Post by CHRISTOPHER ROBIN WATERS on Aug 24, 2013 9:36:55 GMT -8
| [atrb=style,width: 420px; background-color: efefef; background-image: url(http://24.media.tumblr.com/0478144b9f16c95a37367d1aca56b45c/tumblr_mkfax8tDxp1s97ldco1_500.png); padding: 5px, bTable] CHRISTOPHER R. WATERS TWENTY SEVEN | HETEROSEXUAL | EX-MARINE | EMERGENCY CREW | RICK MALAMBRI THE INTERVIEW HELLO. THANKS FOR COMING IN TODAY. SHALL WE START WITH YOUR NAME? christopher robin waters. you can call me christopher or robin but never chris. i'll even answer to waters if i have to. THAT'S A NICE NAME. WHAT DO YOU DO FOR A LIVING? i scraped my way through high school, which is a blessing if you know my past. when i turned seventeen i joined the marine core and i'm still not sure if that was the best decision for me considering the way i am now. outside of that, since i've been sent home on medical discharge, i'm a gambler by trade and an alcoholic by choice, though i don't really know if you can classify those as occupations or anything. drinking, gambling, and sleeping around is basically all i do for a living these days. i'm a real winner in society, a stand up citizen. INTERESTING. WHAT DO YOU DO FOR FUN? up until recently i haven't had any free time so i'm still trying to figure out what it is that i want to do with myself. i guess for now my free time consists of booze and countless, nameless women along with the occasional arrest. i don't even really know what else to tell you. i'm a pretty simple guy who just does all the wrong things. the things i really like are as follows...seriously, try and keep up with me...booze, sex, women, cigarettes, fast bikes, leather jackets, jeans, adrenaline, caffeine, WOULD YOU SAY THOSE ACTIVITIES REFLECT WHO YOU ARE? yeah, i'd say it pretty much sums me up. i'm an asshole, to put it bluntly. i'm a womanizer, a cheat, a drifter, a drunk, and a gambler. i tend to stick to myself and only do what's going to benefit me the most. i am not known to stay faithful in a relationship and, honestly, it's nothing personal to the woman i'm with. i'm just complicated. i rarely talk about my feelings or show what i feel. smoking is my crutch and i will never give it up. i've never hurt a woman physically but i can't say as much for that thing called verbal abuse, and, well, i've been known to leave emotional scars. however, i don't make a habit of getting into relationships anymore. i'm done seeing women hurt over me. right now i just sleep around and, again, do whatever is best for me. i have PTSD so i'm quite cautious sometimes. i may tense up at a certain sound or voice and have been known to lash out unexpectedly. to this day i have never hurt anyone, fortunately, but i'm honestly a ticking time bomb. i do have nightmares and it's hard to be in the same bed with me, if you're lucky enough to get beneath the sheets in the first place. does that answer your question? A COOL CAT LIKE YOU MUST HAVE A TON OF SUITORS FLOCKING TO YOU, HUH? no, not really. like i just said, i don't really do relationships anymore. i tend to save the women the heartache of dealing with me in the long term. i've gotten to a point where i'm just a hit it and quit it kind of a guy. i've come to figure out that it's quite a lonely life to lead but being a mentally fucked up heterosexual male with a nice body that people desire, there isn't much else i can do. i love sex and having it with women but i'm just not viable for a hearts and flowers kind of relationship with them after that. doesn't help that i've become a bit of a commitment phobe because of it. COOL BEANS. THEY SAY YOUR FAMILY SHAPES WHO YOU ARE. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOURS? my family is shit. i hate my parents and i'm an only child. my grandparents, on both sides, are now deceased and i only ever liked one set of them anyway. i have a handful of cousins that i get along with but they don't live around here. AND YOUR LIFE? TELL ME ABOUT YOUR PAST. I'M EAGER TO HEAR. let's just....start at the beginning, otherwise you're not going to understand. i was born to a sixteen year old mother. her name is lauren eloise waters. at the time she was a matthews, but that's beside the point. having a teen mom means that she makes a lot of mistakes, including thinking that naming her son after a book/show character was a great idea. but, again, that doesn't matter. what does is the way i was raised. the way i was treated. from the time i was old enough to walk and feed myself, i was pretty much on my own. i learned to fend for myself pretty early on and, if i didn't, well, that was tough luck on my part. if i couldn't find something to eat, i didn't eat. if i got hurt, i usually had to suck it up. except for that one time that i fell out of a tree and broke my arm in three places. that was the one time i think i ever saw a doctor on a voluntary status. the whole not seeing a doctor regularly was based on the fact that i was abused, sexually and physically. it started when i was about five years old and lasted until i was about...fifteen or so. imagine, a whole decade of being vulnerable, of feeling like trash, of feeling used. of having no one to defend you. and all of this from your mother's hands. and, no, i don't mean that she abused me. i mean that she allowed it to happen. she turned a blind eye to it. the whole thing started with my biological father, robbie allen waters, an, at the time, twenty year old man going nowhere. if i'd been old enough to completely comprehend what was going on, i would have pegged him for an alcoholic, or something like one. he didn't like having a kid and i'm not quite sure why he stuck around. i guess he just liked banging my mom that much. who the hell knows really. his abuse started with the occasional yell of profanity whenever i did something wrong and then it moved on to the name calling and so on until he eventually put his hands on me. he always did it when we were alone though, he never wanted anyone to blame him for my bruises. i was a kid, after all, kids got bruises on the playground. not too long after that came the friends. they were considerably older than my parents but they got some sort of thrill when it came to me. i don't understand it, i didn't like it, and the whole thing was extremely uncomfortable. it's not like i could help it though, i was a child. it would be my word against all of theirs. besides, my dad had enough sense to threaten my ass. i couldn't tell anyone or else i would get a bullet to the face when the authorities showed up. my dad didn't mind going to jail over killing me. he said he'd been there before, it wasn't so bad. better than the shit hole we were living in. i ran away from home when i was fifteen, that was how the abuse ended. i fled to my paternal grandparents. surprisingly, though they had an asshole for a son, they were pleasant enough. they actually cared about me but lived too far away to ever know what was going on in our lives, mine especially. when i came clean about everything, they were skeptical at first, expressing that they'd never suspected, had never known. they wanted to know why i hadn't said anything before. i explained everything, all over again, and eventually they understood. they saw that their son wasn't the best of men but hadn't believed it until i told my side of the story. i will always be grateful that they believed me. they were the ones that helped me emancipate myself. they gave me a place to stay and helped me scoot by in school. i was a bright kid, i knew, but i was shut down. i didn't want anything to do with people or academics or sports. i just wanted to be alone. at my lowest point, i wanted to kill myself. and that was the one thing that frightened me. it scared me enough that i enlisted in the marines at seventeen years of age. fresh out of a high school with a black soul and blazing spirit. served ten years, had my spirit broken, in a different way than my parents had broken it, and made a man of myself. sort of. i'm a man, sure, but not the guy i'd like to one day be. however, i know in my heart of hearts, i'll never be him. i'm too messed up, too broken. my mind and my body are just shells. all i have to show for my life on this earth is some hatred, a couple of nightmares, a bubbling anger, and commitment issues. i'm a real pal to have. What about a secret? Everyone has a secret. i can't tell you more than what i already have. i was abused. i hate my parents. i have post traumatic stress disorder. i can't commit. i have nightmares. i'm afraid of becoming an alcoholic. i'm an ex-marine. i'm fantastic with a gun. i guess the biggest secret out of all that is the fact that i was sexually abused as a child. no one knows about that except my parents (and their friends, of course), my grandparents, and myself. it's not something everyone needs to know so i guess you could call it what it is, a secret. ALRIGHT. TIME'S ALMOST UP. TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DREAMS. QUICK! i want to be someone else but can't. i want to be better than my father ever thought about being. i want to be a man who can fall in love with a woman, marry her, and have a couple of kids but i don't know if that's ever going to be me. AND THAT'S A WRAP. IT WAS NICE GETTING TO KNOW YOU. fuck off. BEHIND THE MASK MISFIT | TWENTY | EST | ERIN REFERRED ME | NONE YET As Christopher slowly came awake, he realized that there was a sharp in pain in his neck. Growling to himself, he tried to shift in order to get a better angle in which to crack it but found himself stuck. Opening his eyes slightly, more of a squint than anything else, he realized that there was a woman sleeping upon his chest. He wasn't surprised, not at all, and, as he looked at her, he even gave the half-hearted attempt to recall her name. Ella? Addison? Elise? Miranda? After a minor bit of shifting he was able to bring a hand to his face and scrubbed at his features slowly. Elizabeth. That's who this was. His brow furrowed just a little bit as his gaze brushed over the female on top of him once more. Yes, definitely Elizabeth. She was one of his more regular lays and, to be honest, that was really saying something because Christopher never stayed committed to one thing for too long. His time in the Marine Core notwithstanding. To any outsider, it could be assumed that he and Elizabeth were an item. He treated her decently enough and she came to his place on a somewhat regular basis but, to be honest, there was nothing between them but great sex. And, somehow, she understood his need for nothing more than that. She gave to him willingly and accepted the fact that she wasn't always going to be allowed in his bed. She also understood that he would sometimes send her home early for her own protection. His disorder left him a ticking time bomb and the last thing he wanted was to hurt the one person he could even remotely say he gave a damn about. With a sigh, Christopher, with much more gentleness than he had intended, shoved the blond woman off of him. "Off bitch." he muttered, feeling absolutely foul. When she finally moved off of him and curled herself around the spare pillow on his bed, Christopher almost regretted the idea of getting out of bed. He could stay here and enjoy his time, he knew that, but he needed a smoke. He needed to get out of these four walls before he drove himself crazy. Freed from the confines of another human being's weight, he slowly sat up and brought his hands to his head. With a quick wrench this way and that, Christopher cracked his neck, effectively relieving the pressure that had been causing the sharp pain. The sound of the cracks that resulted was quite satisfying and he couldn't help but let out a small sigh of contentment. Eventually he threw the covers off of himself and stood up, standing there in all his glory as he yawned and stretched. Padding into the bathroom that adjoined his bedroom, he shut the door and went on with his business. A shower, the quickest of shaves (more like a trim but who actually cared about the technicalities?), and some clothes later, Christopher walked out of the bathroom a somewhat new man. He didn't have as much of a bad mood as he had going in and that was a blessing. Sauntering over to his bedside table, he began loading up his pockets with the things he deemed necessary. His keys. His phone. A pocketknife. And other odds and ends that could become useful in and when he needed them. Making his way towards the door of his bedroom, he heard the near muffled sigh of Elizabeth before her voice pierced the air. Where was he going? That was what she was asking him. "Out." he told her firmly, exiting his bedroom before the word even reached her ears. He rarely minced words. She would either be here when he got back or she wouldn't be, it wouldn't really matter to Christopher. There were other women if he needed one. However, right now, he was doing fine. The nightmares had been at bay last night, thankfully, and his flashbacks had been at a minimum recently. He was surely counting his blessings as he climbed behind the wheel of his 1970 Camaro. He honestly didn't know how he had gotten so lucky as to own such a beast. And to have it in such prime condition was yet another thing to be thankful for. Within minutes, the car was roaring down the street, pointing him in the direction of the park he frequented. Rutherford. Stepping out of his car, he took a deep breath and sighed, his aviators allowing him the advantage of looking around wherever he pleased without anyone being the wiser. Shutting the door, he immediately reached into his pocket and retrieved his pack of cigarettes. The papery case was rather torn up and rough looking but the treasured sticks inside were just fine. Sliding one out, he balanced the cancerous length between his lips and began searching for his lighter. After a brief moment that too was located and he was beginning to light the sucker, his hand cupped around the end of it as he waited for the thing to light. He felt a sense of satisfaction consume him as the cigarette took on that reddish hue at the tip, signaling the start of a light. Only to have it go out a second later as a wind gust blew past him. "Fuck!" he exclaimed to himself, scrambling to get his hand cupped tighter around so he could actually get it lit this time. And, fortunately, after a moment, he accomplished just that. Taking a much needed hit, he savored it for a heartbeat before allowing the smoke to escape between pursed lips. Just as he was about to take another puff, he heard someone exclaiming in panic. Now normally Christopher was a selfish bastard but something in that girl's voice prompted him to be a halfway decent human being. At least for five minutes. Turning his gaze towards the sound, he caught sight of papers beginning to waft through the air. Not too far after them was a petite blonde woman who was frantically trying to get a hold of them. He watched as she clutched them to her chest for a moment and, as he looked closer, he could see that she wasn't relieved. She had to still be missing something. And, as if he had called it to him, a small piece of paper began to flutter in his direction. With the softest of sighs, he lazily meandered over to where the paper was fighting against a taller piece of grass. Keeping his cigarette in his right hand, distanced far away from the paper which he was taking into his left, he grabbed it and made his way toward the distressed female. "Lose something?" he asked casually, taking the time to look her up and down behind the cover of his shades. She was definitely pretty. |
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