Lala X Suicide [Private One on One Roleplay]

[NEKEtheGHOST_1]

This is a private roleplay with the users:
makemewanna___lala
&&
Second Hand Suicide
involved.

A couple of points on our general plotline
are as follows:

The setting is that of a mental hospital, however the original
landscape is not a hospital in the least. The largely unknown
benefactor once possessed a vineyard on the countryside,
and that estate is where the hospital now resides. The area
has been sectioned off with double fences, though the trees
and vines once planted there, hides most of such things from
the eyes of common people. Within, the house has undergone
such changes as well, the once warm interior now cool and
white, sectioned off into four wards for the four differences in
danger level of the patients. Many reside in the first ward, also
known as the voluntary ward, and are free to go at any time.
A larger number reside in the second ward. They are not
free to go, though more because their disorders endanger
themselves and bear constant watching. A handful reside in
the third ward, where they are so far gone that they do not
notice those around them in the list, and if released they would
cause danger to themselves and others. The fourth ward is on
lockdown, for within the criminally insane reside.

Now we enter the second ward, where those lost in their own
disorders reside, perfectly aware that there is a world outside,
yet unsure how, or if it's even safe, to leave.

Welcome to block B, where the doctors smile and hand you pills
and the nurses sneak you pudding. But the real fun happens
at night, when the staff is cut down in numbers, and wandering
tends to occur.

A couple of doctors and nurses that either
one of us can play are as follows:

To be added as we see fit.

[NEKEtheGHOST_1]

Enter the character of:
makemewanna___lala
&&
his stat sheet.

On a notepad in an office, lay these words:

Subject is a young male. Age between eighteen and twenty-
two. Hair color is presumed to be black, though at this time
it has a large amount of green dye in it. Presumably to match
his eyes, though they appear so cold that they look near
black. Subject is short, probably around 5'4". Well-built for
such a small size. Scars cover his skin that I have seen
insofar, but they do not appear self-inflicted. Particularly odd
is one within the line of his right eyebrow. The shape would
suggest that of a piercing once worn, but the scar suggests
it has been removed against the boys will. Subject is quite
attractive. We will have to watch and ensure no relations
begin with the other subjects.

Subjects personality is difficult to read. He acts as though he
has been questioned in the past, for he keeps his head bowed
and his eyes averted when we speak. Subject says very little,
referring to himself in the third person. Uses the name Seven,
spelled with a 7 instead of a v, though those who brought him in
refer to him as Michael. They did not leave a last name, so we
may have to check dental records for an actual name. Subject
does answer to Michael, so for now encouragement should be
given to have him use his given name.

Subject is not exhibiting peculiar behavior that he was left here for.
He has not once referred to the 'shadows' as his demons, nor
has he mumbled anything violent as yet. However, those who
left him here were certain that he has murdered live animals for
pleasure, and that he was mumbling about murdering them as
well.

Suggestion for the moment would be to have him put into a room
on the second ward, and be watched closely for the time being,
until he shows symptons as he grows less agitated with the move.

Suggestion for staff to look into his given name and birth records,
as well as discover why he is not with his family and why this
other group took him in.

Keep in mind to call him Michael at all times, and make notes on
his behaviors when left to himself.

All notations and discoveries are to be given to the supervising
doctor at the end of each shift.

One hour a day sessions with myself, at 2 pm daily, until then.

Compilation of looks:

Race -- caucasian.
Gender -- male.
Hair -- black, green highlights.
Eyes -- green, very dark.
Height -- five foot, four inches
Weight -- 150 lbs.
Unusual characteristics?
-- Large amount of scarring.
-- Unusually handsome.
-- Tattoo on wrist saying 'The shadows that eat my soul.'

[big city tragedy]

&&He's a pretty marionette with a puppeteer they call [Second Hand Suicide]

Case File 78972:

Physical: Subject Jacob Hayes, male, aged nineteen years and five months. Of unhealthily slender build that may indicate past instances of anorexia (BMI approx. 17), around 5'9 in height. Hair color dark brown, eye color light blue/grey, though color is noted to change depend on lighting/clothing. Dark circles under eyes and palor of skin indicate his insomnia continues, though subject insists that it does not persist and subsequently refuses sleeping pills. Only notable scars are stitch scars on his shoulders and arm (allegedly from a dog bite, seems plausible) and (according to subject) a heart-shaped scar on hipbone.

Mental: Subject exhibits erratic personality; may be sign of bipolarism. Often cannot remain on one subject of conversation for extended periods of time, and seems either in a talkative, friendly mood, or a quiet, moody one, in which he often expresses strange thought patterns. He is obviously narcissistic, and rejecetion or embarrasing situations have been known to trigger panic attacks. He shows little or no regard for others and treats them like objects, calling them 'play things' and happily extorting them to further his own ends.

Notes: Please note that it is vital to watch him closely around when administering his medication, carrying potentially dangerous objects, etc. He is remarkably good with sleight of the hand and demonstrates severe kleptomaniac tendencies. If anything of yours goes missing, it may be useful to check his room.

It is vital to avoid brining the following objects into his prescence; needles, loudly ticking clocks. He finds them 'triggering'. Others will be duly noted.

2 hour private therapy with Doctor Carson, 1 hour group therapy twice a week.

Vitals:
name--Jacob Hayes
age-19 (born April 15th, 1989)
race--of mixed caucasian and Italian descent.
gender--male
height--5'9
weight-- 120 lbs.
Eye/Hair--Blue/Brown
identifying features--scarred shoulders/hip
disorders-- narcisism, panic disorder, insomnia, kleptomania, Anti-social personality disorder. (possible anorexia or bipolarism).

[big city tragedy]

&&I was the king of the worldJacob Hayes&&I would claw and scratch my way up to the very top.

Jacob Hayes arrived to the hospital in style, roaring up in his cherry red Mustang convertible, his classic pride and joy, not that he was the one driving it. Of course, Jacob did absolutely everything in style, even go insane. Just ask his mother. According to her, Jake was at a fancy little relaxation retreat, which, honestly, for the price they were paying so he could have properly lavish accommodations, was exactly where he should be. Still, the therapist had diagnosed his case as ‘severe’, plus, his mother really couldn’t have a crazy son around while she was entertaining, stealing her friend brooches and telling the women all about how much their daughters (and sons) enjoyed his prowess in bed.

Jacob, undeterred by a seatbelt or a particular idea of his own mortality, was half hanging out the window, practically sitting on the door, dance music with curious, screaming vocals blasting, when he arrived in front of his new accommodations, in a squeal of breaks and a thumping bass line, his chauffer already predictably irritated with the boy. Jake wasn’t sure to whether to chalk it up to his snotty comments, constant propositioning (he was fairly pretty, like his mother liked the help to be), criticism on how the man handled the car, or how loud he insisted the music be, but he liked to think it was equal parts. It was rather hilarious to watch the man grit his whitened teeth and hunch down behind the wheel of the gorgeous car he ought to enjoy driving. Either way, the stop nearly caused Jacob to go flying out of the car, which would have been a very ugly situation indeed, his pretty head smashed open on the pavement.

“Honestly, Marcus, darling, you nearly killed me, there,” Jacob protested, pouting, swinging his slender legs out the window and hopping neatly out of the car. The man behind the wheel of the car muttered something unintelligible, probably along the lines of wishing he had, shutting off the stereo and popping the trunk so Jake could retrieve his bags. “Thank you. If you crash my car, which is likely, considering the way you merge, I will find a way out of this hellhole and kill you myself,” he threw out, in lieu of a goodbye, heading around back and lifting clear his suitcases, grunting slightly under the weight of all his clothing.

“Good day, Marcus,” he yelled, grinning wickedly as the man pressed his foot down on the gas pedal, hard, speeding away from the mental hospital (and, really, Jacob) as fast as he possibly could. Jake, alone with the task of carrying his own heavy bags, sighed wearily, contemplating running away. He could definitely hitchhike his way out of here, he decided, with his looks and charm, but honestly, carrying these insufferable bags along the side of the highway? Roughing it? Plus, he’d have to fight off the whole host of ***** who inevitably pick him up, seeing his blue eyes and thinking he’d be some innocent, lovely thing. Plus, once he finally arrived home, his mother wouldn’t exactly be welcoming him with open arms…

No, he decided, he could just lounge about at this countryside retreat, perhaps cultivate a pain-pill addiction or something glamorous while he was here. Maybe have a romance with someone tragic and suicidal, who could off themselves once he was done with them. Much less messier than having to deal with ex-boy and –girl friends, after all.

Jacob glanced one more time at the freedom around him, and turned and headed inside the sprawling building that would be his new home. It was all processing and people talking at him, none of which he paid any attention too, before they finally lead him into his room. He collapsed onto his new bed, sighing heavily and shutting his eyes tightly.

[NEKEtheGHOST_1]

Insanity is in the eye of the beholder, my mama told me.

The shadows are following me again.

Tendrils of darkness that reach towards my hind legs, attempting to catch me, call to me, talk to me, plead with me. I ignore them; they cannot do anything but cling to my pale flesh. And so they cling to me, tainting the hairs there darker than their usual luminescence. Disgust reigns upon my mind, my carefully schooled features showing nothing of the sortAfter all, I was aware of being watched. I was aware that what they could not see, I could. It worked both ways, ladies and gents, and babycakes, I know when you watch me. In my mind, I hiss at them, tell them to go away. They fall back, the light emerges upon me – and with it, the heat upon my flesh. It’s not too much, no, but my flesh warms slightly from it’s cool pallor- uncomfortable in the light, my flesh snarls.

These rooms held such potential for darkness, walking amongst the shadows had told me as much. They wanted to be brought forward, but held no real vessel to do so. I had the vessel, but would not allow the use of it; it was mine alone, for my purposes. And this time, those purposes were not the same as before, not the usual destruction I left in my wake. Either I was growing up, or the lack of rebellion had me bored. This time around, I would sink into the masses, live, laugh even. Of course, that was only a mere tinge of a thought, halfway entering my mind. Behave, the thought hissed, behave.

My body betrays me. Even in the darkest of shadows, the glint of my eyes is obvious. Though, closed as they often are, nobody can see them, or me. I should know, after all, I’ve been around a lot longer than most people assume. Than the last family had assumed, before dropping me into this fortress of insanity. Yes, yes, they had brought me here. But in the end, was I truly the captive? Or had I, as few others would agree, been brought forth of my own will?

And in my mind, I laugh.

A shadow clings to me and my harks flatten, it vanishes abruptly, melting into my body reflection upon the ground. I do so despise it when they cling to me. The heat above is killing them, I note, glancing upwards to the sky, the sun shining dutifully downwards. A worthy adversary, the sun. The urge to call out a challenge to it is strong, but ignored. One day... never mind that. An adversary. Were there no others in this place?

Not to say that nobody else had been here, or was currently here. But they, unlike him, were all here for they were lost in their head, in a place they could not escape. As playthings, they were not fun. Not that I was playing with anything as of late, I noted with a sour little turn of the lips. The doctors here were watching me like hawks, never letting their guard down. Though I was quite aware that they thought me capable of murder, and I knew myself that I was, the constant surveillance was quickly growing old. After all, for nearly a month I had been playing the perfect little inmate, behaving nicely with the children and taking my medication as they gave it.

Of course, as I was not insane, the medication did little more than make me faintly nauseous.

A glance about and the color red snatches my gaze. Curious, I look at it, my head tilting to the side, the length of unruly hair spilling over my sharp eyes. Around my, the dumb eyes of my ‘companions’ turned as well, fixing on the red object before going back to their activities. I gazed a moment longer, then stopped, returning to what I had been doing – a sketch of a bird in one of the many trees in the vineyard. After all, curiosity or not, to look further would have betrayed that I was not relaxing and growing quiet with my doses of daily pills, and that, my friends, would spoil the game.

Carefully completing the sketch with fluid movements of my hand, I drop the charcoal stick into the case I had, and closed the book. Presumably, they gave me paper and charcoal to keep me calm. I had asked for a pencil, but I believe their fear of me kept them from giving any sharp objects. Fools, as if I were the sort to stab anybody. I mean honestly. Where’s the creativity in that. Nodding to the burly man in an orderly suit standing by the door, I saw his smile as he let me into the building, down the white hallway, and into my room. Under my bed went the sketching materials.

Crossing my legs on my bed, I tapped my feet in rhythm, watching the hall from the corner of my eyes. The shadows, far more comfortable in this air-conditioned room, were twining themselves around me again, whispering sweet endearments of what was to come. I ignored them, a small smirk turning my lips as the sound of footsteps approached. Rapid, eager, not yet full of lethargic pills that so subdued the rest of the ward. The new boy on the block.

I didn’t let myself grin. In my place, my pets, the shadows, did.

But then, Mama never saw me grow up.

[big city tragedy]

&&I was the king of the worldJacob Hayes&&I would claw and scratch my way up to the very top.

Jacob curled more tightly up on his bed, sighing tiredly. The mental institution was not nearly as glamorous inside as it had appeared from the exterior. His bed, indeed, did not have four posters or wooden headboards, lush red bed spreads or tasseled pillows. It was pleasantly climate controlled, certainly, but almost too cold, no way for him to turn it down. He sighed, and flopped onto his stomach, his Sidekick vibrating loudly in his pocket.

Another sympathetic text from some friend, who he’d probably ********, anyway, telling him how dreadful it was to be sent away, and was detox hard? Apparently, the latest rumor was that he was in rehab, not that he minded. Drug abuses were much sexier than the insane, not that he could ever be considered anything but sexy. He quickly tapped out a reply about how cruelly they treated him, the linoleum floors and the insufferably junkies lined with track marks, adding a few teasing little hints about certain celebrities he might of seen. It was hard work, fabricating his life properly, especially when everyone was saying different things.

He shrugged to himself before flipping onto his back, flipping the expensive phone closed and slipping it into his pockets, sitting up slightly to survey his new digs. And, then, of course, he spotted the boy. Scarred up and dangerously handsome in that was that was just too attractive for words. Not prettier than himself, of course, though that dangerous voice, the one he’d killed successfully by loving himself, whispered, traitorously, that he’d never he attractive in this way. He was good at shutting that voice up, drowning the little safe hating part of himself in the ocean of his own ego, but in the prescene of this strangely magnetic boy, it was free to babble on.

Oh, certainly, it said, he was a combination of his model mother and actor father, his mother’s pretty-soft eyes and pouty lips combined with his father strong nose and jaw, his mother’s oh-so-slender figure and his father’s broad hands and shoulders, his skin a delicate mix of his mother’s pure porcelain and his father’s rich olive. Oh, but this boy, he had all the appeal of danger in his deep green eyes and the shocker streaks through his hair, his muscle tone that Jacob couldn’t help but envy, that little voice babbling (sneering) on about how he was too thin for a boy, more like a girl, fragile and pathetic and weak. Jake, he had to bite down the panic that tried to strangle him at the mere sight of this boy, the lock on that place he shoved all those ugly thoughts down into coming looser. God, he nearly lost his breath, literally, went spiraling into that ugly, panicky place.

“Hello, roomie,” Jacob greeted, fixing his cocky grin back onto his face. “Or, I assume you’re my roomie, unless you simply could not help yourself and followed me into my bedroom. Awfully presumptuous of you, not that I mind.” He laughed, briefly to himself, before sitting up fully, sure to arrange himself so the angles highlighted his cheekbones and his slenderness, the point of his hipbones and the miles of olive-tan skin. “Oh, unless you were always in here. Sorry for not noticing you, but, really, you lurk in the shadows so well.”

He knew he was being almost insulting, but he didn't care, anyway. He knew the boy wouldn't care what sort of things that Jake said about him, once he was through with all the charming, "high beam" smiles (so named because they blinded and trapped those that he turned them on, like deer in headlights). No, once he had successfully wooed the boy, it would be boring again, just another pretty possession, a doll on his shelf. The thrill of the chase always ended once he had them, then he broke them. It was all so amusing to watch their tempers flare and see them break down, crying and breaking things.

“Anyway, I’m Jacob Hayes, as in, that Jacob Hayes,” he offered, grinning smugly. It was always intensely satisfying to name drop yourself, in his own opinion. His name, his family, he knew, was one of his many draws, the promise of wealth and a fabulous life in the Hollywood hills lurking just behind, all movie sets and catwalks.“Who’re you?” he added, with an inviting, lavacious smile, blue eyes twinkling wickedly.

[NEKEtheGHOST_1]

Your world is alien to me.

The shadows like this boy.

They whisper in my ear about his looks, and his shoulders, and the way his smile seems unusually charming. I tune them out, having heard the mantra before. Tending towards the side of shallowness, the shadows had a habit of staring to those of beauty, and watching them, whispering dirty little comments into my head. For the most part, such comments were left to girls, though now and again, they seemed directed at boys as well. In this event, boys seemed to be preferable. Then, of course, my libido could be influencing it as well.

One never knew.

The dark look that passed over my new companions face was not lost on me. Though I knew not what it meant, it was gone in an instant with that too-nice smile and that intriguing voice, it had been there none the less. Of course, I thought, he would not want a roommate such as myself. I was quite boring, for all this boys seeming dramatic lifestyle, and I was quiet to boot. The two scarcely mixed well, I reminded myself. But then, perhaps the boy was just unused to the uncomfortable cots in which we spend much of our time here. Perhaps he was used to fancy beds and luxury. Yes, I noted, eyeing the obviously fashionable clothing, he seemed the type to be used to such things. But then I was the type used to the hard ground or garage floor of some hopeful do-gooder. To me, the cot was a semblance of heaven.

Not that I deserve heaven. I shall go to hell in a hand-basket, grinning all the way.

The shadows garble something, drawing my attention to the boy. He was speaking, and I tried my hardest not to sigh aloud. I disliked conversation, disliked it more in this place because of the cameras. They were always watching, recording with their yellow legal pads and their ball point pens. No, I was wise enough not to grow friendly to any of the zombie-like beings that I’d left in the yard. But this one was lively yet, and if I didn’t respond soon I’d no doubt he’d keep asking me things until I snapped and showed more than I was willing. No, I agreed with my shadows, best to answer. Rolling my eyes towards him, catching the light and putting on a smile for his sake, I searched my mind for the words to speak.

I hate my smile, for the record. It’s slightly crooked, though I have been informed that adds to my appeal. Perfection, I’ve been told, is untouchable. This boy had a perfect smile, I did not. White and healthy, yes, but crooked none the less. Add that to the friendly appearing dimples, and you can understand why I do not smile often. After all, giggling girls shouldn’t tag after urchins like me.

“We are roommates. Presumably to stop one or both of us from committing ourselves to an untimely demise.”

I dislike my voice. It’s deep and even and soft. It reminds me of somebody dashing and handsome that I once saw in a play as a child. I am none of those things, despite what I’ve been told, for I am a scarred up beast of a boy. I know this, am aware of it. Yet still, my voice betrays what I might’ve been, if not for the scars and they haunted way I react to situations. Of course, I’ve gotten much better with my reactions. The scars… not much one can do about them.

“Shadows keep the camera’s attention focused elsewhere. You will discover this if you stay here long enough.”

I spoke the truth. If one was quiet and kept to the shadows, the cameras lost sight of you. Long enough to be yourself, if only for a moment. Absently, I wondered why I was telling this to the boy. Then, the answer came. The shadows liked him. Of course they would channel such energy through me. No matter, I’ve told him, and there’s nothing else I can do.

“I am Se7en. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t know your name, though I assume from your tone it is well-known. Are you an important person, Mr. Hayes?”

I felt almost guilty. The looks on the boys face had been one I’d seen before, when meeting with popular or well-off children at parties or the like. Often there for reasons they were not, they would ask my name, saying theirs as though it should make me swoon with adoration. Of course, with my lifestyle, such things weren’t often how it occurred. I’d gotten more than one upset from the whole drama of not knowing another one, and had learned to apologize and smile, and wait for the inevitable disbelief.

The shadows whispered something about a star.

I looked at him, furrowing my brows and trying to recall. The name Hayes sounded vaguely familiar, though I could not place it.

Ah, well.

I’m sure he’d enjoy telling me why he was so amazing.

But then, same goes for mine, to you.

[big city tragedy]

&&I was the king of the worldJacob Hayes&&I would claw and scratch my way up to the very top.

Jacob didn’t take long in noting other’s flaws, behind those pretty eyes and ethereal, dangerous features, the roll of his eyes and his complete lack of social skills. There was something about the way those words fell from those pretty lips that was too forced, too heavy, every syllable hitting the floor almost audibly. No, everything about the boy screamed ‘stop talking to me’ the moment he opened his mouth. Despite the fact that the other’s voice had the consistence of velvet, deep and smooth, it was dull, monotone, falling too flat, something...broken in even the way he spoke. Somehow, he’d expected something sexy and smoke scarred, throaty and rough. Gorgeous smile with crooked teeth, dimples that were almost childish. No, Jacob felt infinitely better with each little new flaw he noticed.

“Honestly? How moronic,” he sighed, rolling his eyes and pouting out his lips, stretching out in the way that drew attention to his body, exactly as he liked it. “Why would I want to kill myself? That’s practically a crime against humanity! Well, not practically, totally,” he commented, grinning and laughing slightly, all confidence and control, again. All his poise and composure were back, and he couldn’t be more pleased. After all, one couldn’t be loved unless they loved themselves, and now that he was back to adoring himself fully, he certainly could expect the full adoration that he deserved in return. It was madness, he thought, smiling grimly to himself, to have ever thought that this boy was prettier than him. Not everyone liked dangerous boys, after all, and that scowl the other had been wearing was just not that pretty. And the kids smile? It couldn’t touch Jacob’s, not even close, attractive but not with the same blinding perfection.

Jacob decided that the kid was phenomenally weird the next time he spoke, another point against him. The shadows keep the camera’s attention elsewhere? He shrugged, scanning the room for lenses, not that he minded some extra screen time. It would probably great footage for the movie of his life, after all, the one that was bound to come out inevitably. Still, it was a bit creepy to think of those leeches of physiatrists watching him in a dark little room. Then again, he thought, the whole therapist thing was a bit creepy in general. After all, who were they to call him crazy when they got their rocks off on other’s pain? He assumed sadism was just another form of insanity, anyway, or at least it should be, and all physiatrists were definitely sadists.

“I’ll keep it in mind, but like you said, I’ll doubtless learn,” he offered, keeping the ‘okay, crazy’ tone out of his voice the best he could, nodding indulgently. After all, you couldn’t win someone over by insulting him. Plus, his mum had told him the best way to deal with crazies was just to agree with them. He trusted her advice in that area. After all, he had attended several photo shoots, and photographers and designers were the craziest people he had ever known. Actually, this kid would fit in with that lot, all the cryptic, meaningless things they said. Still, they were good at flattering and providing the proper attention, meeting his demands and all, and, hopefully, so would this kid.

“Seven, eh? Ace name,” Jake answered, honestly, trying not to roll his eyes. Honestly, he thought, it was like those horrible Goth kids that called themselves Midnight and things like that. He simply could not stand people with delusions of grandeur, thinking they might actually be on his level or something like that, that they might actually be something special enough to have a poetic name. Silly, silly things, he’d always scoffed.

Then, of course, the kid had the audacity to not know his name. Him. ********! The tabloids routinely featured pieces on him just attending a school soccer game (looking amazing, of course), for Christ’s sakes! Everyone knew him and all about his carefully crafted image, the great hope for the newest and biggest actor-model that the world had ever seen, so desiring a normal life that he actually attended high school. Everyone, everyone, just knew that Jacob Evan Hayes was destined for big things. Girls (and boys) had posters of him on their walls, when he wasn’t even a celebrity yet, when he so carefully picked and chose to only take a few assignments a month to keep a low profile.

“Oh, well, that’s such a relief actually,” he answered, smiling prettily while he was fuming inside. He would break this kid, he was determined, break him beyond anyone or any pill’s repair, drive him to murder-suicide. “I’m the son of model Margret Evans and actor Devon Hayes. Everyone insists I am the next hope of show biz,” he sighed, as if this was some great weight he had to bear, instead of something he took pride in. “You have no idea how obnoxious it is to have those parasites…just lurking on your front lawn waiting to snap a photo of you getting the paper, or something. To be honest, I was worried about having to deal with a fan for a roomie or something stupid.”He laughed slightly and rolled his eyes, always one for putting on a show.

”Anyway, what’s your story?

[NEKEtheGHOST_1]

Doctors are idiots.

The shadows draw my mind from the unhappy tilt of the boy’s eyes, as he notes my flaws and discrepancies. No matter, the camera is watching, and for the time being, I am who I play the part of, quite, dull, unenthusiastic, Seven. The clicking noise that my pets so dislike ceases, and my smile turns genuine. The camera has been shut off, the recording discontinued. Of course, the good staff at the institution had no idea that their little toy had been discovered, and thus, they had no idea that I could tell when it was on or off. But then, so far as I could tell, the good staff of this institution were unaware of many things.

Standing, I ignore his scoffing tone at my name, with scarce a backwards glance. Slowly, I unscrew a knob upon the rounded dresser, the object seemingly plastic. Behind it, a cord unravels, hidden beneath what I know is a false bottom to the drawer. Holding it up to this Jacob boy for inspection, I drop it onto his bed. Recording will begin again in 29 minutes and 44 seconds. I should probably tell him this, but I do not. He can ask if he is curious. I’m sure he is the smart sort, the one who knows what is going on without having to look. Or, he seems sharp in that sense.

Stuffing my hands into the pockets of the pants I am forced to wear to brand me as a ward-hopper – that is, a patient that the good doctors are currently diagnosing, and are unsure if the patient is dangerous or not – I find his monologue regarding his parentage a bit odd. Celebrities, I had found, were just normal people with powerful names. Or at least, that was how I viewed it. Though, looking at this undeniably attractive boy, I found myself wondering if perhaps a form of magnetism was theirs to behold, a sort of power over the herds of common people out their. Head tilted, I spoke, my voice no longer lacking character. It was a bit deeper, though the same, but no longer an echo of it. The fabrication I adopted when the doctors were listening.

“Seven was the number from when I used to play soccer, since there were four boys with my name on the team. Michael’s my real name, I think.”

I nearly lost my smile then, as I found myself sitting back on my bed, examining my hands to ease the slight ache that the word soccer had inspired. It had been a long while since those days, and I didn’t particularly want to rehash them with this boy I did not know. Eyeing him, I felt my smile brighten. Something about him made me want to be who I once was, before I had gained my scars and shadow-friends. Had I ever been anything else, in truth? Perhaps that was a false memory. I didn’t know, thought the doctors had assured me they would find out my identity. Fools, I knew who I was, what happened was the true issue. Of course, saying as much would give the game away, and first, things had to happen.

I spoke again, hardly aware I was doing so. Poor Jacob, listening to my voice all the time. I sort of felt bad for him, stuck with a roommate like me, boring as I was. After all, there were other open rooms. But then, they’d wanted to keep the female populace away from me. I knew not the reason, scarred up and such, they didn’t even glance at me.

I think.

I never really looked, to be honest.

“I’m sure you’ll go far. You certainly have the looks and smile for it.”

I’m not sure why I found myself complimenting this boy, but I did none the less. Absently running my hands through my hair, pulling the tangled mass from my forehead, revealing the scar upon my eyebrow, I felt myself sigh. Of course, it was not quite so dramatic or intriguing as Jacob’s was but then, I was not him. I was boring old me.

“My story?”

Did I even haven one? I knew the histories of many of the patients here, from the d block to the a block. Of course, the a block was always full rotation, and nobody stayed long. Our block, I knew, held patients until they were cured. Many of them were simply a bit dysfunctional, having frightened a family member to arrive here. I had no family, so that option had never been mine.

“I was informed upon my arrival that the reason for my being held here is that the people for whom I was working had overheard me contemplating the murder of their entire family. When questioned, I refused to answer, and simply shook my head. Thus, they thought perhaps I was a bit insane for not defending myself.”

I wrinkled my nose, laughing. The sound, rarely heard from me, brightened my pallor immediately, making me seem slightly less boring and ill. Lively, perhaps, is the correct word.

“Or at least that’s what the notepad said when I stole it to read. The fact that the people who dropped me here after knocking me out could have been lying never once crossed my doctors mind. We have another 26 minutes and 32 seconds until the camera has to be put back. Anything you’d like to do while they aren’t watching?”

I smiled genuinely once more.

Of course, I would never reveal whether the man who’d brought me here had been lying or not.

That would spoil the fun.

But we already knew that.

[big city tragedy]

&&I was the king of the worldJacob Hayes&&I would claw and scratch my way up to the very top.

Jacob watched, mildly amused, as the boy went about the rituals of unscrewing the knobs of his dresser, as if by some unheard starting gun. He pondered, what, exactly, this kid’s mental illness might be. Obsessively dismantling things, perhaps? Paranoia? He had talked about cameras, and not he was pulling some hidden cords out of the drawer, like some little boy playing at being a spy. Jacob tried hard not to roll his eyes, quirking an eyebrow when the kid deposited the doorknob on his bed, trailing cords. What was he expected to do with it, exactly?

“What’s this?” he inquired, curiously, lifting the little plastic object, with it’s ridiculous trailing cords. “The camera? Or some sort of recording device?” he guessed, laughing slightly, puzzled at what lengths the boy went to in order to prove his own delusions. He turned it over curiously in his hands, careful not to mess about with any of the wires, though he was curious at how they managed to connect. He didn’t want to know the consequences of breaking this ‘Seven’ character’s little toy. Probably something along the lines of him getting stabbed, if the staff were so lax that they didn’t notice these sort of things. Hell, this Seven kid could have killed himself by electrocution if he was the suicidal type.

Still, he noticed, all the edges of the plastic knob were rounded, curiously, and highly shined, almost like those security cameras that had decorated his high school…Or, he thought, dropping the knob onto his bed, like a drawer knob.

When the boy spoke again, Jacob decided he liked his voice much better when the kid didn’t assume he was in front of cameras. Still deep and soft, but no longer dull velvet, rich and throaty in the way that sent pleasant shivers up Jacob’s spine. Still, Jake had always had a particular like of deep voices, preferring to date even girls who smoked enough to earn that raspiness. Still, he doubted anyone particularly liked the sound of someone who sounded like a stuck pig when they spoke, all squealing and high pitch.

He made a little acknowledging noise when the boy gave his reasons for calling himself Seven, wondering vaguely at the attachment to soccer. Maybe he was all mental trauma because his coach molested him or something, Jacob thought, shrugging mentally and lounging further into the bed. Or maybe he just liked soccer, another part of him argued, although Jake preferred the first explanation. Tragedy was always a passing substitute for personality, and so far, this guy was a flat liner on the whole ‘engaging personality’ front. Plus, it was more likely, he figured, the way the other paused and looked at his hands, lounging back so stiffly, like a corpse. Still, the other smiled that ridiculously infectious smile, and Jake found himself grinning lazily back, not sure why.

“Well, thanks,” Jacob answered in response to the praise, smiling warmly. He decided he may not have to destroy this kid completely, after all, not now that he was showing Jacob the proper adoration. Plus, it would be a shame not to see that smile anymore, as goofy as it was, Jake decided, stretching across the bed in a way that made his shirt ride up, just baring a little strip of skin between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. No, Jake definitely felt more accommodating, even though it had only been a little compliment tossed his way. Maybe just suicide, no murder, he decided, for the other boy.

He watched the ‘Seven’ kid, Michael, run his fingers through that wild sexy mess of his hair, noting, curiously, a scar slashed across his eyebrow, obviously a piercing pulled viciously from his skin. He contemplated, absently, whether the other would look better with the dangerous, but subtle slash of scar tissue, or the actual piercing glinting against his skin. Jake decided he liked the scar, but other would definitely look better with a lip ring. Then again, Jacob had a not-so-subtle love of mouth piercings, for obvious reasons.

When the guy told his story, Jacob tried his best to hide his surprise, suppressing the way he wanted to jump up to a simple shifting of his weight, smoothing his shirt back down to cling to his body perfectly. Oh, goodie, he thought, someone crazy enough for murder. Hell, the kid hadn’t even denied it, not really, although the skepticism in his tone was obvious. And the laugh.

God, Jacob thought the laugh was irresistible. It changed Seven from a pretty doll, a walking corpse with features frozen into perfection, into something infinitely more alive, made his eyes sparkle. Not nearly like his own laugh, he reminded himself, insistently, those eyes not nearly as pretty as his own. After all, everyone adored blue eyes, so intense and bright and sexual and exotic. People drowned in his eyes, he reminded himself.

“Well, everyone knows doctors are the insane ones,” Jacob sympathized, shrugging. Okay, well, at least he didn’t have to worry about getting stabbed in his sleep, anymore. Not really, anyway, it had been a sort-of denial, no out and out ‘Of course I wouldn’t do that’, but still. He’d accept it, Jacob supposed, just remember not to let his guard down. God, he thought, holding back a sigh, it was times like these that he was glad his friends had insisted he pack a knife.

“Anything I’d like to do? Well, I’ve got some ideas,” Jacob answered with a coy smile, giving the other his best sensual look from under his long lashes, tilting his head just so to make his eyes catch the light and spark electric blue. “Better stash the contraband, though,” he decided, with a heavy sigh, grinning wickedly at the other boy.

He stood up and began unpacking his suitcase, tossing ‘sort of contraband’ into one pile, including his laptop, Sidekick, and iPod, tucking the knife neatly in his pocket, quickly enough that he assumed the other hadn’t seen. “Actually, no one told me-Are we allowed to have this kinda s**t?” he questioned, curiously, gesturing towards his stack of electronics.

[NEKEtheGHOST_1]

Hear no evil, see no evil,

I stood, striding quickly to the other boys bed and grasping the knob. It was obvious in his very mannerism that he did not believe me in that it was a camera, perhaps thinking I was as insane as those we shared dormitories with. But then, I had given him little reason to assume otherwise, my shadows reasoned, and I found myself screwing the drawer’s knob back into place, lifting the false bottom to re-attach the wires accordingly. I let him see what I was doing, if he wished to look, simply because I had nothing much else to show. If he watched, he could see me connecting the wires as they had been before I’d torn them apart. Replacing the fake bottom of the drawer, I examined the knob for a moment before closing the drawer. Good as new.

Then again, I’d done that act a thousand times before as I ‘accidentally’ broke the camera time and time again. You’d think the good geniuses watching over our moves would take note that I had done this again and again, but then, they hadn’t seemed to catch onto much as yet. I figured it best to hook the camera back up, just in case. In this way, we would still have a lot of time to ourselves [when, I wondered, had it ceased being myself and become inclusive of Jacob?] to do as we wished. And though much of that time was during our hours outside for cleaning purposes and the inspections, we would still have plenty of time to annoy one another. Or so I assumed.

I felt a prickle on my skin as he watched me, that odd gleam in his eyes. The urge to blush grew strong but I refrained, only a bit of red tinting my cheeks. Then, all at once I realize he was looking at my face, or more precisely, the scar above my eyes. I let my hair drop to cover it again, and attempted to think of something else. This, of course, failed as it always did.

The close scrutiny of my scar left me a bit unhappy, I must admit. I hatd having my flaws so open for all to see. At least with those with ill minds, they could hide it behind a façade. No, I had mine on my skin, for everybody to stare at. I was quite self-conscious about my marred body, and much as I knew that I was not that ugly, my mind still screamed I was. Some demons, I suppose, are not to be won over with reasoning or the like. This was one of them.

The smile Jacob gave me was a bit odd and I tilted my head, unsure of the meaning. My hair fell into my eyes and I raked it back again, seriously debating the shaving of my head. I’d done it in the past, cutting off all my hair, and I’d looked just the same as ever. My skull was a bit white, perhaps, but then, so were most people with a freshly bald head. Or perhaps a trim would do it? Absently I wondered if they had hairdressers in this place. The answer appeared to be no, though I had to wonder who cut the long term residents hair. An odd though, but it plagued me. I’d have to investigate further.

Add that to the list of things to discover. Hairdressers, where the laundry went and the cleaning supplies, where the never ending supply of art objects came from, why the burly men who escorted me around for my appointments with the psychiatrist wore a different uniform than the orderlies but acted the same, who it was in block d that everybody was so terrified of… The list went on and on, and I kept adding.

My green eyes drifted back to Jacob as he began sorting out his things. The glint of the knife was seen, and then not, and I blinked, unsure as to whether I was imagining things or not. Deciding it didn’t matter, because I was unafraid of knives – my scars proved that, at least – I dismissed the idea, watching curiously as he brought out electronic object and electronic object. My fingers itched to grasp them, to look over them and learn their secrets. I, after all, am in love with technology. Though I never get to touch it, I thought with a bitter frown. My hands nearly twitched, and I forced myself to smile, my voice easing over the room in an instant. 24 minutes and count, my shadows reminded me, and I thanked them without a word.

“I honestly have no idea.”

And that was true. I had no clue. Having been dropped in essentially my boxers and a pair of old socks, everything I had with me were things I’d earned during my keep be behaving, as the doctors put it. My clothing was, of course, provided due to my ‘unstable’ status. My sketchpads and the like were rewards in an effort to make me open up to the doctors and other various staff. So far all it had gotten them was a half-hearted smile. Can’t blame them for trying, though.

“I don’t think the service here is great, because the doctors mumble about it a lot, or if they’ll let you keep your phone. Might want to hide that.”

My eyes lit on the iPod, and I practically salivated. I knew what it was, and what it was meant for. And in that I was quite in love with the majority of music I’d heard, though I’d never admit it out loud, the very idea of being able to listen tempted me. Of course, the object in question was not my own, and so the point was moot regardless. Trying not to sound interested and away I was failing, I spoke again.

“I think they’ll let you keep the rest. The knife, though, I’d hide it if I were you, and keep it away from some of the crazier patients. They’d likely try something idiotic like stab the orderly.”

Though, I had to admit, it would be interesting to watch. Settling back on my mattress once more, I stretched out, kicking my trainers off to the floor at the foot of his bed. Crossing my legs at the ankle, I lay, head turned towards Jacob.

I like this guy, I think.

Speak no evil.

[big city tragedy]

&&I was the king of the worldJacob Hayes&&I would claw and scratch my way up to the very top.
Jacob watched, idly, as the kid replaced the ‘camera’ almost ritualistically, taking on a count of OCD to his earlier suspicion of paranoia. He knew it was rather hypocritical for him to complain about the doctors ridiculous judgments and then take wild stabs of his own at his roommate’s problems, but he didn’t care. He had never cared about hypocrisy before, and it was silly too start now. It’s not like he was going to say or do anything about it, let alone try and push the boy towards some state of ‘normalcy’, towards ‘integrating into daily life’. Doctors, they used the silliest little phrases. As if Jacob wanted to be normal, average, of all things.

He waited for the other to finish his ritual before grasping up his Sidekick, replying to the newest sea of texts, reminded that he had to keep up his reputation at home by all the thoughts of normalcy. God forbid that the general population forget about him while he was on his little vacation. Not that this was a particularly good vacation or he thought they’d forget about him. He was, after all, Jacob Hayes, and a few ambiguous blog posts about a ‘retreat’ ought to get the rumors circulating nicely, internet and otherwise. Rehab was his favorite, so far, but hospitalization due to an accident on the set of a new movie he was to star in was a close second.

It was then that he glanced up at the kid, waiting for his reaction to the question, that he finally noticed the faint blush on the other’s face, and grinned slyly to himself. One good thing about pale skinned boys, it was easy to tell when they blushed. Although, Jake preferred a nice, taught, tan body, there was something cute about someone who could still blush, and the contrast of all that dark hair and light skin was definitely admirable. No, Jacob decided, there was nothing he would change about the boy, flaws and all, contrary to the norm. He was always the friend that pushed and pushed to make other people improve their ugly little bits, but he rather liked that careful balance that the Seven kid had struck.

Speaking of little flaws…Jacob sighed, heavily, catching sight of his reflection in the shiny silver body of his phone. The dark circles under his eyes were getting horrendous enough that he considered choking down a few sleeping pills. He didn’t feel rested after the drugs conked him out, but it took away those very slight signs of haggardness that he knew no one else could spot, but bothered him anyway. And those dark circles…he looked good in eyeliner, certainly, phenomenally good, all the darks brining out the crystalline blue of his eyes and the rich color of his skin, but the bags and circles looked more like fading bruises than anything.

Jacob flipped open his phone as it buzzed once more, glancing gauging at the other over the top of the screen. He was quick enough with his hands after years of those little…impulses he’d yet to control, all the five finger discounts. Still, he might not have been fast enough to conceal it from his roommate. There was something sharp about the boy, crazy, but sharp, and mall cops weren’t too bright, didn’t watch him as carefully. Pretty kids, they didn’t keep their eyes not, especially not pretty kids flaunting preppy brand names. They were too busy eyeing the ones in the bullet belts and band tees to notice him stripping away security devices, but under the watchful eye of the other boy, he wasn’t so sure his skills would pass.

He was more amused to find the look of pure jealous envy on the other’s face, the almost-lust that the other kept carefully under control. Talk about green eyed monsters…Jacob thought, amused, quirking his lips up in a smile, automatically running his fingers along the smooth metal surfaces, possessively. All the objects were gleaming and razor thin and screamed of money, so he could see the obvious attraction. He wondered, briefly, whether he could trust his fellow patient with the ‘pretty shinies’ and decided it would be alright. He could always blackmail his mother into new ones…Amazing, he thought, what the threat of spilled family secrets could do.

“My service is okay, in here, anyway,” Jake answered, shrugging , typing off a few more texts, rapidly. It would be easy enough to keep his phone, but as an afterthought, he typed out a text to his mother, a sweet little threatening note about what would happen if one of the white-coats decided to take away his phone. No, it would not be pretty, not at all. Still, he assumed she had been smart enough to pay the institution to ignore such little details. She knew Jacob got neurotic about the death of his social life if he didn’t have his phone close, preferably less than a room or two away.

He watched, amused, as the other particularly panted after his iPod, a slim video number stocked with several gigabytes of music, something for every mood. His friends, of course, were often disappointed with his selection, though he guessed the Seven kid wouldn’t be, at least not totally. They complained about his lack of Top 40 hits and the fact that rap, hiphop, and rnb were suspiciously absent; replaced by mostly bands they had never heard of. Sure, he tossed an occasional bit of common rock or metal their way, but indie, punk, jazz, folk, classical, and electro music dominated his music tastes.

“Well, I’ll keep everything hidden, anyway,”Jake answered, shrugging slightly, struggling to keep his composure and purposefully not commenting on the knife ordeal. He knew denial would be useless, anyway, so ignoring it was the second best solution. Okay, he thought, biting his lip absently, there goes any edge I had with the knife. Still, he figured it would be useful enough in protecting himself. It’s not like he would stab an orderly, unless it was an ugly one attempting to rape him, or something, or give up his defense mechanism to some crazy person. He watched, amused, as the other sprawled out so casually, biting back a silly grin. So casually mentioning a stabbing and then relaxing back against his bed.

“Hey, Seven…?” he began, slightly hesitantly, wondering if bribery in the form of letting the other free range of his electronic devices would be proper distraction from the knife thing. After all, the kid was crazy, he couldn’t have the greatest memory. “Do you want me to call you Seven?” he inquired, as an afterthought, wondering if the other preferred his real name, at least where the doctors couldn’t see or hear. “Anyway, come listen to my iPod with me. Can’t have a roomie whose music taste I don’t know,” he commented, smiling invitingly, lazily, and sinking down onto his mattress, nudging his closed suitcases to the floor.

[NEKEtheGHOST_1]

I am not afraid to keep on living,
I am not afraid to walk this world alone.

I began to feel my eyes drift shut, though I was not tired in the least. This was, of course, simply because of the glaring hot white of the room around me, and the way they had the halls painted in that oh-so-typical tan shade. I know that such things were necessary – the more tender patients freaked out in brightly colored areas, after all – but it still annoyed me to no end that everything was so perfectly white, so crystal and reflective and bright. But then, when you think about I, I am a lover of the shadows. It stands to reason that I would like my eyes closed in preference to being open. Then again, could it be that looking at this Jacob fellow was starting to make me think things that would complicate my life further, and so I chose to look away? No, I thought, no way. After all, I’m not that intricate. I don’t think like that at all.

The shadows are caressing my cheeks, soothing the heat they find there. I find, as their cool touch pushes back the heat of the day, that I am indeed hot, and that though I am not quite sweating, my brow feels a bit damp, and my body a bit uncomfortable. Of course I did not mention such a thing to Jacob. He would either assume I was insane or ill, since I was aware that the air conditioning system kept it quite cool indoors. But still, at this time, I was hot, and undeniably so. I didn’t like being hot – not at all. Probably for the same reasons I prefer the darkness of my eyelids to that of the daylight. Strange, perhaps, but me at any rate. I am strange.

I nod in assent to Jacob’s decision to hide his items. After all, they were his, and thus he did not need my permission to hide them away. But still, he seemed to almost ask for it. But perhaps there was another reason for that. Maybe he felt like including me for seem reason or another. The horrifying thought that he had caught my envious stare crossed my mind, and I felt a bit worried, thinking that he might assume me the type to steal or use without permission. I wasn’t, of course, and though I longed to find out how his computer worked, I knew better than to touch it without permission. To do as much might as well have been a crime, in my world. I know, I know, he doesn’t know this yet. Perhaps one day I shall tell him. Save him a lot of annoyance and heartbreak in the end.

At the mention of my name I crack and eye, shifting slightly to better hear Jacob. When he asks if calling me Seven is alright I let out a small smile, my dimples deepening on y cheeks. It had been so long since anybody other than authority had called me Michael that I feared actually being called by the name would probably go unnoticed. In fact, it had. After all, the majority of the time when people said Michael I didn’t even turn my head. A habit that they were trying to break, I noted, and failing miserably. Of course, they thought I was fool enough to not figure it out. But then, my shadows whispered, Seven is that which does not forget. And I certainly wasn’t a fool.

After all, I’d been Seven since soccer, so many years ago. The years I’d lost count, along with the faces of the other Michaels, and that of the coach. The mothers in the stands meant little in my memories, for none were my own and none were there to watch me. No, no, they meant nothing, and blurred in the memory like those of half-dead floating people. Pale washes of color with off features and out of place appendages. No, they didn’t make the name special to me. What had was the feeling of belonging that had come with playing on a team. I think it had been the suggestion of a counselor when one of the more concerned foster mothers I’d had had asked him what to do about my anti-social tendencies. He had suggested a sport, and I had immediately requested soccer, because it was the only one I knew the rules to. I expected to play one or two games all season, and end it not knowing anyone more than I had before I’d left. But it was not to be so.

No, a young girl of my own age – we had been eleven, I think – had been the first to speak to me. I don’t recall what she said, only that she seemed so nice and friendly to the unkempt boy sitting terrified on the sidelines, sure he’d be ignored. She, all brazen courage, had trotted up to me and dragged me – literally, she’d grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me until I followed her – onto the field, and began playing keep away with me. Of course, it had been to a lot of peoples shock when I had proved fairly decent at the sport, and they had all ceased laughing at me with the torn up face at that point. Over the summer I’d gained a large number of friends, and had become close enough even to get a nickname. For the summer, my shadows and my thoughts had stayed at bay, especially when that girl had been around to distract me. Then Fall had come at last, and my foster mother had gotten pregnant. The decision that some children had to go back into the system was made, and I, as the oldest and least emotional of the lot had been sent to make room for another biological child.

Granted, it hadn’t been the fact that I’d been jilted for an unborn child that had hurt, but the loss of my friends when they shuffled me to yet another county in an effort to find me a stable home. I hadn’t been willing to leave my friends, and in the uproar that was my mouth I remember the shadows coming back with force, angry, violent, hurtful. And then I was free, free and alone, and running from something though I knew not what it was as yet. I had been far too young but smart enough to survive, and now I was still surviving.

Jacob’s voice jarred me from my mind and I opened both eyes, rolling to look at him. I sat up, squinting a bit, and smiled slightly, eyeing the small bed a bit dubiously. Though it was my instinct to grin – and I had to admit my mouth was wide with a smile, and my cheeks dimpled with delight – I was unsure how to respond. So, instead of thinking about it, for once I just spoke. No thought, no practicing it in my head, just speaking.

“I’d love to...I like everything… though rap tends to annoy me. I’m afraid I don’t know many bands, due to… my lifestyle before here…where should I sit?”

I eyed the bed again, then the floor. Maybe that’s where I was meant to sit? After all, there was no way he’d want to get close to a scarred up monster like me.

Tell me if you stay I'll be forgiven,
Nothing you can say can stop me going home.

'Cause I see you lying next to me,
With words I thought I'd never speak,
Awake, and unafraid.
Asleep, or dead.

[big city tragedy]

&&I was the king of the worldJacob Hayes&&I would claw and scratch my way up to the very top.

Jacob would definitely be calling the boy Seven, not Michael, or whatever his real name was. Actually addressing the other as such made him smile so prettily, although it creased up his face in a way that was more cute than handsome. Such deep set dimples, Jake noted, amused, that the boy could have been a child star, with pretty green eyes and dimpled grin, maybe chubby cheeks and the whole bit. The mere thought of it made him nearly giggle, glancing at the edgy boy across the room from him, trying his hardest to picture the other as a happy child. It was, of course, exceedingly difficult, that edge in his eyes that lent itself to assuming Seven had suffered years of abuse.

Jake himself had done the child star thing, and knew that Seven wasn’t cut out for the world at all, having his hair dyed to just the right bland shade, smiling for hours at end in front of the camera until his face hurt. His mother coaching him with sharp words just off the camera, her nails digging into his arm. Still, he was sure whatever the other had suffered was much, much worse, the way he had so obviously been dumped here. He wondered vaguely how many charity cases this place was legal required to take in weren’t actually crazy, just found too hard to manage by parents or relatives or foster parents or…whomever.

“I like everything except, um…hiphop, rap, most rnb, and country. So, no problems there,” he commented, giving the other a bright smile. It was obvious, at least to him, that other would most likely not enjoy whatever was ‘mainstream’, but sometimes people were surprising. After all, Jacob himself did scream ‘Top 40 hits station’, if you could judge his tastes by his appearance. “No worries, I’ll show you a few good bands. How long you been here, anyway?” he inquired, curiously, before he realized it was probably off putting, something the other boy wouldn’t want to talk about. Oh well, he thought, mentally shrugging.

“Um, well, it’d be easiest if you were next to me, really, the whole sharing a set of earbuds thing,” Jacob remarked with a grin, biting down on his lower lip in an effort not to laugh, patting the space next to him. What a silly, silly boy, he thought, amused. “So, yeah, you know. Bed?” he added, shrugging slightly, before he realized that was where the discomfort may lay. He almost scoffed at that; he wasn’t a molester or something ridiculous, beautiful people weren’t rapists. Nor did he plan to cuddle up to the boy. After all, he couldn’t risk forming an emotional bond with one of his toys, his playthings. Only past toys that he never planned involvement with again did he cuddle up against, because the act was simply too intimate for him to be comfortable.

No, Jacob was a purely sexual being. He had his rules to keep both parties from getting attached, to keep him from getting stalked more than he already did and such things. He didn’t kiss on the mouth, he didn’t cuddle, he didn’t sleep in other’s beds, and he didn’t stay the whole night. A relationship for him was a string of one night stands and sexual favors in the school bathroom. It was, after all, just a game, getting them to adore him, using them, breaking them. The human did twist and shatter in such pretty ways, after all, and with so much variety. Generally the poets and the romantics were the most entertaining to hurt, all the angsting they did afterward. Sometimes they even wrote songs for him. Or, well, about him.

“Or, really, if you’d prefer it, we can sit on the floor,” he added, lazily, as an afterthought, although the idea was ridiculous. Why be uncomfortable, after all? He wasn’t going to put the moves on the kid just yet, or anything, but he loathed the idea of sitting on the hard ground instead of a cushiony mattress. Surely the other didn’t want to sprawl across the floor, either, not with a bed waiting. Who knew what kind of dirt was down there, anyway? Jacob shuddered to think of dirtying his designer jeans. Still, he thought, maybe he had given the boy reason to worry, with all the coy looks and the one vaguely suggestive comment. Paranoid thing, after all, Jacob reasoned, although the most he would do was lean against the other for warmth.

Speaking of warmth, it was hideously, ridiculously cold in here, but Jacob wouldn’t put on some frumpy hoodie over his nice, fitted clothes. Any of the hoodies that he had that actually fit well and looked goo were for looks only, not comfort or warmth, and the big, baggy ones were for wearing alone only. He couldn’t bear to have someone see him dressed in one of those things, the hem brushing somewhere along mid thigh and hanging baggy enough to completely hide his shape. No, instead he just chafed his skin with his hands, rubbing his fingers across his forearms slowly, almost absently, glancing about the room for the AC control.

It was so hideously cold and white in here, so stark and hospitallike. Still, he supposed it was something that couldn't be helped, all the OCD kids or whomever needed continous colors. Still, Jake thought, all the white freaked him out worse than any bright splashes of color would. Perhaps he would have to resort to coloring on the walls or something equally ridiculous to break the monotony...Shrugging to himself, he glanced back at the other boy, expectingly, tiling his head in a silent questioning guesture.

[NEKEtheGHOST_1]

famous last words of:

seven

i am not afraid to keep on living
i am not afraid to walk this world alone
honey if you stay, i'll be forgiven
nothing you could say can stop me going home.

__________ [+] name seven
__________ [+] gender male
__________ [+] race caucasian
__________ [+] age unknown
__________ [+] orientation anything and everything

I blinked, almost grateful at the offer of learning of a few bands. Though I’d heard a fair share of music while in city streets – it’s impossible not to, the way stores blast it on their public announcement systems, I’d rarely had the chance to sit down and enjoy it without being yelled at to move, to leave, to get the hell out. After all, with my usually slightly rumpled appearances, and the obvious thinness I maintained [although I had gained weight since coming here, I’d noted recently. Or at least, the doctor had told as much. Regular meals, I supposed, and lazing about did as much.] most merchants had a nasty habit of assuming that I would steal everything I could, and run out the door. Either that, or ruin their store. Of course, I wouldn’t think of either, but that didn’t stop them from shoving me out the door.

The question caught me off guard, and without thinking, I spoke. The words tumbled out of my mouth, and only after did I realize that it sounded a bit obsessive to count the days in such a mannerism. But then, there were those who counted down the minutes. I was nowhere near that obsessive about it.

“36 days. And a bit.”

Had it been so long? Over a month already? I could scarcely believe it.

Blinking for a moment, I sat up, walking over to Jacob’s bed as though I had no other choice. After all, I was the dutiful one most of the time, and though I had a mind of my own, I would not mind sitting next to this boy. He was nice to look at, more than nice if I would admit it to myself, which of course I wouldn’t. That, plus he didn’t seem that repulsed by my appearance, though he had given me a stranger look or two. The urge to grab a long sleeved shirt to hide my arms was strong, and it was quite cold in here. Turning for a moment with an apologetic look, I pulled a nondescript gray shirt from my dresser, and in one smooth motion, pulled my tee off and slipped into the long sleeved shirt. Many year sin public areas had given me the means to do so without revealing too much of my body, though I was sure Jacob had undoubtedly noticed my scars once more. Funny, I wasn’t at all embarrassed about my physique, for I was quite lean, and had the outlines of muscles in my abdomen, chest, and arms. It was the pink and white lines that were splayed in various areas on my body that bothered me.

Turning again, I scooted onto the bed beside Jacob, careful not to get too close. After all, for all I knew he was simply very good at hiding his reaction. Or maybe he had just met some very ugly people in his life. Both could be true, though I had a feeling that when around ugly people, this Jacob fellow would have no qualms stating as much to the person in question. So then, why had he said nothing to me as yet? Was he waiting for the moment it would hurt most? It occurred to me then that though he’d seemed a bit off at first, he was using Seven as my given name for now. That pleased me more than I would admit – after all, it would annoy the doctors to no end. They were attempting to refer to me as Michael, though I knew they were also trying to track my last name. Good luck with that, doctors, I’d had no luck so far. Funny, no matter how much they shouted Michael, I had a habit of ignoring them.

“The bed is fine – the floors quite uncomfortable I’ve noticed.”

Glancing at Jacob, I noticed that he was rubbing his arms as though a bit cold, as I had been. The thought of offering him a sweater tinged my mind, but I had the feeling he would refuse for one reason or another. He seemed the type to dress for beauty rather than comfort or practicality. Something I’m afraid I never quite learned. After all, designed clothing, for all it’s cost, ripped quite easily, and wore out even faster that it ripped. It was a waste of my precious income, and I had little to spare on frivolous things like food. But I was veering off track. The boy was cold, and seemed not to want to admit it.

My shadows whispered to me, and tugged on the blanket folded at the base of the bed. Eyeing it, it took me a moment to catch on. Even though I bore long sleeves, I was still cool enough that a blanket would not overheat me. Thus saying, I tugged the blanket onto my lap, accidentally [or trying to make it look somewhat accidental – I never was good at such movement. My face I could school, my actions, less so.] dropping it onto Jacob’s as well. I didn’t tuck it around him, of course, but it dropped over his arms nonetheless. Adjusting it around myself, I tried to take as little of it as possible. After all, I was used to the cold, I’d lived outside on and off again a time or two. The cold didn’t bother me as much as heat did. Heat just wilted me.

“Do you mind if I use a blanket? I’m quite cold…”

At this I tried to smile as cutely as possible, fully aware that I wasn’t so good at the pouting. Still, I tried.

Couldn’t hurt, after all.

'cause i see you lying next to me
with words i thought I'd never speak
awake and unafraid
asleep or dead.