, my dad had disappeared, and my mom had disowned me.

It was obvious that he was picking each word before he said it with the utmost care, trying desperately to find a way to make what he had done not nearly so bad as it was so that the chance of Riley leaving him wouldn't be quite so high. A year after that, my mom was killed by her boyfriend and he disappeared, and that left custody of their year old baby to me since I was the only known living relative. I could hardly support myself down there let alone a baby, so I moved up here when I was 17. The child services said I was as much a danger to her as I was to myself, and they put her in a foster home.

This part was definitely the hardest for him, but he knew if he stopped now, even just to try to compose himself more that he would never finish, and so he pushed on, forcing all the pain and sadness involved in Shayla's death to morph into the anger and hatred he had towards the man who had killed her. I got to see her once a week, but that was it... so when I found out her foster father was abusing her and reported it, they ignored me until it was... There he hesitated and took a deep shaky breath, locking his gaze on the ground, until it was too late and he'd killed her. But they called it an accident and he got away with it so I...

Finally he stopped, the words seeming to involuntarily refuse to exit his mouth. He was really struggling now to keep the emotion in check and keeping from letting his eyes water... So I... I killed him. He could remember every moment of telling her everything. The fear in her expression was what he hated the most. He didn't want her to be afraid of him, he just needed her to know. He'd told her everything about him... and despite his worst fears, she was still okay with it.

Now he'd lost her and his baby. Why would he care if someone called and reported someone using illegal substances? He had no reason to live anymore, so he just didn't care what happened to him. If they arrested him and locked him away for 20 years it wasn't like he would be missing anything. He had no doubt that Riley hated him for leaving her again and with Shayla and his child both dead... he didn't have anything else to look forward to. He was secretly hoping that the drugs would kill him, or that someone else would just so he wouldn't have to keep on living this miserable life.

He could feel eyes on him, but he didn't react at all to it. Let them stare... let the whole world know that Dustin Kurucz was a no good drug addict, alcoholic, and murderer. He just didn't care anymore... nothing mattered, nothing at all. After a moment or two he let the drug infested cancer stick fall from his hand, and ground it into the dirt with his heel. Unfortunately... it just didn't give him the high he was after anymore. He was so addicted to so many substances that he felt basically no effects of the drug anymore. One of these days he was going to OD because of it, and he was starting to get tired of waiting for that day to come.

He looked up from the ground where his attention had been fixed before, scanning over all the occupants of the park once more. No doubt the girl closest to him had been the one watching him. He hadn't seen her around before, meaning she was probably newer to the area seeing as Dustin made a point of permanently stamping the image of everyone's faces in his mind, and hers wasn't there until now. Being new probably meant she had no idea who he was and had been fascinated by his blatant drug use. Most people had gotten used to Dustin and had passed him off as harmless. He'd never hurt anyone as far as they knew, so he could do whatever he damn well pleased. Even the cops seemed unconcerned with his drug use. So he wanted to get high and forget about his pain... let him. It wasn't like he was dealing to other people or getting all crazy and harming anyone. It was his life, he could live it how he wanted.

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[marie smithson]

'I can't believe I'm doing this,' she thought as she hesitantly walked over. 'This is none of your business, this guy could probably pull out a gun and shoot you, you idiot.' But somehow... she just knew he wasn't one of those people to spontaneously decide to kill someone they didn't know. Then again, her instincts had been wrong before....

"Ah...are you ok?" She flushed. 'Well that was very bright, kid. Now he's really gonna kill you,' "I mean, uh, you look a little sad." 'Dang, didn't someone teach you to use that little voice in the back of your head?! You walk all the way over to some random druggie just to give him a little psychoanalysis?' She looked away from his eyes, avoiding the eye contact, afraid of what she'd find in those pitch black eyes, at least, they looked black from far away. "Mmm... this isn't coming out right. I don't know why I bothered you," and yet she was still standing there. People were staring, she hated when people stared, but that didn't mean she was annoyed because they were staring at her WITH the person on the bench.

"Would you like to talk about it?" mentally she was slamming her head against a wall. Stupid little girl. Here she was, small innocent little Marie, always good, always following the rules, stay out of dark alleys, stay away from the bad side of town. And here she was, talking to a complete stranger, well more like babbling, who was just smoking a joint. Little red riding hood has gone to the dogs.

She wasn't exactly 'fascinated' by his drug use, she was more... curious. Ok she was a little fascinated, so what? She was an adult now, she knew how to take care of herself, she wasn't doing it very well at the moment. She knew how drug addicts worked. They took and took and took until they were so hooked they could no longer stop taking because it seemed that it would almost be wrong to stop using drugs. By the time they were completely hooked, all their loved ones hated them, increasing the depression and drug use, no one in general wanted to sit near a smelly dirty pimple faced drug addict, the police were already looking for you, and you couldn't find a job because it was either on your record that you've been pulled over, or found at a party or just something random happened. Then there's the obvious factor, they probably haven't taken a bath for days, maybe even a couple of weeks, or they look suspicious, or they can't remember what job they were even applying for, or don't know how to do the job.

Her mom had been like that, she'd always gotten bitter and had mixed drugs and drinks and she seemed like she'd never wake up. She would scream at Marie, saying she was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Their neighbors in the appartment building would come over sometimes and find Marie had a few more bruises on her face or that her mother was always smelling like weed or something would go wrong that would make them consider calling the police. Marie begged them not to. She had heard what happened to little kids in the foster systems. Once her mother broke her arm with a beer bottle, the scars were almost all faded now, but they were still present where it counted most.

After her mom sold her she had had enough, she'd blabbed the whole story to the police, she had been charged and put in prison for complicity of unlawful conduct with a minor and compelling prostitution. Marie had been damaged and she had looked like it. Being the youngest of the children there, most were about 14 to 24, they thought she would get over it faster, plus she'd only been there for a couple of days. But Marie had suffered alot. She had pissed the drug dealer off and he'd 'personally paid her back'.

So here she stupidly stood, in front of a drug addict, well she was guessing he was addicted, with no protection at all if he decided to flip giving him a pep-talk. One would think she had learned a thing or two with her history.

[Dustin Kurucz]

Dustin's attention drifted away from the girl and on to other people, his current state of mind preventing him from utilizing his usual ability to always know what was going on around him, causing him to not notice when she started moving towards him. When the voice suddenly sounded much nearer to him than he would have expected, he was slightly startled... then perturbed at himself for not paying close enough attention to not have seen her coming closer. When you lived a life like his, not paying attention could easily become a lethal mistake. Then again... why did he care? As before mentioned he had nothing left to live for, so there was no point in being careful about who was around him and what they were doing.

He shifted his focus back to the girl as she continued on in a nervous pattern. Dustin had found that whenever someone attempted to explain themselves and only made matters worse, it was often a sign of uncertainty and fear. He didn't blame her. After all, she had just decided to approach a stranger who had just been essentially slowly and painfully killing himself with drugs... odds were she was questioning her own sanity in doing so and was afraid of what he might do. After all, how could she know that such "weak" drugs no longed had the desired high that most people would get from it? Mostly, it just wore him down, sucked all the energy right out of him and made him feel a bit like he hadn't slept in days... then again, he hadn't. Perhaps a more appropriate description would be that he felt like he'd just run in three iron man races one after the other without so much as stopping for a water break in between.

He wasn't sure how to respond to what she had said. No, he wasn't alright, but did he want to tell her that? Did he want to lie and say he was fine, even though he clearly wasn't? Was he sad? Oh yes he was horribly sad, he was drowning in his own miserable depression... but he sure as hell didn't want to come out and say that... despite the fact that anyone could tell that he was. Did he want to talk about it... he couldn't say. He knew, from telling Riley everything, that talking about things often helped... but did he really want to just start talking to some random stranger about why his life was literally a living hell? He wasn't so sure... and she probably didn't want to hear it anyway, not really. Who would want a stranger to unload their world of troubles onto their shoulders like that?

Dustin was really the sort of guy who didn't really talk much at all. That didn't mean he didn't have things to say or that he was just too stupid to have anything worth saying... he just didn't talk a lot. As a child he'd found that silence typically made the beatings not quite so bad... and now even though he wasn't hurt by anyone, it was just a habit to keep his thoughts to himself. He was certain no one wanted or needed to hear what he had to say. After all, he was just street trash... and everybody knows that people like him are incapable of contributing to society in a beneficial way... at least that was what the world wanted him to believe, and he had been told that so often and for so many years that he had started to believe it himself.

Dustin suddenly realized that in his debate with himself on what to say and how to respond, a somewhat long and extremely awkward silence had drawn out between them. A flurry of curses flowed through his mind like sand through an hourglass, mentally kicking himself for letting his train of thought carry him away on the polar express... but not a single one of them translated verbally and he just kept them to himself. "No, not really." he said, in response to whether or not he was alright as well as in response to whether or not he wanted to talk about it... but he wans't going to specify what that was an answer to. She could determine that for herself.

Unlike most addicts, Dustin wasn't showing the signs of it. He did look slightly disheveled, but he always looked that way. His eyes weren't bloodshot or dilated, his complexion was clear, he wasn't filthy and disgusting.... the only real sign of his addiction was, first of all that he'd been publicly smoking pot, and second of all the faintest track marks in his arms which wouldn't be noticed unless you were looking for them. There was really no telling why he didn't look like an addict, but he certainly should have considered himself lucky... and he would have were it not for his ridiculously low self-image at this point in his life. He was just a mess internally and really needed to find some way to let it all go. It was just too bad he'd had a horrible enough life that he didn't have a clue how to do that. He was a walking tragedy, and it was a miracle he was even still alive.

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[marie smithson]

'Great, even the druggie shuts you down,' she thought. She stood there a few seconds before turning to walk away. It took her a couple of steps before she turned and asked, "Would you like some lunch?" She had no intentions of spending the rest of the day completely alone. Her only friend at the moment was pretty much Will, but he was busy and she didn't want to bug him. And yet, bugging the druggie in the park was safer? Clueless, she was clueless. "I'll buy," she offered.

She checked her phone for the time. it was about one o'clock. She knew that the Bluebird Diner was open that day. She sighed, she had nothing to do today which was starting to kill her slowly. Usually she had stuff to do on days off of riding. Like laundry or bake or clean the house completely. She'd already done that. She'd made two spice cakes and a Yellow Cake with chocolate frosting, she even made cookies for heavens sakes. Then she'd cleaned up her mess and then the whole house but it was still pretty clean from when she cleaned it just three days before, when Will came to Pinewood. She had a feeling she was going to be bored for quite a while, that is, if the druggie on the bench didn't come with her.

She had a feeling he wouldn't. Then what would she do? She'd have to leave the poor druggie alone, eventually... right? Who knew, with Marie it went either way. Either talk everyone else's heads off, or don't say a peep. It depended on it she got nervous enough to babble, which she would with the Druggie, but maybe she could stick around the guy's life long enough so she'd feel better when she left, not like she was leaving someone to die. Which was exactly how she felt inside, that the second she'd leave he would go looking for trouble that would probably kill him, or even he'd commit suicide.

She was the type of kid who would never leave anyone in that situation, or never leave anyone alone period. "Would you at least consider going to lunch for me?" she offered. "All I have to look forward to today is feeding my cats again at five o'clock exactly. That's not exactly thrilling," she said with an almost pathetic smile.

The wind shifted so now she couldn't smell the strong scent of smoke, it was still there though mind you. But now she could smell more of the spice cake and yellow cake that still clung to her clothes. She grasped onto that smell, more to get the grotesque smell of smoke out of her nose. She'd always hated the smell, but you had to get used to it every now and then.

[Dustin Kurucz]

He was quick and sly, always evading the law, disappearing at the last moment, barely avoiding getting caught. This was what he called living. Some would say he lived on the edge, but to him, it was simply living. He did what he had to do to survive, and occasionally, he did a bit more than that. Breaking the law was a favorite past time of his, and yes, it certainly was dangerous, possibly foolish, and beyond all reason stupid. But he didn't care. This gave him more than just an adrenaline rush, there was something about the chase, about the danger, about the risk that thrilled him. He was addicted to the crime life, and for this, there was no anti drug... but it wasn't enough anymore.

Dustin honestly hated the daytime. Normally he slept during the day and was awake by night. Nocturnal yes, and for a very good reason. His survival depended on being able to disappear at a moment's notice, and he couldn't do that in broad daylight. So what the hell was he doing up and about today? Simple...he'd run into some trouble, namably he ripped off one of the drug dealers and they weren't too happy about it. They happened to figure out where Dustin usually stayed, and were staking it out...meaning he had to stay away from there, and stay up on his guard, which meant no sleeping. He wasn't normally quite so blatant in his drug use as he was today, but he couldn't not take drugs for long periods of time because of the addiction and over-powering withdrawals... so because he was up during the day, he had to take drugs during the day.

He looked up at the girl as he said what he did, watching her expression. He knew it all too well... right now she was thinking of him the same way everyone else did... that one drug addict. If he wasn't so incredibly miserable he would have been bothered by it... but as it was right now, he felt like "that one drug addict" so he really didn't care. He was just tired of this life, and he'd had so much go incredibly wrong that all he wanted now was for it to end as soon as it possibly could. He didn't care if he would die known as street trash... as a guy who screwed himself over with drugs and alcohol, he just want to die so the pain would go away. He had sunk so low by now that he seemed almost a lost cause. There was little that could be done to save him at this point. She started to walk away after his response, just as he'd expected, but contrary to his expectations, she turned around and came back, asking him if he wanted to go to lunch.

Through the pain and misery, a look of almost startled confusion crossed his face at her question. Was she as high as he would like to be right now because he sure as hell couldn't think of any other reason she would ask said question. Once again, silence drew out. He was so taken off guard by this that he didn't know what to even do with himself. Even the people who took pity on him typically didn't ever approach him because they were afraid of him... now here was this girl who probably didn't really even know why she'd come up to him in the first place asking him if he wanted to go to lunch. Seriously, how was a guy supposed to respond to that, especially a guy who was very severely socially crippled and had a hard enough time coming up with answers to expected questions?

He really wasn't all that hungry... these days he just didn't have an appetite... one of the not so obvious signs of his drug addiction and depression.... but as the girl continued with how pathetic her afternoon would be if he didn't agree to going to lunch with her, that little thing called guilt started jabbing him with a sharp stick, and when that happened, there was no way Dustin could say no. He had never been strong enough to resist the feeling of guilt that prompted him into doing things. That was why he'd killed that man all those years ago. He felt responsible for his sister's death, and knowing that the man who killed her would get away with it and no justice would be served all because he wasn't man enough to fight for her, he just had to do it.

He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his thick black hair before standing slowly to his feet. Fine, but if I get arrested for use and possession they'll think you're with me and won't take my word for it when I say you're not. He figured it was only right to give her fair warning of the possible side effects of hanging around him. He was more a danger to himself than anyone else, but he had learned long ago that just hanging out with the wrong people could land you in jail even when you'd done nothing wrong. It was a big cruel world out there and he was powerless to fight the hand that fate had dealt him... and unfortunately it was one of the worst hands in the history of mankind. Dustin had it rough, but he could never ask for help. The fear of rejection was too strong in him, and he just couldn't do it.

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[williamsolmen]

She smiled, "I know." She might look stupid, but she wasn't. She motioned with her head for him to follow. She didn't much like the smell of drugs, it reminded her too much of her mother... and those men. She walked with him to the diner. She walked in and found a little booth in the far corner, away from everyone, she didn't much like being out in the open, made her feel vulnerable. She looked all around. It was pretty cute, nicer than most diners she'd ever been to.

She opened the menu, thinking quietly to herself this was a big mistake, now she'd have to eat in awkward silence. At least when she ate alone she could talk to herself. "So how long have you lived in this town?" she asked quietly as she skimmed threw the sandwich section in the menu.

The bell over the diner door jingled and something nagged at her in the back of her mind. She glanced over. She grew pale, her fingers loosened on the menu and it slipped from her hands. She grabbed at it. She felt her heart thud in her throat and she looked back over, the men hadn't noticed her, good. The only exit she knew of was the one she came threw. A waitress suddenly appeared and Marie jumped. "Sorry," Marie whispered.

"Sorry, I have a habit of sneaking up on people," The waitress giggled loudly, or at least it seemed loud to Marie. "What can I get you to drink?"

Marie swallowed, trying to remember if she was hungry or not anymore. She felt sick, very sick, like she was going to throw up. "Water please," Marie croaked. Trying to keep her voice down. She could barely breath. She pulled out her phone and text Will, she screwed up several times on the text, first because she never really text at all so she sucked, secondly, because her hands were vibrating. When the message was sent Marie slunk down in her seat, moving her hair in front of her face. What if they saw her? What if one of them had a gun for Christs sakes!

She was in a little bit of a predicament. Marie didn't pay attention while the waitress took Dustin's order, but when the waitress went to leave Marie suddenly asked, "Do you have a restroom?"

"Sure, it's in the back, right there," the waitress said, pointing down a little isle.

"Thank you," Marie said, setting her napkin aside and scooting out of the seat. When she turned around though she collided with one of the guys who was taking two steaming hot dishes to someone. The dishes splatter on the floor, bits of food flying every which way, one of the drinks spilling down her shirt. Marie looked at the poor waiter. "God I'm sorry," Marie said, quickly crouching down to help pick up the broken pieces of plate.

"It's ok ma'am, I got it, just don't get cut," the waiter said, going off to grab the cleaning supplies.

[Dustin Kurucz]

Dustin followed the girl in silence, always just one step behind her and slightly to the side closest to the street. Dustin may have had a lot of issues, but he was protective of anyone who he thought was worth keeping alive. As they walked, without saying a word, he came to the realization that she didn't know his name, and he didn't know hers. This was one of those horrible awkward moments that he hated being involved in, but could never figure out how to escape them. He didn't want to just blurt out his name with no pretense leading up to it... but he didn't really know how to hold a conversation, let alone start one. So he simply walked silently, and decided to wait for her to ask or say something that would lead him to being able to ask her. Either way he wasn't going to say anything now.

As mentioned before, the extended use of hard drugs had caused a lack of appetite, and he wasn't planning on eating anything. He hated handouts, especially from complete strangers when he was in the mode where he wanted to kill himself, and that was why he was taking as many drugs as he was currently. When the two of them walked into the diner, he immediately glanced around the building, taking note of each and every person in the building who was currently visible, simply out of habit. Before he had reached this point in his life, he was careful to always be aware of everything around him. He was hated by lot of people, and it was the best way to protect himself from all of them. Plus, he liked to recognize everyone as someone he already knew of and whether or not they knew him.

A year or two... he said in response to her question, though when he looked up and saw the look on her face, he had a feeling she hadn't heard him. He glanced over in the direction of the door where several men had just entered, and knew that was the cause of her discomfort. He didn't know who they were or why she was afraid of them, but he had a feeling she had a pretty legitimate reason for being afraid. He was about to say something when she asked where the restroom was and stood up hastily, too hastily. As the tray and plates clattered to the ground sending shards of ceramic material and glass everywhere. She bent to start picking it up, but the waiter told her he would take care of it. Dustin stood up and took her arm in his hand, leading her in the direction the waiter had gone to get cleaning supplies.

When he pushed through the doors leading to the back, a few protests went up from the staff, but he ignored them, saying nothing and just pulling her along to the staff entrance. When they were out and away from the men and all the commotion, he let go of her and turned to face her. Who were they? he asked, his dark eyes searching her for answers. He knew they were someone she knew, which he found odd. Either they were following her, or it was some coincidence that they were there at the same time as her. He hadn't seen her before today so he knew she had to be relatively new to the area, and he had never seen those other men before, so he had a feeling that they were looking for her for some reason, and he knew all about being tracked down by people he didn't want finding him; it wasn't a pleasant experience.

He cast a glance back towards the door then to either corner of the building, making sure no one was following them before turning his attention back to her. He didn't know her at all, but he still wouldn't want someone to live a life of fear like he had when it wasn't needed. She seemed like a nice girl, and people like her shouldn't have to always be looking over their shoulder to see if they were being followed. He couldn't explain why, but he wanted to protect her from whoever they were and stop them from doing whatever it was they wanted to do to her. It was just the kind of guy he was underneath of all the screw ups and drugs... a truly legitimate good guy who just got mixed up in the wrong life.

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[marie smithson]

Marie walked after him, following his lead because she'd rather deal with a druggie than the men in the diner. She watched the staff give them glares and heard the protests but they pushed their way out of there, or at least Dustin did. Marie shivered when they were out in the open. She glanced around as well. "I- They...," Marie swallowed, looking up at Dustin, her eyes wide and afraid. "I didn't think they could find me here.... They... they hurt me once, and I put the guy away. He's getting out soon and I'm the only reason the other witnesses will even say anything at his hearing...." Marie, shivered again. She hoped the partner didn't pop up. He disappeared right after Cortez, the main guy, the guy that..., anyways, Lopez, the partner, went missing after Cortez was put in police custody and then shipped to jail. Will had assured her he wouldn't, Will had said that Lopez had taken the money, drugs, and what ever else he could and fled to Mexico, but Marie... she felt this doubt in the back of her mind.

"I should leave, you should leave, too. They'll recognize you, they'll kill you too, thinking-" the sound of dishes breaking in the kitchen and people yelling angrily, a woman screaming and then a few other people screaming as well.

"Oh no!" Marie thought, what had she done! She turned and started running, abandoning Dustin, she hesitated, making sure he was following before she heard a gunshot, the door flung open and a hand with a gun was first out the door.

It didn't take any more encouragement before Marie took off sprinting, as fast as her heart would let her. A black BMW swung in front of the driver, a man with brown hair leaped out, "MARIE! GET IN!" Will held a glock in both hands, standing behind his door. Will eyed Dustin, as if wondering if he should shoot or if the guy was innocent.

"Don't shoot that's-... A friend!" Marie said realizing she didn't even know who he was. He could be working for Cortez. When Marie was in the car she slid as far as she could away from Dustin, now a little wary. What if...? But he would have done something to her by now, right? When Will ran out of bullets he hopped into the car, sending his local team on it and getting Marie and her... friend out of trouble.

When Will was pretty far down the road he looked back at the two. "Are you guys ok? No one hit?" Marie was shaking in her seat, suddenly remembering her seat belt and trying to click it on with shaking fingers and blurry eyes.

"I'm good," Marie croaked with a wobbly voice, sounding about as broken as could be.

Will gave her a careful look over before looking at Dustin, he lifted a brow, a silent question as to who he was.

[Dustin Kurucz]

When she said that they had hurt her once before he had another one of those flashback moments that made him completely zone out. These flash backs were practically crippling. Whenever they happened, he couldn't do anything about them. It was almost like he was getting pulled into an alternate reality. It was like he was literally reliving the moments that had passed. He had photographic memory, but in recent years photographic memory had come to haunt him. Because he could remember things like that so vividly, and because he had gotten himself so deeply into the drugs, he was really screwed up. It had become almost like an alternate reality, and he was powerless to change it even though he knew the outcome. He was like a puppet in his own life.

This particular one was the day that Shayla told him that they were hurting her. He could see the tears running down her perfect face, the faded blue and black of the bruises on her arm, the pleading in her big blue eyes. He felt like he could feel her arms wrapped around him tightly as she begged him to take her with him so they wouldn't hurt her anymore. He could feel the hate, the anger all over again, the hate. It brought back the emotions from when he had killed that man... everything it came rushing through him like a tsunami of emotion and there was so much conflict within those emotions that he felt like his head was going to explode as he tried to sort them out. He could hardly separate the happiness from the anger anymore, and it very well could have driven him insane had it not been for the crash and screams coming from the kitchen.

He was jolted out of the memory, and it took him several moments to re-orient himself and sort out between what was happening now and what had happened then. As soon as it came back to him he took several steps back as Marie took off running, and seemingly from nowhere a gun was produced. It wasn't the new sort... in fact, it was handmade from God knows how many years ago. The gun had spilled blood only once before... when Dustin had killed that man. It was the same unregistered weapon which he'd used to avenge the death of the child who had brought so much meaning to his life. He didn't fire it though, simply stood motionless, his dark brown eyes fixated on the back door of the diner.

He wasn't afraid... why should he be? He didn't have anything to live for, so he might as well go down for something honorable... which would probably go over looked. No doubt it would simply make a little five sentence blurb in the police report on page six about the shooting death of an unknown young man who had unprecedented toxicology report with massive amounts of drugs in his system. Thing was, when you lived a life like Dustin, where you made sure very few people knew who you were, no one cared. There would be no pity, there was no family to notify. He was probably be a "john doe" through all eternity. It was a tragic reality that Dustin lived. He never pulled the trigger, but slowly took several steps back as a black car pulled up, and someone, who she apparently knew, stepped out, telling her to get in.

He glanced back at her and saw the gun the other man had, and instantly returned his to its place at his side where it was essentially invisible. Just as he looked away from the men coming after them he felt the sting of a bullet biting flesh on the opposite side of the gun, and winced, but otherwise ignored it. The sound of the gun going off produced no reaction in Dustin, but he turned and walked calmly, as if there weren't any bullets speeding through the air around him, over towards where Marie waited in the car. He'd been shot before, he'd been stabbed multiple times before... hell he spent a year in Mexican prison when he was only 15 years old with some of the worst criminals in the country. This, to him, was nothing. That and the drugs were probably clouding his fear instinct a bit. He walked silently over to the car as one bullet after another was sent from the gun the other man held, but stopped when he reached it, and cast a glance over his shoulder in the direction of the men who had it in for her.

He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to get in the car with her and someone else he didn't know. He wasn't a fan of cars as it was, but to get into one driven by this guy who clearly knew how to handle a gun was just not the sort of situation he wanted to get himself into. It required too much trust of people he knew nothing about, and his trust was not easy to earn. After a moment's indecision though he slid into the car as if he had no issues with it, though he most certainly did. Not long after, the driver returned and sped off as if the devil was after them. Not exactly discreet, and Dustin definitely hated anything that would draw attention in his general area, but he still said nothing. When finally the driver spoke, Dustin still stayed silent. It didn't matter if he was okay or not, the blood currently wasn't obvious as it was hidden by the dark fabric and it was on the side of the door so it was likely no one would see it for now.

He caught the look from the man and simply shook his head slightly. Who he was didn't really matter either, and he wasn't going to give out his name on just a look. He preferred to know something about the people before he said anything to them involving his name. He still just said nothing, and waited until someone directly addressed him. That was how he worked. He just didn't talk unless he had to. It was an old habit he got from a life of abuse and prison, a habit that he would probably never break.

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