Title: The Life of an Ex-Addict

World: AU

Rated: M (Mature)

Genre(s): Romance/Angst/Drama

Pair(s): Mark/John, Kevin/John, Glen/John, Scott/John, Dwayne/John, Randy/John

Summary: John Cena has had a difficult life. As the son of a mob boss, he never really knew what love was. And his four older brothers intend to show him that he can either submit to the influence of the mob or he can die.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.

Dedication: This is for CENTON JADE SLASH, who requested this dark fic with this specific plot.

Warning: Slash, Incest, Drug Use, Mob Influence, Murder, Bloodshed, Mental Disorders, Rape, etc.

Part: 1/? – The Early Years: The Introduction To Hell

OOOO

I never had a chance. It's like all other beauty in this cruel world. Sooner or later, it's destroyed by the darkness.

I was six-years-old when my mother died. At that time, the word 'death' was of no value to me. Naivety was a beautiful bliss that I lost the day I turned sixteen. But at six-years-old, I didn't understand what death meant. To me, it meant that mother was just in a comatose state, kind of like Princess Aurora in the castle. I didn't understand that it meant that she would never awaken. I didn't understand why there were tears in everyone's eyes.

Well, everyone but one. There was one face that wasn't in the sea of family and friends who had crowded around the bed. My father wasn't there. He didn't care. He didn't care that she was dead. My father had never loved her. I had heard the talk. He cheated on her constantly in their own bed and it sickened me, even if I didn't fully understand it. All I knew was that every time Momma had tears in her eyes, it was his fault.

All of a sudden, I felt two overly-muscular arms hook around my middle. I was taken from my Momma's side and thrown to the floor. My elbow made contact with the hardwood floor with a cruel snap. I tried to crawl back to my Momma, but my brother wouldn't let me. I couldn't see which one it was. Ruthless arms were back around my middle and carried me out of Momma's room. I kicked blindly to try and free myself, but it was useless.

"You little bitch!" I knew that voice. It was Kevin. Kevin threw me forward after my foot connected with his knee and I landed stomach-first on the stairs. "You disrespectful little bitch!"

I scampered down the stairs and tried avoid Kevin as he came down the stairs, each movement slow and calculated. "I'm sorry, Kevin. Please don't hurt me."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Why would I waste my time with a bitch like you? The only reason I brought your ass downstairs is because Dad wants to see you."

I looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. "Daddy?"

"Get your ass down to his study before I put the dog leash on and drag you there." Kevin hissed violently.

Hurriedly, I climbed to my feet. "Yes, sir."

Dad's study was in the basement. I had only been down there a handful of times. There were no windows, only an old fluorescent lamp that flickered on and off in random intervals. It was scary. Slowly, I sat down on the top step and eased myself downstairs. But Kevin had followed me. I wasn't moving fast enough, so he kicked me on the back and knocked me face-first down the stairs. I landed sprawled out on the concrete floor in incredible pain.

"What's the matter, John?" Dad asked with a faux level of sweetness in his voice. I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably. "Who did this to you?"

"K-Kevin." I forced out weekly. The smile never fell from Dad's face.

"Well, Kevin wouldn't hurt you unless he had a reason too. What did you do?" Dad asked.

My blue eyes widened slowly. I coughed, unsurprised to find it tinted with blood. "I didn't… I just… I just wanted to see Momma, that's all." I forced out finally.

"You're mother is dead, John. She will never wake up again. This isn't some idiotic fairytale. Fairytales don't exist. The sooner you learn that, the better." Dad hissed.

"But… but Momma said that…" I trailed off as Dad slapped my cheek so hard that my ears rang.

"That bitch lied to you, Johnny-boy. She's lied to you since the moment you were born." Dad said each word as if it were filthy. "You can only trust me. Do you trust me to take care of you, John?"

I wanted to say 'no'. No, I don't trust you at all. "Dad…"

His hand knotted in my crop of hair and yanked my head back forcefully until our eyes met. I could feel the bones in my neck crack and grind. "Answer the damn question, boy!"

"Yes! Yes, I trust you!" I screamed out as he slapped me across the face again. "Just please… please let me go."

Dad let out a dry chuckle as he finally released me, throwing me down so that my head bounced off of the concrete floor. I shook it off and tried not to show how much pain I was really in. To Dad, pain was power. Once he found out what made you weak, he used that to his advantage. Slowly, I climbed to my feet and stood with my hands behind my back. I waited to be dismissed, because if I left before, then I would be beaten.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, Dad's attention turned back to me. He dismissed me with a wave of his hand and a few hurtful curses and I ran. I ran faster than I ever had before. I tumbled a few times on the stairs and the one time I fell down so hard that I busted my bottom lip open and knocked a few teeth in the bottom row loose. I didn't care. I only continued to run. My ability to run was my ticket out of hell.

OOOO

At sixteen-years-old, I learned firsthand that my father had been correct when he said that fairytales didn't exist. The brother that I was closest in age with, Kevin, continued to torment me at home. And somehow, at school, the other students had found out that I was homosexual. After Phys. Ed., the boys took my clothes while I was in the shower and threw them all over the locker room with open condom wrappers to make me look like a slut.

At that time, my father truly had me convinced that he was the only one that I could trust. Not my brothers. Not my friends (not that I ever had any). Nobody. So, naturally, he was the first one who came to mind when the vicious hate from the other students became a little more than I could bear. After school on the day of the Phys. Ed. Incident, I found myself in his study once more. This time, however, I was unscathed.

"Dad?" I asked softly. I had always been the most reserved of the family.

"What is it, John? Can't you see that I'm busy?" Dad shot back. Too busy for me, yes. But for any other son, he would throw all of his work aside and come to their aid immediately.

"You told me that I could always come to you with my issues, right? No matter what it was, I could always talk to you?" I asked. Dad must've realized that I wasn't about to disappear, because he threw the papers off of the desk.

"I also told you that when Daddy's busy, he's not to be bothered. I see how well you listened to that rule." Dad hissed.

A tremor of insecurity shot through me, but I tried my best to quell it. "I'm sorry, Dad. This is important."

Dad made his fingers into a steeple and chewed on the end of his cigar. He had always been an intimidating, bulky man… but this time he looked ten times worse. "What do you want, John?"

"Dad… I have a confession to make." Dad made a motion that meant that I should spit it out. "I'm gay."

If it was possible, all of the color drained out of Dad's face at once. And then, in a flash, it turned an obnoxious shade of purple. I was fearful for what this meant and, as it turned out, I had every reason to be. Dad stormed out from behind his desk and took me by the hair, which was a little bit more difficult now that I had a buzz cut, and hauled me over to the room in the corner of the basement. It was known only as 'The Punishment Room'.

I had only ever heard stories about The Punishment Room. I struggled weakly but was no match for Dad's brute strength. I was shoved onto a dirty old cot that smelled of rot and mold. The dog collar that my brother's often forced me to wear as they passed me around and took turns using my body as a human punching bag was now used to attach me to a metal pole that stood at the head of the bed. Tears ran down my face. My father punched me.

"Being gay isn't natural, John! No son of mine will marry another man!" Dad kicked me in the face and mumbled over and over how weak I was. I knew that it was totally true.

"I'm sorry, Daddy!" I screamed but it only earned me another kick to the side of the head.

"Have you kissed one of them? Have you kissed one of those unnatural creatures?" Dad asked. I was afraid to nod, afraid of what he'd do to me, but I was even more afraid for him to catch me in a lie.

"Yes, sir. Yes, I kissed one of them." Dad yanked my hair back and I whined, kicking at the air weakly. "More than one! More than one! It was only three, I swear!"

"You dirty little slut. I'm sure that you'd just spread your legs and give it up to them, too. Wouldn't you Johnny?" Dad's words sickened me. I wasn't a slut. I wasn't.

I wet my lips but didn't answer, so he tightened the dog collar around my neck. "No. No, sir. I'm not a slut."

"You know what's worse than a dirty, filthy slut?" Dad asked. I shook my head. "A dirty, filthy slut in denial. You'll learn your lesson in here or you'll die of starvation. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir." I hissed out, suddenly furious with him.

A week went by where I was only allowed to consume liquid from a bowl that looked oddly akin to a dog dish, but I wasn't exactly sure considering it was almost totally dark in the room. I wanted to die. I really did. But that would have been too easy, at least were my father and brothers were concerned. When the solid food came, my stomach was unaccustomed to the totally bland meat and I was violently ill the first day.

I don't know what my father told the school. What I did know was that my father paid so much money out to so many different sources, there was no doubt that he was paying the school board to keep their mouths shut about my month-long absences. It made me sick to think that the people who should be protecting me were letting me be abused by this man. But after that first day, I learned indifference. None of it mattered anymore.

When that month was over, Dad finally came down and freed me. What was the first thing that I did? I went to my bedroom and took a long, hot shower. Even after I left the bathroom, my skin still crawled and I could still smell that moldy, rotted cot. I realized then and there that I was all alone in the world. There was no one to save me. No Prince Charming. No knight in shining armor. This wasn't a fairytale. This was a nightmare.

OOOO

I got high for the first time two months later.

I had finally started to believe that my life was going to be normal. Constantly, I lied to my father and told him that I had seen the error of my ways. Promise after promise left my mouth, most of which I intended to leave unfulfilled. I told him that when I went off to college with my track scholarship, I would meet a nice girl and we would go off, get married, and have a bunch of children. Dad would always smile wistfully as if lost in some distant dream.

But one day, Dad had a bunch of his friends over. All were dressed in fine-tailored suits and had big, fat cigars in their mouths. The smoke was so thick in the air that I could barely see the person two feet in front of me. The men laughed and joked, and when I heard my name, I felt my blood run cold. A hand took hold of my shoulder and I tried to fight it off, but it was useless. All of a sudden, I landed in some man's lap.

He had a needle in his hand. It seemed to shimmer evilly in the light. I didn't like the look of it at all. Violently, I tried to slide off of the man's lap and make it to the floor, but another hand shot out from the side and held me firmly to his chest. Their laughter grated on my resolve and their breath smelled like overly expensive liquor. I screamed when the needle pierced my skin and a pleasant burn started to tear through my body. I shivered. They laughed.

"Don't fight it, Johnny-boy." I could hear my father's voice. He sounded almost as if he wanted to calm me, but I knew that that was a far-fetched idea. "Just let the drug kick in."

"D-Drug?" I asked weakly. My throat was too dry to say much more.

"That's my boy. Always the joker." Dad smirked and the other men chuckled wryly. "What did you think it was, Johnny-boy? You think that we'd waste water shootin' it up yer vein?"

"Don't. Please don't." I cried out, but it was too late. The needle slid out of my arm and I stood on wobbly legs. "What the hell did you do to me? I feel like I'm… I feel… I…"

"Is this the kid's first time?" One of the men asked.

"Yeah." Dad smirked. He almost sounded proud.

"That's a shot of pure morphine, John. That could kill him!" Another one exclaimed. He almost sounded worried, but it was hard to tell with the room spinning and thousands of voices speaking from nowhere and everywhere.

"You think that I don't know that?" Dad asked before he proceeded to bash the concerned-one's face in. "Now, Johnny-boy. Tell me how it feels. Does it feel good? You like that feeling? Soaring higher than the clouds?"

I shook my head, but I couldn't deny that it did feel, at least somewhat, pleasant. "N-No."

The next two years after that were a blur. I don't remember much about them, save for the fact that I spent most of them with a needle in my arm or cramming pills down my throat. It was an addiction, but Dad didn't like to call it that. He said that I was finally acceptable in his eyes. Finally, I had done something worthy to be called his son. And, like the sorry, confused soul that I was, I believed that that was really love.

Dad's friends from work really seemed to like me. They would pass me around like a doll and each would take his turn with their own drug of choice. I think that the worst was the Vicodin. That didn't wash out of my system for days. They would all slather me with love and affection, but Dad would never let them touch me. I was eighteen-years-old and still a virgin. Dad wanted me to be the perfect husband for that beautiful, nonexistent woman.

But then, one night, I went to my room rather late. I was still soaring from an almost lethal mixture of marijuana and Vicodin and was more than a little out of it. "Shit." I mumbled as I fell forward onto the bed.

"Look who's back? It's the little bitch." Kevin didn't mince words when it came to our relationship. "And look, he's all drugged up. It's too nice of an offer to resist, isn't it Glen?"

Glen was my second oldest brother. He was two years younger than Mark. "No, no. It could only be made more perfect by these…" sleek, steel handcuffs.

I screamed but no one was around to hear me. Nobody cared to come rescue me if they did. My body felt so heavy and I could barely move it. If it weren't for the fact that my hands were cuffed above my head, they would have fallen to my side as well. My clothes were cut off of me and the first brother to have me was Mark. He shoved his fingers into me dry and smirked as I wailed in pain.

It was a never-ending cycle of misery and pain. Eight hours. Mark started, then Glen, then Scott, and finally Kevin. Over and over. I think that Kevin was the most brutal, however. He tore me so badly that there was blood all over the white sheets and the mattress. They beat me and belittled me, and when they were done, they just threw me aside and waited for me to come down from my high so that they could come back and brutalize me while I was coherent.

To be totally honest, I hated my life.

OOOO

When I was twenty-one, the dam finally broke. I packed what little I could into my suitcase and ran out for my car. It wasn't much. In fact, it was a little station wagon that my mother used to drive before she had met my father. Outdated, true, but it ran like a dream and I couldn't ask for a better one. Under the cover of darkness I drove as fast as I could toward my new life. I knew that somewhere, something better was waiting for me. I just had to find it.

OOOO

A/N: Okay, here it is! I need lots of feedback for this one, because I don't usually write this kind of story. Please Review!