Teen Angst
- Location
- Back in the 90s (In a very famous TV show)
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Ve/Ver
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2290
Aubrey turned to Danforth as the human woman sipped her drink. The Mr. Handy, obviously, wasn't able to do anything of the sort. "I don't know, she fantasizes about redemption sometimes. It's...It's different. She wants to be better, but you can be better and not be redeemed, you know? And I believe she can be redeemed. There probably isn't that much difference between that kind of retirement and that kind of redemption, but yeah. I just feel as though part of me wants to reassure her that she can be better, that she can just stop being evil and try to be good and that'll be enough, but...I think about what Roxie went through. My owners at least had the tiny kindness to leave me my hatred, Roxie didn't even get that.
"I know she doesn't see me as the second coming of Roxie, but...I don't know. We're all sinners, but...I don't think it just requires accepting Jesus to get you into Heaven, but...Maybe she can become someone who's given more to the world than she's taken from it? How do you deal with trying to help support a literal jackbooted fascist? Honestly, even if she stays a torturing slaver, I...I still would want to be with her. I'd be ashamed, and if she tried those tactics on me I'd kill her, but...She told me when we first met that she wanted to settle down with a wife and a household of slaves, and...Dear God, Danforth, I would have let it happen if it meant being around her. She's...genuine, and honest, and...kind, when she wants to be, and she isn't afraid of anything." Aubrey sighed and took a long drink of her firewater-in-a-cup.
She exhaled.
She felt alone in a bar full of people.
"I realize that that would be morally unacceptable, and I'd like to think I'd dump her if she enslaved someone, but she carries herself like a goddess. Every instinct in my brain is just to bow down. If she becomes a different person, I want her to still be proud of herself, still be confident and cocky and powerful. I could live with her if she lost that, definitely, but..." Aubrey sighed. "...And she really has had a hard life. She could have avoided politics, but...The Old World, the Enclave, they weren't set up to make her a functioning human being, and neither was her brain. She has a personality disorder. It means she gets endorphins, she enjoys it, when she hurts people.
"Oh, and she has this way of looking at you. It's really relaxed, but you can see it in her eyes. She's always in control. I know, rationally, that her becoming better probably will make her different but I don't think I could forgive myself if I didn't leave her better than I found her." Aubrey finished her glass.
It was a cold room, and Aubrey thought of burned lips.
2061
"Mom, this is bullshit!" A 14 year old Jackie whined, as she procrastinated doing her homework. "It's unfair. Homework's just busywork given so that teachers think we're learning things. I don't need to learn shit about math, I'll never use it," Jackie said.
Raven (as they would later be properly referred to as) laughed. "That's just because you're a dummy!" they giggled. "I got an A on my math homework."
"Shut up, it's easy when you're a goddamn seven year old," Jackie muttered.
Dave, recently in possession of his own Corvega sedan, looked up from his copy of Slaughterhouse-Five. "I'm trying to read."
"Yeah, Dave, read your commie book," Jackie said.
"It's not a—Nevermind. Why do I bother?" Dave sighed.
"Raven, don't call your sister a dummy. Jackie, don't use swear words. David, temper," Sara Stanton said, in the middle of washing some dishes in the sink by hand. She wore rubber gloves. Jackie, far later, would also wear rubber gloves.
"Swearing doesn't make you sound adult, Jackie. Nobody's going to take a fourteen year old seriously, even if she calls things 'bullshit'," Dave chided.
"Yeah, Jackie, stop swearing. Also, stop throwing my stuffies in the fireplace!" Raven said.
"You're seven years old, why do you still have stuffed animals?" Jackie asked.
"They're my friends," Raven said, defensively. "I already got my homework done, I dunno why you're so testy."
"They're not friends, they're just toys," Jackie said. "And it's funny to see you cry."
Dave rolled his eyes. "Well, better that than torturing squirrels," he said. He tried to get back to his book.
"Maybe I should try that," Jackie said, with a wicked smile on her face. Sara looked as though she was going to faint. "Kidding, kidding!" Jackie said. "Maybe," she whispered under her breath.
"Jacqueline Aranea Stanton, I thought we talked about throwing Raven's toys into the fireplace."
"Yeah, we talked about how great it was," Jackie snickered.
"You are such a little hellion sometimes. If you start torturing small animals, you're grounded for a month. No holotape games. No comic books. Nothing," Sara hissed.
"Fine! You're such a goddamn tyrant anyway!" Jackie said, clearly not knowing what was good for her. "You'll see, I'm gonna go to New York City and I'll be a famous actress, and then you'll all never get to go to my motherfucking mansion."
Sara walked up to Jackie, grabbed her by the collar of her blouse, and lifted her up. "You will behave yourself, missy. Now," Sara said. Electric eyes burned into the teenager's.
Jackie's eyes widened. "Yes, Mom..."
Raven laughed and Sara turned to them. "You two, not a word. These disrespectful attitudes are completely unwarranted. What did God say about parents?"
"Honor yer mother an' father?" Raven said.
"Exactly," Sara hissed.
Dave looked over at his mom. "Hey, I was wondering if I could invite John, Mark, Emily, Cherry, and Ross over to play some Grognak RPG tomorrow. That good?"
"...Sure, just make sure your homework's done first," Sara said with a sigh.
"I do it in study hall, don't worry," Dave said with an easy smile. Jackie stared at him, thinking lots of very nasty things involving the words "brownnoser" "ass-kisser", and "suckup". There was no way she'd ever become such a little shit, she thought. Rules were meant to be broken, right?
"Mom, can we buy a new Toasty? Jackie burned my old Toasty," Raven said.
"...The stuffed animal? Oh, honey, definitely. Jackie, you're lucky you served your sentence for that, because that was atrocious," Sara said.
Jackie rolled her eyes. "They're just collections of stuffing, fake fur, and beady glass eyes. I don't see what the problem is."
"They're Raven's toys," Sara said.
"Raven has way too much of an imagination," Jackie replied.
"Do you really wanna push it, Little Miss Prickly?" Sara asked.
"No, Mom," Jackie responded, quickly.
Dave got up. "Hey, Jackie, you done with homework?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You and I, we gotta have a talk, okay?"
"Jesus, what?" Jackie asked.
Dave sighed, walked over to Jackie, and took her hand, before pulling her in the direction of her room. He closed the door. Jackie's room was a mess of rock and roll posters and scattered clothes, along with a bottle of red wine hidden under the bed that both Dave and Jackie knew was there. Jackie had recently learned that when you didn't fit in, the best way to escape was to get blitzed.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Jackie hissed.
"Jackie, I know what's wrong with you."
"There's nothing wrong with me."
"I've been reading psych textbooks." He sat on her bed, motioning for her to sit next to him. "You've got this thing. It's called a sadistic personality disorder. It means you enjoy other people's pain."
"So, what's the problem? Everyone's like that."
"Jackie, they're not. You have a real issue, and you can't indulge it by setting Raven's toys on fire, or planning to torture small animals, or yelling at little kids at school, or putting dead pigeons in people's lockers, or spreading rumors that other girls are pregnant or sluts or whatever."
"How do you know about that?"
"We go to the same school. Jackie, you need an intervention. I've talked to Mom about this, and she knows a therapist. Her name's Dr. Okada. We need you to talk to her so you can figure out some kind of way to get these urges out safely, or ignore them, or something."
"Fuck you," the teenage Jackie said.
"This is serious, it's called Sadistic Personality Disorder and if you don't learn to cope with it you'll feel the repercussions of it your entire life. Do you want to be arrested, Jackie? This is how you get arrested. You start with toys, then making kids cry, then torturing squirrels, and eventually you're torturing people. Real, live people, with real dreams and hopes."
"I'd never torture a person, Dave, don't be stupid," Jackie hissed.
"I don't think you would. Not now. But eventually? Society doesn't work well with sadists, it doesn't accept them."
"Yeah, well, screw society," Jackie said.
"Jackie, I love you. Please, just talk to the doctor. There's some new stuff. Cognitive behavioral therapy, dialectical behavioral therapy..."
"You really know a lot about this stuff," Jackie said, suspicion in her tone.
"I've been worrying about you."
"You want to institutionalize me, is that it?" Jackie said.
"I want you to see a motherfucking therapist so you can function in society without being a vicious little bully!"
"I'm not a bully," Jackie said.
"Well, Mom's taking you to Dr. Ridley tomorrow."
"Bullshit!"
"Well, Jackie, it seems like you have a pretty clear-cut personality profile," the over-tired-looking woman in the swivel chair said to her. "Sadistic Personality Disorder, substance abuse issues, mild antisocial traits, no history of autism, no lack of empathy, nothing too complex. So, that's good. It's easier for both of us."
"Are you saying I'm a freak?" Jackie asked, her hands on her lap as she lay on the couch.
"Jackie, your psychological profile, frankly, is closest to CEOs and politicians, not serial killers."
"So maybe I should become one of those?"
"Good luck. A trans woman in politics? You'd be almost as screwed as I would be. My mom's Japanese but I still get backlash. That's not the point, though. Jackie, I just...I think we need to handle these dysfunctional sadistic behaviors, and then we should be fine."
"...You're kind of a shitty therapist." Jackie's eyes narrowed.
"I'm just blunt. It comes with the Asperger's syndrome," Dr. Okada said.
"Whatever. So how do I become normal? Don't say 'just don't hurt people', I can choose not to hurt people but hurting people feels so damn good all the time."
"Well, I think we need a two-pronged strategy here, Jackie. First, we need to deal with those urges, and the best way to do that is to question them as they pop up. Stop for a moment and think to yourself. Do you want to engage in destructive behavior that pushes away friends and hurts people who might come to like you? You need to develop critical thought patterns. Second, try finding something else that you enjoy, besides hurting people."
Jackie rolled her eyes. "I'd rather you just say I'm a psycho."
Dr. Okada put her hands together and exhaled. "Why's that?"
"Then I could just leave and brag about how I got diagnosed as a psycho."
Dr. Okada nodded. "Jackie, why do you enjoy hurting people?"
"It's fun and it makes me feel good."
"Why does it make you feel good?"
"I dunno, it just does."
"Well, there are four types of Sadistic Personality Disorder, and of the four, the one that best seems to fit you from what you've told me is tyrannical sadism. You like to hurt people because that means that you aren't being hurt by someone, that you're in control. Does that sound accurate?" Dr. Okada asked, her voice even. She ran a hand through a black ponytail.
"I dunno, maybe? What's the point of this?" Jackie asked.
"We can't fix what we don't understand."
"What's the point of fixing me? I'm fine. You said I had the personality of a CEO, right?"
"CEOs are often very dysfunctional people."
"Jesus, enough with this commie crap," Jackie said.
"That's not communism, that's just a statement of fact," Dr. Okada said.
"It's off-topic."
"You're right, it is. Is there anything you enjoy besides hurting people?"
"Girls."
"It seems like hurting people would make it harder to find a girl to be with," Dr. Okada commented.
"Look, I'm fourteen, am I even supposed to have a boyfriend or girlfriend? What do you want from me? If you 'fix' me, what happens? What do I get out of it?"
"Purely rationally? A much higher chance of success and respect in your chosen field, a much better reputation, a higher chance of scoring with women and a broader playing field to choose from. Plus, a much lower chance of institutionalization or incarceration," Dr. Okada said.
"...Oh, shit, that's pretty good."
"It is, isn't it? So, ready to get to work?"
"Hell yeah, teach me how to not be a psycho."
2290
She lay on the bed of her hotel in Wooden Point, her burned skin pressing against the silk sheets. Truth be told, Jacqueline, a politician is a killer, and you should understand that your job may require hurting others. In some ways, it's part of the fun, it's a big game. A man, or woman, or transsexual needs to have a killer's instinct to succeed in politics, Senator Cartwright had said.
It was killer's instinct, not sadism. It was a feature, not a bug. The DC gay bars were crying out for powerful, evil women, and so were the halls of power.
Then, the war had come and she'd been inducted into the Enclave, and suddenly what was true in DC became a hundred times more true in Toronto. They didn't call it killer's instinct up North, they just called it sadism, but that was because it was a rare gift.
She was special.
"Wow, things have come full circle, huh," she mumbled, quietly. "Now it's back to sadism being a bad thing."
Aubrey turned to Danforth as the human woman sipped her drink. The Mr. Handy, obviously, wasn't able to do anything of the sort. "I don't know, she fantasizes about redemption sometimes. It's...It's different. She wants to be better, but you can be better and not be redeemed, you know? And I believe she can be redeemed. There probably isn't that much difference between that kind of retirement and that kind of redemption, but yeah. I just feel as though part of me wants to reassure her that she can be better, that she can just stop being evil and try to be good and that'll be enough, but...I think about what Roxie went through. My owners at least had the tiny kindness to leave me my hatred, Roxie didn't even get that.
"I know she doesn't see me as the second coming of Roxie, but...I don't know. We're all sinners, but...I don't think it just requires accepting Jesus to get you into Heaven, but...Maybe she can become someone who's given more to the world than she's taken from it? How do you deal with trying to help support a literal jackbooted fascist? Honestly, even if she stays a torturing slaver, I...I still would want to be with her. I'd be ashamed, and if she tried those tactics on me I'd kill her, but...She told me when we first met that she wanted to settle down with a wife and a household of slaves, and...Dear God, Danforth, I would have let it happen if it meant being around her. She's...genuine, and honest, and...kind, when she wants to be, and she isn't afraid of anything." Aubrey sighed and took a long drink of her firewater-in-a-cup.
She exhaled.
She felt alone in a bar full of people.
"I realize that that would be morally unacceptable, and I'd like to think I'd dump her if she enslaved someone, but she carries herself like a goddess. Every instinct in my brain is just to bow down. If she becomes a different person, I want her to still be proud of herself, still be confident and cocky and powerful. I could live with her if she lost that, definitely, but..." Aubrey sighed. "...And she really has had a hard life. She could have avoided politics, but...The Old World, the Enclave, they weren't set up to make her a functioning human being, and neither was her brain. She has a personality disorder. It means she gets endorphins, she enjoys it, when she hurts people.
"Oh, and she has this way of looking at you. It's really relaxed, but you can see it in her eyes. She's always in control. I know, rationally, that her becoming better probably will make her different but I don't think I could forgive myself if I didn't leave her better than I found her." Aubrey finished her glass.
It was a cold room, and Aubrey thought of burned lips.
2061
"Mom, this is bullshit!" A 14 year old Jackie whined, as she procrastinated doing her homework. "It's unfair. Homework's just busywork given so that teachers think we're learning things. I don't need to learn shit about math, I'll never use it," Jackie said.
Raven (as they would later be properly referred to as) laughed. "That's just because you're a dummy!" they giggled. "I got an A on my math homework."
"Shut up, it's easy when you're a goddamn seven year old," Jackie muttered.
Dave, recently in possession of his own Corvega sedan, looked up from his copy of Slaughterhouse-Five. "I'm trying to read."
"Yeah, Dave, read your commie book," Jackie said.
"It's not a—Nevermind. Why do I bother?" Dave sighed.
"Raven, don't call your sister a dummy. Jackie, don't use swear words. David, temper," Sara Stanton said, in the middle of washing some dishes in the sink by hand. She wore rubber gloves. Jackie, far later, would also wear rubber gloves.
"Swearing doesn't make you sound adult, Jackie. Nobody's going to take a fourteen year old seriously, even if she calls things 'bullshit'," Dave chided.
"Yeah, Jackie, stop swearing. Also, stop throwing my stuffies in the fireplace!" Raven said.
"You're seven years old, why do you still have stuffed animals?" Jackie asked.
"They're my friends," Raven said, defensively. "I already got my homework done, I dunno why you're so testy."
"They're not friends, they're just toys," Jackie said. "And it's funny to see you cry."
Dave rolled his eyes. "Well, better that than torturing squirrels," he said. He tried to get back to his book.
"Maybe I should try that," Jackie said, with a wicked smile on her face. Sara looked as though she was going to faint. "Kidding, kidding!" Jackie said. "Maybe," she whispered under her breath.
"Jacqueline Aranea Stanton, I thought we talked about throwing Raven's toys into the fireplace."
"Yeah, we talked about how great it was," Jackie snickered.
"You are such a little hellion sometimes. If you start torturing small animals, you're grounded for a month. No holotape games. No comic books. Nothing," Sara hissed.
"Fine! You're such a goddamn tyrant anyway!" Jackie said, clearly not knowing what was good for her. "You'll see, I'm gonna go to New York City and I'll be a famous actress, and then you'll all never get to go to my motherfucking mansion."
Sara walked up to Jackie, grabbed her by the collar of her blouse, and lifted her up. "You will behave yourself, missy. Now," Sara said. Electric eyes burned into the teenager's.
Jackie's eyes widened. "Yes, Mom..."
Raven laughed and Sara turned to them. "You two, not a word. These disrespectful attitudes are completely unwarranted. What did God say about parents?"
"Honor yer mother an' father?" Raven said.
"Exactly," Sara hissed.
Dave looked over at his mom. "Hey, I was wondering if I could invite John, Mark, Emily, Cherry, and Ross over to play some Grognak RPG tomorrow. That good?"
"...Sure, just make sure your homework's done first," Sara said with a sigh.
"I do it in study hall, don't worry," Dave said with an easy smile. Jackie stared at him, thinking lots of very nasty things involving the words "brownnoser" "ass-kisser", and "suckup". There was no way she'd ever become such a little shit, she thought. Rules were meant to be broken, right?
"Mom, can we buy a new Toasty? Jackie burned my old Toasty," Raven said.
"...The stuffed animal? Oh, honey, definitely. Jackie, you're lucky you served your sentence for that, because that was atrocious," Sara said.
Jackie rolled her eyes. "They're just collections of stuffing, fake fur, and beady glass eyes. I don't see what the problem is."
"They're Raven's toys," Sara said.
"Raven has way too much of an imagination," Jackie replied.
"Do you really wanna push it, Little Miss Prickly?" Sara asked.
"No, Mom," Jackie responded, quickly.
Dave got up. "Hey, Jackie, you done with homework?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You and I, we gotta have a talk, okay?"
"Jesus, what?" Jackie asked.
Dave sighed, walked over to Jackie, and took her hand, before pulling her in the direction of her room. He closed the door. Jackie's room was a mess of rock and roll posters and scattered clothes, along with a bottle of red wine hidden under the bed that both Dave and Jackie knew was there. Jackie had recently learned that when you didn't fit in, the best way to escape was to get blitzed.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Jackie hissed.
"Jackie, I know what's wrong with you."
"There's nothing wrong with me."
"I've been reading psych textbooks." He sat on her bed, motioning for her to sit next to him. "You've got this thing. It's called a sadistic personality disorder. It means you enjoy other people's pain."
"So, what's the problem? Everyone's like that."
"Jackie, they're not. You have a real issue, and you can't indulge it by setting Raven's toys on fire, or planning to torture small animals, or yelling at little kids at school, or putting dead pigeons in people's lockers, or spreading rumors that other girls are pregnant or sluts or whatever."
"How do you know about that?"
"We go to the same school. Jackie, you need an intervention. I've talked to Mom about this, and she knows a therapist. Her name's Dr. Okada. We need you to talk to her so you can figure out some kind of way to get these urges out safely, or ignore them, or something."
"Fuck you," the teenage Jackie said.
"This is serious, it's called Sadistic Personality Disorder and if you don't learn to cope with it you'll feel the repercussions of it your entire life. Do you want to be arrested, Jackie? This is how you get arrested. You start with toys, then making kids cry, then torturing squirrels, and eventually you're torturing people. Real, live people, with real dreams and hopes."
"I'd never torture a person, Dave, don't be stupid," Jackie hissed.
"I don't think you would. Not now. But eventually? Society doesn't work well with sadists, it doesn't accept them."
"Yeah, well, screw society," Jackie said.
"Jackie, I love you. Please, just talk to the doctor. There's some new stuff. Cognitive behavioral therapy, dialectical behavioral therapy..."
"You really know a lot about this stuff," Jackie said, suspicion in her tone.
"I've been worrying about you."
"You want to institutionalize me, is that it?" Jackie said.
"I want you to see a motherfucking therapist so you can function in society without being a vicious little bully!"
"I'm not a bully," Jackie said.
"Well, Mom's taking you to Dr. Ridley tomorrow."
"Bullshit!"
"Well, Jackie, it seems like you have a pretty clear-cut personality profile," the over-tired-looking woman in the swivel chair said to her. "Sadistic Personality Disorder, substance abuse issues, mild antisocial traits, no history of autism, no lack of empathy, nothing too complex. So, that's good. It's easier for both of us."
"Are you saying I'm a freak?" Jackie asked, her hands on her lap as she lay on the couch.
"Jackie, your psychological profile, frankly, is closest to CEOs and politicians, not serial killers."
"So maybe I should become one of those?"
"Good luck. A trans woman in politics? You'd be almost as screwed as I would be. My mom's Japanese but I still get backlash. That's not the point, though. Jackie, I just...I think we need to handle these dysfunctional sadistic behaviors, and then we should be fine."
"...You're kind of a shitty therapist." Jackie's eyes narrowed.
"I'm just blunt. It comes with the Asperger's syndrome," Dr. Okada said.
"Whatever. So how do I become normal? Don't say 'just don't hurt people', I can choose not to hurt people but hurting people feels so damn good all the time."
"Well, I think we need a two-pronged strategy here, Jackie. First, we need to deal with those urges, and the best way to do that is to question them as they pop up. Stop for a moment and think to yourself. Do you want to engage in destructive behavior that pushes away friends and hurts people who might come to like you? You need to develop critical thought patterns. Second, try finding something else that you enjoy, besides hurting people."
Jackie rolled her eyes. "I'd rather you just say I'm a psycho."
Dr. Okada put her hands together and exhaled. "Why's that?"
"Then I could just leave and brag about how I got diagnosed as a psycho."
Dr. Okada nodded. "Jackie, why do you enjoy hurting people?"
"It's fun and it makes me feel good."
"Why does it make you feel good?"
"I dunno, it just does."
"Well, there are four types of Sadistic Personality Disorder, and of the four, the one that best seems to fit you from what you've told me is tyrannical sadism. You like to hurt people because that means that you aren't being hurt by someone, that you're in control. Does that sound accurate?" Dr. Okada asked, her voice even. She ran a hand through a black ponytail.
"I dunno, maybe? What's the point of this?" Jackie asked.
"We can't fix what we don't understand."
"What's the point of fixing me? I'm fine. You said I had the personality of a CEO, right?"
"CEOs are often very dysfunctional people."
"Jesus, enough with this commie crap," Jackie said.
"That's not communism, that's just a statement of fact," Dr. Okada said.
"It's off-topic."
"You're right, it is. Is there anything you enjoy besides hurting people?"
"Girls."
"It seems like hurting people would make it harder to find a girl to be with," Dr. Okada commented.
"Look, I'm fourteen, am I even supposed to have a boyfriend or girlfriend? What do you want from me? If you 'fix' me, what happens? What do I get out of it?"
"Purely rationally? A much higher chance of success and respect in your chosen field, a much better reputation, a higher chance of scoring with women and a broader playing field to choose from. Plus, a much lower chance of institutionalization or incarceration," Dr. Okada said.
"...Oh, shit, that's pretty good."
"It is, isn't it? So, ready to get to work?"
"Hell yeah, teach me how to not be a psycho."
2290
She lay on the bed of her hotel in Wooden Point, her burned skin pressing against the silk sheets. Truth be told, Jacqueline, a politician is a killer, and you should understand that your job may require hurting others. In some ways, it's part of the fun, it's a big game. A man, or woman, or transsexual needs to have a killer's instinct to succeed in politics, Senator Cartwright had said.
It was killer's instinct, not sadism. It was a feature, not a bug. The DC gay bars were crying out for powerful, evil women, and so were the halls of power.
Then, the war had come and she'd been inducted into the Enclave, and suddenly what was true in DC became a hundred times more true in Toronto. They didn't call it killer's instinct up North, they just called it sadism, but that was because it was a rare gift.
She was special.
"Wow, things have come full circle, huh," she mumbled, quietly. "Now it's back to sadism being a bad thing."
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