Chapter Text
Part 1
Opening scene: Living Room, Late Evening.
Nick (protagonist): Icy blue eyes, handsome, tall, black onyx hair, slightly messy and toned body.
Nicole’s genderswap, male counterpart.
Sociopath, cynical, aggressive, apathetic and too smart for his own good.
Nick sits on the couch, hoodie up, arms crossed. He looks annoyed but also exhausted. His dad — hunky, broad-shouldered, tall, golden blond hair, shirt wide open exposing his chest — is pacing with a whiskey glass.
He just got home from a hellish day at work. There’s a prescription pill bottle half-hidden on the counter.
Nick’s blond Dad (counterpart mom): sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose
“Nick. I just got off the phone with the cops. Again.”
Nick: (deadpan) “Yeah. And?”
Dad: (voice rising) “And? Don’t play dumb with me. You’re hanging out with losers, getting into shit, and then crying that it’s not your fault.”
Nick: *glaring* “It’s literally not my fault this time. My fake-ass ‘friends’ were the ones breaking into the store. They pushed the blame on me when the cops came. They ran. I stayed. You should be proud of me for not being a coward like them.”
His dad lets out a laugh — bitter, sharp, cutting.
Dad’s emerald-green eyes wide: “Oh, please. You think that makes you noble? No, that makes you stupid. You—” *points at Nick with his glass* “—you’re too cynical and resentful, you analyze everyone else like you’re Socrates. Guess what, son? Nobody cares. The world doesn’t give a shit about your TED Talks.”
Nick’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm, scowling at the floor. Before he can answer, the door creaks open —
His older ugly fat sister (counterpart brother) waddles in. She’s got Dorito dust on her fingers, greasy hair in a messy bun, oversized gamer hoodie with holes in it. She doesn’t even look up from her phone as she speaks.
Hideous fat sister: “Dad, can you send me $200? I need new headphones. And don’t start your ‘get a job’ bullshit, I’m in the middle of a raid.”
Their DILF dad’s veins pop out. He slams his glass on the table, chest heaving.
Dad yelling: “SHUT YOUR OGRE FATASS FUCK UP, . Get a job! Stop sitting in this house 24/7, doxxing people online like some fucking goblin. You’re 27 years old!”
She finally looks up, sneers, Dorito crumbs falling from her lips.
Sister: “And you’re a alcohol addicted bastard. Don’t act like you’re father of the year when you can’t go five hours without gulping down whiskey.”
The room goes dead quiet. The handsome dad’s face hardens, his jaw clenching, his broad wide chest rising and falling. Nick just sits there, watching, then lets out a short laugh through his nose.
Nick: calmly, to himself
“…and I’m the one who’s fucked up.”
Scene:
Nick’s House – Night continued
The living room is dim except for the blue glow of a TV playing some muted sports channel. Nick’s dad is shirt open, chest like a Greek statue, veins in his forearms bulging as he downs whiskey. Nick sits on the arm of the couch, hoodie up, scrolling on his phone. His older sister, greasy bun and pajama shorts, is hunched over her laptop surrounded by energy drink cans.)
Sister whining: “You should invest in me, Dad! My gamer girl channel’s gonna blow up, just watch! I know people who’ll give me clout.”
Dad laughs cruelly, eyes narrowing:
“Clout? How about you clean your room before you show yourself to millions—oh wait, no. Four people online at best. You clown.”
(he sneers)
“Your old friends from school? They’ve got husbands, jobs, pets. And you? You’re in my house at midnight, screaming like a possessed nerd.”
Nick leans back, smirking.
Nick smiling smug: “Yes, sis. Keep going. The focus isn’t on me for once.”
Nick starts to sneak off toward the stairs. His dad’s hand shoots out, grabbing his arm hard. Nick winces.
Dad shouting angry: “You stay right here, idiot. I’m not done with you!!!”
Nick: (deadpan) “Stop shouting so much. The neighbors will call child services again.”
His dad’s nostrils flare. He storms to the window, throws it open dramatically.
Dad: (yelling out) “YES, I SHOUT AT MY GODDAMN KIDS, MRS. AND MR. MILLER! WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?!”
Across the street, Mrs. Miller pauses mid-dog-walk, sighs.
Mrs. Miller: “Oh lord. He’s at it again, Jacob. Call them.”
Nick’s dad slams the window shut so hard the frame rattles. Nick smirks, trying not to laugh.
Meanwhile, his ogre sister rummages through their dad’s work briefcase.
Dad: “I got no money, you freeloading goblin ray!”
He hurls the whiskey bottle at her feet. She squeals but snatches a shiny new credit card and bolts upstairs. The dad lunges to grab her but-
He trips over Nick’s sneakers, face twisting.
Nick bursts out laughing and pointing:
“Damn, did you just trip over your own feet, old dilf?!”
His dad stops. Red creeping up his neck. He straightens, towers over Nick shadow casting, muscles taut, breathing like a angry bull.
Dad terrifying: “No fucking respect in this house.”
Nick tries to slip out the front door. His dad slams it shut, locks it, knuckles white.
Dad: (wild-eyed) “No respect. Not from you. Not from her. Not from anyone.”
Nick whispers: “he’s about to lose it fuck-“
Nick bolts upstairs but gets dragged by his feet and his dad bodyslams him to the floor.
Nick screams from the pain. He tries to stand up, wobbling.
Nick growling
“You’re so fucking tough throwing your own son around like a ragdoll. Douchebag….”
His bastard dad glares:
“This is to prepare for more fights in the future, the way you love to run your fucking mouth so much.”
His dad cracks his knuckles
Nick kicks and punches his dad multiple times.
Hitting his dad back but almost no impact, any other boy would’ve folded, but it’s
against his own dad who is a tall blond wall.
Noises of breaking glass, furniture moving, screaming and yelling…
Fade to black…
⸻
Scene: Nick’s Bathroom – Later
(Nick stands in front of the mirror, hoodie lifted. Bruises on his pale stomach, a small cut on his lip. He wipes at it with shaking fingers. His eyes are glassy but he refuses to cry. In the reflection, the outline of his dad’s broad chest still flickers in his head.)
Nick: (quiet, to himself) “That’s why Mom divorced and left you. scumbag…”
(He pulls the hoodie back down, hood over his head, and stares at himself until his expression goes blank.)
Scene: – Jack’s phone call
(Sidenote: Don’t mind my stupid *ss naming male Jecka: Jake then Jack…it’s just Jack in more later chapters…)
Jack is the male counterpart of Jecka.
A blond, tall, strong, preppy boy who wears brands like Calvin Klein or abercrombie & fitch.
If Nick is a sharp cutting knife, Jack is a butter knife. (Lol) but hurt in their own ways.
Nick sitting on his bed in his dark room, hoodie up, bruises hidden, cigarette burning in his fingers.
Phone rings.
Nick ignores it. 12 times.
Finally, Nick answers:
Nick: “What the fuck do you want? Either offer me oxycodone or Xanax, or fuck off.”
(In the background, Jack’s mom pacing behind him with a wine bottle.)
Mom: “Jack, you bastard! Stop calling so much, I’m paying high bills!”
Jack: (nervous, trying to sound casual) “J-just a friend. He’s, uh… in the hospital…”
His mom instantly softens, tone flipping like a absurd switch.
Mom: “Oh dear, how awful. Call only for a few minutes, sweetheart…”
Jack grips the phone tighter, eyes darting.)
Nick smoking: “Hey, my fuckass dad just beat me up and I want to cut or burn myself with my cigs. Hurry up.”
Jack freezes. Silence. He hears Nick’s lighter click.
Nick impatiently: “I’m about to hang up, drama king.”
Jack snaps:
“Drama king?! Your dad used you for boxing practice! Are you okay?!”
Nick tries to act tough:
“I’m okay enough to talk. Just tell me why you called. Just to laugh at me? For those douchebags letting me get arrested? I was skipping class and bored and stupid enough to hang with those losers…”
Jake’s knuckles go white.
He exhales. No preppy clowning, no dumb jokes.
Nick angry: “Stop being a bitch boy about feelings. Come to my house. Or hang up so your mommy can yell at you about phone bills!”
Jack: (sighs) “Asshole. We’re friends. Not some loser who laughs at my scumbag dad punching me…”
(Pause. Nick’s voice softens, barely.)
Nick: “I’ll sneak out so we can hang at the skating park… if my dad’s drunk enough to pass out downstairs. I’ll text you when I’m coming. Right now he’s moaning about me getting him snacks from the kitchen. Bye.”
He hangs up. Jake sits there, staring at the phone. His mom drifts back in with her wine.
Mom looks at him: “How’s your friend doing?”
Jake: (half-smiles nervously) “He’s… uh, dying. Like almost dying. I need to see him now!”
His mom gasps, reaching for her car keys.
Mom: “Oh dear—”
Jack panicking: “It’s okay, Mom. I can go myself! Haha…”
(Her eyes narrow.)
Mom: “What is your friend’s name… what classes are you in together?”
She steps closer with the keys. Jack laughs, voice cracking.
Jack : “Mom it’s uh… Nic—Nickson! A friend from school.”
She folds her arms, skeptical.
Mom: “Never heard of this Nickson before.”
Jake sighs: “Mom… my best friend needs me.”
Her frown deepens. Suddenly she hurls the car keys at him.
Mom annoyed: “Fine. Go somewhere. Get high, get drunk, die in a ditch, I don’t care. Just don’t wreck my car.”
Jake’s face crumples at how little she cares. She uncorks the wine.
Mom being a b*tch: “What are you waiting for, asshole? Lying to me about a sick friend?! I know this is about that goth boy Nick! I heard he was arrested. Be a punk, rob someone, get arrested with him. When you’re eighteen you’ll stop freeloading off me and fuck off with Nick to live like drug addicts…”
Jack bites his soft lip, trembling. His eyes glisten but he swallows it.
Jake: “You… you…”
He bolts, slamming the door behind him. His mom takes a long swig from the bottle, muttering.
Title Card: Nerd Jennifer
Scene: Nick’s House – sneaking out
Nick’s hot dad is passed out shirtless on the couch, broad chest gleaming under the lamp, whiskey glass slipping from his hand. He mumbles nonsense in his sleep.
Dad mumbling: “Yesss Archie… static of our projecttttt…”
Nick stands in the doorway, lighter clicking in his hand, jaw tight. His pale face glows in the flame.
Nick seething: “Bastard…”
From upstairs, his fat hideous older sister shrieks at her game.
Fat sister: “FUCKING CAMPERS!”
Dad groans rolling over: “Uuuuhhh… shuuuurrrr uuuuppp…”
Nick freezes, hoodie brushing his bruised ribs. He waits. Silence. He bolts out the back door, disappearing into the night.
⸻
Street – Cycling to Skate Park
Nick rides his bike one-handed, the other clutching his phone. Good ol’ Avril Lavigne’s - Complicated blares from the speaker. His hoodie sleeve wipes away tears. His pale knuckles grip the handlebar, wincing each time the bruises pull.
🎵 “Take off all your preppy clothes, you know you’re not fooling anyone when you become…” 🎵
Nick waits at a red light, hood shadowing his face. Suddenly—
Jennifer: (sing-songy, appearing out of nowhere) “Hello fine sir~”
Nick flinches, snapping his teary eyes up.
Nick: “The FUCK?!”
(It’s Jennifer. Nerdy, ugly, awkward, braces glinting, clutching Pokémon cards and a tuxedo mask figurine.)
Jennifer annoying voice: “Why are you out so late? Going to some chick? You should save yourself for marriage, Nick!”
Nick steps closer, deadpan, his shadow towering over her.
Nick lowers his voice: “Oh yeah. Totally. I’ll marry an very ugly girl with dark hair, bad acne, braces, glasses… and a weird giant man fetish.”
Jennifer’s cheeks flush. She laughs nervously.
Jennifer sniffs him too close: “You smell like… Axe and cigs. Nice.”
Nick realizes how close he’s standing. He leans in, expression blank.
Nick disgusted: “You smell like an anime convention on a hot day.”
Jennifer winces but smiles.
Jennifer hopeful: “Would you come to an anime convention with me?”
Nick sighing: “No. I have other plans. Like scalping myself alive and drowning in a lemon bath. Bye.”
Jennifer laughs nervously, pale but persistent.
Jennifer fake laughing: “Haha… you have such funny unique humor. We should hang out more-“
Nick disgusted: “I’m not kissing your crusty lips just because you fake laugh at my black humor, dumb bitch.”
He mounts his bike and pedals off. Jennifer calls after him.
Jennifer: “That wasn’t very nice! I’ll tell your cute hot dad!”
Nick SLAMS the brakes, rage flashing. He wheels around, murder in his eyes, pedaling back hard. Jennifer squeals and bolts.
Nick yelling: “Call my scumbag dad cute again and I’ll choke you, Jennifer! Nobody’s around to yank me off you like at school!”
(ennifer runs, shrieking but still somehow flirty.
Jennifer: “I’m not into choking, babe! But you can step on me!”
Nick hurls his bike at her. It clips her leg, she groans in pain. Nick picks the bike back up, snatches her Pokémon cards, and pedals away for real this time, disappearing into the night.
(Jennifer lies on the ground, clutching her figurine, eyes dreamy.)
Jennifer: “He wants me so bad… boys love to tease girls…”
Title: Nick, Jack, and Kylie
Scene: Wet Parking Lot – Night
Jack sits on the damp ground, Ralph Lauren shirt wrinkled, Xanax bottle and half-empty beer beside him. His cheeks are blotchy, eyes red, hiccuping softly.)
Jack sniffling, muttering to himself:
“That fcking bitch… how dare she talk to me like that…”
He gulps water, then chases it with beer. The sound of bikes wheels by — it’s a group of loud lacrosse girls. One breaks off, waving goodbye. She stops when she spots Jack crying.
Kylie (female Kylar)
smug, wiping sweat from her brow
“Oh my god… are you like crying?”
Jack startled, blushing, wiping his face:
“N-no way!”
Kylie laughs:
“Because that’s MAD GAY, bro! Hahahahaha! What happened, your stupid girlfriend dump you? Or your dad beat your ass?”
Kylie — short-haired, built from lacrosse, swaggering with tomboy energy. She drops her bike, stomps over, and yanks Jack up by his Ralph Lauren shirt.
Kylie flirting and bullying…:
“You’re too hot to cry… not because you look cute. You look pathetic. Act like a man. Grow some chest hair.”
She lifts his shirt, revealing his toned stomach. Jack slaps her hands away, roaring.
Jack annoyed:
“Get your hands off me, b*tch! You’ve got way more chest hair than me!”
Kylie frowns, flexing her arms.
Kylie proud:
“Someone’s gotta teach you how to act like a man, bro… anyway, wanna come to my house?”
Jack snorting:
“And see your d*ck? No way, bro.”
Kylie’s smile drops. She pulls a knife from her gym bag.
Jack’s veins bulge as he steps forward, angry.
Jack crack his knuckles
“Try me, b*tch. I’m not afraid of some lacrosse bully drenched in Victoria’s Secret body mist.”
Suddenly — footsteps. Nick strolls in, hoodie up, cigarette in his mouth, looking unimpressed.
Nick groaning like he got shot:
“Jack! Why did you invite Kylie out of all people? And Kylie — put your knife collection away. Always pulling weapons for no reason…”
Jack yelling:
“This b*tch just came at me, trying to cop a feel, asking about my chest hair!”
(Kylie giggles psychotically.)
Kylie:
“Spoiler alert, Nick. Your boyfriend Jack has no chest hair. And no balls either.”
(Nick exhales smoke, unimpressed.)
Nick:
“He has no balls because you stole and used his girl.”
(Jack explodes into laughter, wheezing so hard he nearly falls over.)
Jack laughing:
“BURN, B*TCH! HAHAHAHA!” 🔥
Kylie shrieks and lunges at Nick. He calmly presses his cigarette against her arm four times. She collapses, yelping.
Kylie in pain:
“DOUCHEBAG! That hurts!”
Tears threaten. Jack grins wickedly.
Jack provoking:
“Aaaww, are you crying? Because that’s MAD GAY!”
Nick frowns, but Jack cackles louder. Kylie scrambles onto her bike, snarling.
Kylie yelling:
“I know where you assholes live! I’ll burn your houses down!”
Nick: (waving her off)
“Yeah, yeah. Little pyromaniac.”
Kylie pedals away furiously.
Nick walks over to Jack. The two stand under the streetlight, dripping rain.
Nick: “Sup.”
Jack: “Hey.”
Nick spots the Xanax bottle in Jack’s hand. His face lights up, the first genuine smile all night.
Nick suddenly happy: “Aaaaw yeah. Sweet Xanax. Thanks, bro.”
He leans down, kisses Jack’s flustered cheek, snatches the pill, and pops it in his mouth. Jack freezes, gripping his cheek.
Jack bkushing: “What the fuck?!”
Nick shrugs, swallowing pill:
“What? Want me to blow you too? Sorry, I’m not into Abercrombie & Fitch frat assholes.”
Jack’s face goes red. He clenches his teeth, glaring.
Jack irked:
“Ah yes, because you’re into other goth guys who play the blood violin with their arms. While giving depressive Ted talks nobody asked for. Cute.”
Nick grips his cigarette pack tighter, veins in his hand.
Nick rolls his blue eyes:
“I am NOT a goth boy. I’m just a cynical dude dressed in black. People see a guy with barely any rainbow colors in his wardrobe and assume I’m goth, emo, or scene f*g.”
Jack snickers, shoulders shaking.
Jack:
“You’re not a goth boy… but you are a f*ggot for kissing my cheek.”
Nick smirks, licking his pale lips.
Nick teasing:
“You taste like Calvin Klein cologne… and Xanax. With a hint of fries.”
He burps, pats his stomach.
Nick: “Those loaded fries were good.”
There’s a pause — then both boys crack up, laughing so hard their voices echo down the empty wet street. For one night, the chaos feels almost light.
Title: Feelings Are for Losers
Night time
Rain slicks the pavement. Neon from a distant shop sign flickers. Jack and Nick stand under a battered streetlamp, two soaked silhouettes. A smashed phone lies between them, shards glinting. Empty beer cans and a Xanax pill bottle roll in the puddles.
Jack flinty and annoyed:
“Stop harassing my ears with Skrillex, man!”
Nick yells back:
“Then pick something else than your goddamn FIFA 09 soundtrack!”
They wrestle for the phone. In the scuffle Jack accidentally knocks the phone; it SMASHES. A long beat.
Nick snarling:
“You asshole! If it’s broken I’m robbing your ass!”
Jack rolling his amber eyes:
“Oh cry me a river. Your G-mobile looks fine!”
Nick scoops up the phone — just a light scratch. He doesn’t sit back down. He finishes his cigarette, face set.
Jack taps his fingers:
“So tell me. What happened with those scumbags at the mall when you skipped class?”
Nick snaps, icy blue eyes flaring.
Nick exploding:
“NOTHING! Just cops taking me to the station to make a report. My dad acts like an animal every day — like I’m his punching bag. And my fat troll sister just pisses him off more. I can’t wait to move out of this prison and this f*ckass town!”
Jack quiet, then blunt:
“Well my mom verbally abuses me and sometimes… hits me.”
Nick blinks, confused.
Nick somewhat mocking:
“Are you one-upping me? This ain’t the sympathy Olympics — with the prize being antidepressants for life, dude!”
Jack drops his head, cheeks flushing. He mutters an apology.
Jack deep voice low:
“Sorry for oversharing…”
Nick flicks his cigarette away, annoyed.
Nick:
“Sheesh. Pathetic.”
Jack can’t hold it in; tears leak. Full force he throws away a empty can.
Nick’s face softens a fraction — then hardens again.
Nick grudging:
“Ey… sorry about your mother. That’s tough.”
Jack voice cracking:
“Of course it’s tough! My parents divorced — now my mom takes everything out on me because I look like my dad. One minute she’s sweet, the next she’s drunk with a broken wine bottle telling me to fuck off while I’m just trying to chill in my room!”
Nick groans, hostile.
“That’s f*cked up. But stop yelling at me. Crying like a loser won’t help. Run away to your dad. I used to run to my mom’s house to escape my psycho dad. Now I can’t — my fat loser mother said I was the reason she offed herself. ME?! It’s a sick joke or something.
Jack screams, grabbing Nick’s hoodie — desperate.
Jack:
“Stop acting like an asshole! I’m your friend, not some poser loser who steals CDs at the mall with those other f*gs you hung out with today!”
Nick snaps. He shoves Jack hard.
Nick:
“Oh please, Captain Xanax. You don’t whine when I roast you other times. Why take it personal now?!”
They breathe like runners after a fight. Fifteen seconds of burning silence. Jack’s voice shakes, deep.
Jack cold:
“I mean, I roast you back, but not now. Don’t treat me like trash. Go run to your hot cute dad to get beat up black and blue.”
Nick flushes crimson, eyes flashing. He grabs a broken piece of wood, raising it like a weapon.
Nick (snapping):
“What is it with people calling my old fart dad ‘hot’ or ‘cute’? That man is in his early forties!”
Jack taunting, folding his arms:
“He’s a DILF — he ages like wine. Lanky b*tch boy. He’s hotter and more handsome than you, with that muscled body. I bet he’s six inches long down there— damn DADDY!” (He winks, flexes for the insult.)
Nick’s face goes beet red — fury and humiliation mixing. He lunges with some wood; Jack trips him. Nick slams face-first into the wet ground and doesn’t move for ten seconds…
Jack hysterical laugh at first, then worry:
“Come on, get up, dude…”
Nick sits up slowly, silent, dirt on his pale hands. He tries to light his lighter — nothing. He slams the empty lighter in the rain, screaming in frustration.
Nick howling enraged:
“Fuck that douchebag — I hope he has a heart attack one day or dies in a car crash!”
He curls, clutching his knees, crying without sound. Jack steps forward, hand out. Nick SLAPS it away.
Nick bitter:
“Don’t touch me. Go run to my dad!”
He mocks Jack’s earlier taunt in a broken voice.
Nick:
“‘Muscular arms’ — go run to my dad because yours left you, asshole. You can have him. Enjoy his punches while you stare at his dick — ASSHOLE!”
There’s a long, painful silence. They both breathe, exhausted. Rain drums. The world feels small and cruel.
Jack’s eyes shine. He reaches again, slower, tentative. This time Nick lets it happen — not with gratitude, but with the brittle acceptance of two messed-up kids who are all they’ve got.
Jack soft:
“We’re idiots. But… I’m not letting you spiral alone, Nick.”
Nick doesn’t answer. He just wipes his face, stands, and the two walk off together into the shitty rain — scuffling, bickering, but somehow tethered.
For a long stretch there’s only the hiss of rain and the distant hum of traffic. Jack stands frozen, jaw tight. Anger, hurt, and something like guilt flicker over his face. He opens his mouth, tries a joke, then closes it. He lowers himself slowly to sit beside Nick in the wet, a couple of feet of space between them — respectful, wary.
They both stare out at the empty ramps. Skrillex or FIFA or Avril might still be playing somewhere, but for once the noise is background to this small, fragile moment.
End part one…to be continued.