Vance Hopper has always hated his name.
Ever since he was conscious enough to formulate an opinion on the matter, he’s utterly despised the sound of his own name.
Hearing administrators scream it, to his own mother as she curses the very day he was born, for ‘ruining her life.’
He begun to loathe. Silently.
From knocking over his peers block towers in pre-school, to being a rowdy sixteen year old, getting into fist fights in the boys locker room—
He liked the attention. It filled the empty void that lingered deep in his chest, even if only for a fleeting moment.
He became a problem.
Plain and simple.
Vance smokes, he drinks, he’s grumpy, he acts like a dick; he’s heard every name in the book from girls and guys alike.
However, despite all, he managed to pin some friends. Ones that didn’t piss him off—most of the time—and that stuck by him against everything.
Vance didn’t get invited to parties often.
Nobody wanted him there. He didn’t even enjoy the silly gatherings anyway.
Free liquor was a plus, sure, but, what, go to some random kids uncle’s house and play cops and robbers in the backyard for three hours?
Yeah, no thanks. He’d rather be at home, and that’s saying something.
But, tonight was different. Tonight was Halloween, and Vance’s friends managed to, by some miracle, convince him to go to a party.
A discarded weed pen rested idly on Vance’s thigh, an almost empty red solo cup practically falling out of his hand. His head was thrown back against the cushion of a ratty old couch.
The whole living room was filled with smoke, multicolored lights flashing as loud, festive music played that fit the holiday well enough. The blond couldn’t really tell, though. He wasn’t entirely there, per se. His eyes were closed, and he was high out of his mind.
Vance didn’t bother dressing up for Halloween. Ever. He scared kids enough looking how he did normally.