God is in my fingers, God is in my head.

[Joseph Kennedy]

Take a line. Sketch. Take a line. Puke. Take a line. Sleep.
That was Joe's routine. At least, that's how it had been for the past three days. Snorting up white powder like a kid eats chocolate.

Another line. Black out.

Head pounding, nose bleeding, muscle spasms, black outs. That's how those three days were spent. Not by force. By choice. By his own stupid choice, he locked himself in his dorm and just took line after line after line, until he literally had no more of that precious substance his body so craved. He spent those three days throwing up the lack of food in his stomach (dry-heaving, I guess you could say), and in between that, drawing obscene, disturbing images of god only knows what in his sketchbook, which was now lying haphazardly wide open on the end of his bed. With Joe sprawled face down right next to it - head tilted to the side, resting on the pillow - a small amount of dried blood and snot still clinging to his nostrils. Limbs flung out in all directions as if they were merely accessories. His skin had turned a sickly pasty white, the result of the lack of direct sunlight, and maybe the drugs had something to do with it as well. The bags that always resided under his eyes had only grown more defined giving him a rather hideous appearance altogether.

His choice. His stupid choice. And now he was suffering the consequences of his actions. Not like he was a stranger to this, oh no, far from it. But it had been quite some time since he'd spent days ingesting cocaine only to abruptly run out.
Not cool. At all.

Even if he wanted to, he probably couldn't move. He felt as if his body had gone on lock down, and every joint had nearly frozen in place. Not to mention the migraine that he'd been contending with for the duration of the day. How long was that? He didn't have the slightest clue. All time and space had been lost in the deep, dark abyss that was his dorm. Or was that just in his mind? Maybe it was his mind. Or maybe he was actually drowning in big pool of his own blood and organs that had been ripped from his chest and stomach and that was dripping from his nose and mouth. Maybe it was true.
Maybe it was Tuesday. Maybe it was seven years from the date it really is. Or maybe it was seven years previous to the date he thought it was. Who the fuck knew? Because Joe sure didn't.

Maybe this was all a dream. Or maybe he was just going crazy.

Allowing his puffy, bloodshot, red rimmed, dilated eyes to close for the thousandth time, he blacked out again.
Or was it even a black out? Maybe he had woken up.
In all honesty, he had lost touch of what was reality, and what was drug induced psychosis. For all Joe knew, he could really be asleep.
But that wasn't the truth. The truth was that he was awake. Wide, wide awake. And that he was laying halfway on the bed - one leg hanging over the side - in a pitiful, cocaine filled haze.

[/size]

[sebastian simmons]

He wouldn't have worried if it was one day. Hell, two days would be okay. Go up, come down, return like a normal person. It had happened countless times before with Joe, and Sebastian knew to just let things pass. After all, barging in on a high would result in being pressured into his own taste or two. And barging in on a low? That would be worse than normal Joe was, filled with snapping and cursing and yelling at Seb, who was not in the mood for it these days.

But...three days? That was enough to make Sebastian rouse himself and take a walk towards Joe's dorm, just to check things out.

Nobody could understand why Sebastian had chosen Joe, of all people, to be best friends with. All he did, past and present, was clean up Joe's messes and drag him home when he was crashing like hell. They wondered if he was gay and had a secret crush, if he was some sort of masochist that enjoyed being yelled at, or if he was just plain mentally incapable of understanding that when somebody cursed at you, it wasn't a 'thank you'. The truth of the matter was that Sebastian, while able to get angered over something, was probably the only person on this earth that was calm enough to handle Joseph Kennedy, and he decided to use this skill the way it was meant to be used.

Thinking back, there were a number of situations in which Sebastian could have not helped out, not fixed things, not done what he did, and Joe might have very well been screwed. But instead, Sebastian remained loyal, but what for? If you asked Joe, he would tell you that Sebastian was a prissy with hair like a girl's, who had no backbone and was unnecessary in Joe's life. Somehow, Sebastian guessed that Joe knew that he appreciated Sebastian, way deep down, but was going to be in denial until the day he died.

Either way, good friend that he was, Sebastian made his way to Joe's dorm, that same long hair that Joe mocked carelessly loose, looking much like a regular, happy-go-lucky guy. Instead, he was going to his asshole of a friend's house to make sure that the guy wasn't dead just yet.

Why should he bother with Joe? If the guy killed himself, it wasn't Sebastian's fault. But there was just something that made Sebastian paused at the front door for only a second, then knock. He could very well turn and leave, let whatever was happening to Joe take its well-deserved toll. There was nothing that Joe had ever done for Sebastian that was deserving of his help, but that wasn't stopping him from coming over. If anything, Sebastian deserved to let Joe kill himself with the drugs without any remorse.

But, if that was true, then why was he here?

Waiting a minute or so, Sebastian tried the doorknob, but it was locked, and he was stuck outside, waiting to see if his good friend would allow him inside, or if he was going to sit on the ground in the middle of Winter and wait. Sebastian Arthur Simmons was, in reality, sometimes so nice that he was an idiot.

[Joseph Kennedy]

There was a reason why Joe had locked that door. To keep everyone else out - including Sebastian, whom he knew was bound to come knocking at his door sooner or later. He just didn't expect it to be so soon.

Still caught up in his slightly off-color hallunication of reality and fantasy and whatever the fuck else that was sucking his mind, he barely even heard the sharp rap on the door, caused by knuckles hitting the cheap wood multiple times. But eventually, Joe ended up realizing that the sound was not his leg being snapped in half by some kind of evil creature, but it was someone knocking on the door.
Dammit.

Peeling his eyes open once again, he fought for the words to say. To say, "Go the fuck away!" but for whatever reason that may be, he couldn't find his voice. Maybe it was ripped out his throat along with his intestines. That stupid fucking devil was gonna pay. And then he snapped back into reality. Or what he presumed was reality, and by some miracle, Joe actually began to inch himself off the bed. Slowly. Inch by inch. Until he felt his feet touch the floor. And then he stayed just like that. Half on the bed - half off. What the fuck was he doing? He wasn't going to go answer the door, that's for sure. He probably wouldn't even be able to find the goddamn door knob.
Pushing his upper body up with shaky arms, Joe finally righted to a standing position. And incredible feat he wasn't even sure if he actually accomplished. Maybe he had blacked out again.
If only the room would stop spinning so fast.

Using the bed as leverage, he slowly creeped towards the door to his dorm room. It felt like it had taken hours upon hours just to cross the bed, when in truth, it had probably only taken about thirty seconds. Which is actually a long time, when you think about it.
Stretching out his arm towards the door knob, Joe grasped hold of it, nearly having to cling the door to keep himself up. Pressing his head against the door frame, he searched for the dead bolt lock with his free hand - which proved to be no easy task. But seriously? When you're that strung out, finding a dead bolt on a fucking door is probably going to be difficult.
Finally. Success. Or was it success? It wasn't success to him. He wanted solitude - except, at this moment, he had even forgotten what he wanted. He wasn't even sure that he was even open this door. But indeed, he was.

Flicking the lock open, he opened the door and peered outside into the nearly blinding light of the outside (which he hadn't seen in three days. Or more?) which caused him to visibly wince in pain, forgetting that there was a familiar figure standing in front of him. A figure with long, fag hair and a probably disapproving expression slapped across his face.

With one hand covering his eyes, Joe slouched against the door frame, letting go of the door handle, thus freeing his right hand, which he used to nearly slap himself across the cheek. And with one ragged breath, he slurred:

"W...where the fuck am I..."

[/size]

[sebastian simmons]

Sebastian cursed under his breath when he heard nothing from inside after a few more minutes, since he didn't exactly want to wait outside in the freezing cold for Joe to unlock the door, if he ever did do that. But, of course, just as Sebastian was about to turn around and go do something more interesting, he heard some sort of movement from inside the room. After some more wonderful waiting, the door opened.

His friend looked like shit, in a word, and Sebastian had the sadistic thought that he could nudge him and Joe would easily fall over. The cool, asshole exterior was gone, though, and Joe looked pretty vulnerable, which both made Sebastian amused and slightly frightened. He had seen it before, but never this badly, and came to the conclusion that Joe had binged like crazy. Whether his current look was from the binge itself or from crashing was unknown, though, and Sebastian guessed that soon enough he'd find out.

"Where the fuck am I..."

Sebastian looked down and shook his head slowly, looking over the guy. Instead of responding to Joe, Sebastian chose to make his own commentary.

"Really, Joe, it took you long enough to open the fucking door."

He stepped past Joe into the room, and took in the scene. Dirtier than usual, but something seemed askew, and a smell that was a mix of puke and...something close to puke hung in the air, making Sebastian want to go back outside.

"What've you been up to for the past few days?"

The tone of Sebastian's voice made it almost sound like he was making small talk, but Joe would know that it was more of an accusation than anything. Not that Sebastian blamed Joe for what he did, he knew the guy's reasons and whatnot, but it was meant to figure out whether Joe was up high or crashing, which would show how the guy acted to Sebastian. Of course, he seemed to be a lot worse than usual, but that could be because of any reason.

Most likely, Joe was just crashing, and Sebastian would take a few insults and leave, then Joe would be fine the next day or so. Just like it happened every other time.

[Joseph Kennedy]

"Really, Joe, it took you long enough to open the fucking door."

He wasn't quite sure if he actually was hearing that, or if his mind was making that up once again. Only this time, he was fairly certain it was real, considering he felt a figure brush past him, and even though the words sounded muffled and echoed almost a thousand times around in his head, he could almost recognize the voice.

"Seb...Seb I..."
And then he lost it. Lost balance that is. Sliding down the door frame, he shifted so that he was leaning up against the wall, causing the door to his dorm to shut on its own. (No, not creepy, magical door. Just a normal door on really shitty hinges.) Back pressed against the wall, sitting with his knees bent up and head resting on them, he couldn't get his thoughts together enough to even finish his sentence. In fact, he wasn't even sure if he knew what he was trying to say in the first place.

And then he felt something in the pit of his stomach. Fucking shit. Not again. As if he hadn't already expelled everything already. The feeling slowly travelled up his esophagus, until Joe just couldn't help but gag, causing his entire body to jerk forwards as he tried to throw up again for the umpteenth time. But, as was expected, there was nothing left for him to throw up.
Head between his legs, gagging sounds coming from his throat, he looked pathetic. Utterly pathetic. It was almost so, where you didn't even WANT to feel sorry for him. In fact, most people didn't. And they were right to not. He had done this to himself, and that kind of behavior doesn't merit sympathy. Not that he would take any one's sympathy any kinder...

And then it stopped, just like that. No more gagging. No more nausea. Although his head was still resting on his knees, Joe nearly gave a sigh of relief - if even just for that brief moment.

"What've you been up to for the past few days?"

It sounded so far away. He could barely make out what Sebastian was asking him, but somehow, he managed.
Lifting his head ever so slightly, Joe inhaled sharply and peeled his eyes open to peer at Seb through his half closed lids.

"Not much..." was the quivering response. "Just... same ol'...shit."
Black out. Or was it?
Really, it was just Joe losing touch with reality, and being tossed off somewhere else. But no sooner had it happened, he returned, snapping back into the fog and the haze of his dorm.
"Seb..." he then croaked, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. "I think...I fucked up."

[sebastian simmons]

Sebastian, turned around slowly and looked down on the figure on the floor, feeling a surge of power that seemed to not be very nice for the moment, so he forced himself to push past it and make himself sit on the floor. The dirty, disgusting floor. Oh how wonderful of a choice he had made.

He stared at Joe for a little while, just looking over the guy. He even tried to go inside his thoughts, but just like every time the brain was drugged up, it was impossible. Probably because it wasn't a brain anymore, more like a piece of machinery all rusted and torn, working only on whatever drug it was using, so there weren't any real thoughts. They were all fantasies, created by that substance that the person was using, blocking out any knowledge of the real world that the person could have. Thus, the brain had a padlock on it, and even if you did get inside, there was nothing but chaos to see.

It wasn't long before Sebastian was shaken out of his psychological babble of thoughts, by the wonderful sound of gagging and, thankfully, nothing coming out. Sebastian looked for a second, then turned away.

Once it stopped, he didn't bother saying anything or asking if Joe was alright, because if anything, that would just get a nasty comment, because that was how things worked with Joe.

"Not much...just the same old shit." Sebastian nodded slowly, since he was getting the feeling that something wasn't right. Or at least, more wrong than it usually was. It could have easily been pessimism, of course, but then came the next comment.

"Seb...I think I fucked up."

Sebastian closed his eyes, then smiled. "What can I say, Joe. You're a fuckup. Obviously you're going to fuck up. What is it you did now, Joe? Could it be much worse than other things you've done? Really, just think about it."

[Joseph Kennedy]

Under any other normal circumstances, Joe would have given Seb a harsh look for trying to pry himself into his brain, but considering that this was not normal circumstances (well, that's based on your personal opinion) he actually didn't even take note of the fact that Seb was attempting to read his thoughts.

"What can I say, Joe. You're a fuckup. Obviously you're going to fuck up. What is it you did now, Joe? Could it be much worse than other things you've done? Really, just think about it."

Just because he was crashing quickly from his too high high didn't mean that he couldn't understand what he said. Well, maybe it did, and maybe it got distorted as it passed through his muffled hearing, causing him to hear it more as an accusation than a light hearted, friendly...joke.

"You're a fuckup."

He couldn't help but hear it again. Not that Seb repeated it, but for reason it got lodged into some part of his brain and was seemingly stuck in the loop.

"You're a fuckup."

Wrapping his arms around his legs, Joe placed his chin on his knees and let his eyes close once more. Maybe it would help the spinning. Maybe not. Whatever. Maybe it would help stop everything from echoing and repeating. Maybe it wouldn't.
Whatever.

"I don't have anymore... there's no more...none..."
And so the inaudible babble began with Joe burying his head in his knees again and ... rocking back and forth? Yes, yes he was.

"You're a fuckup."

"Seb I don't know... I don't know... I don't know!"
Suddenly, he flattened out his legs, dropping his arms to his sides and slouching against the wall again, a rather pained expression etched onto his face.
"I don't fucking know! Maybe I am a fuckup! Maybe I did fuck up worse than I've ever fucked up before! I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!"
And then he snapped. Yep, Joe lost it. Right then. Right in front of his one and only real friend.
Taking in rapid, sharp breaths, Joe plastered a hand to his heaving chest. Panic attack. Oh yeah, that was pleasant. Airways contricting, breathing thirty miles an hour, sweat falling in large droplets from your forehead. He never had panic attacks. Ever.
Yeah, he'd had them before, when he was still shooting heroin into his veins, but that hadn't been for a good two or three years.

"Maybe I'm fucking crazy! Maybe I... I... I'm eroding my nose away! Maybe I'm slowly dying because rats are eating me from the inside out! Maybe I..." Joe stopped, chest still heaving.
"Maybe I'll just go away! Yeah...yeah, I'lll fucking go the fuck away and then all you fuckers can go on with their fucking little lives and fuck! Yeah, you can all just fuck each other and be fuckers together without me! You'd like that huh? HUH wouldn't you Sebby boy?"
Joe had balled his fists, digging his nails into the palms of his hands, probably drawing a bit of blood. Squeezing his eyes shut, he kept mumbling to himself as he tried to calm down; to bring himself back to a place where he could actually breathe. And maybe not die right there on the spot.
Thankfully, he was slightly successful.

"Dude..."
He began after he had caught his breath somewhat. Glancing at Sebastian very briefly, Joe returned his gaze to the floor by his feet, and he couldn't help but utter a chuckle from his slightly parted lips.
"I...I am a fuckup."

[/size]

[sebastian simmons]

Sebastian felt himself wince while he watched Joe. Obviously, the guy hadn't really gotten the joke, and immediately, Sebastian felt bad for what he said. It wasn't like he wasn't being honest, or speaking his mind, or anything. But, with the current circumstances, it seemed a little bit harsh.

"I don't have anymore... there's no more...none..."

No more what? Sanity? Drugs? Cigarettes? With Joe, it could be anything.

"Seb I don't know... I don't know... I don't know! I don't fucking know! Maybe I am a fuckup! Maybe I did fuck up worse than I've ever fucked up before! I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!"

Sebastian put his head in his hands and sighed. "Joe..." He listened to his friend's rapid breathing, slightly afraid to look up, biting down on his tongue. Had he made Joe lose it just now? Did something that he said make Joe literally lose control? That was serious stuff, and Sebastian found himself getting nervous.

"Maybe I'm fucking crazy! Maybe I... I... I'm eroding my nose away! Maybe I'm slowly dying because rats are eating me from the inside out! Maybe I...Maybe I'll just go away! Yeah...yeah, I'lll fucking go the fuck away and then all you fuckers can go on with their fucking little lives and fuck! Yeah, you can all just fuck each other and be fuckers together without me! You'd like that huh? HUH wouldn't you Sebby boy?"

Sebastian froze and put down his hands, staring at Joe in a way that was difficult to describe, not condensing like usual. "Joe..."

"Dude...I...I am a fuckup."

"Sorry for saying that, Joe." Sebastian muttered. He paused for a moment, then stood up and stared at Joe again. "Just wondering, Joe. Why would you think that...that I'd like you to leave? God, Joe. I've saved your sorry ass so many times that by now you should know that I've got to sort of want you here." He shook his head slowly, then shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Well, fuck it, Joe. Just know, if you're going to die, it ain't me that's going to kill you." Sebastian said calmly, feeling a little bit more like his old self from before the Joe freak-out.

The fact that Sebastian had witnessed it could have been frightening and scar-worthy, but instead, he was going to be himself and act like nothing had even happened. For now.

[Joseph Kennedy]

"Joe..."
Echo. Muffle. What?
He was coming down fast. And there was nothing to hit except cold, hard cement. Well, metaphorical cement, that is. The drug was slowly but surely wearing off, leaving nothing but a completely vulnerable Joe sitting on the grimy floor pressed up against the wall near the exit.

With a blank expression washed over his face, Joe just stared off into space in front of him, eyes unable to focus on just one thing, but instead darting this way and that. Hardly noticeable, but if you got up close you could see it.

"Joe..."

"What!?"
He snapped out of the small trance he had fallen into, only to allow his gaze to fall back down to the floor. The fleeting thought crossed him that maybe he should try to pick himself off the floor. He must look absolutely horrendous - as if his physical appearance wasn't tainted enough - sitting in the dirt all hunched over and whatnot.
Slowly, he placed his hands on the wall behind him and - with a wince - inched himself so that he was standing again, except leaning on the wall for most of the support.

"Just wondering, Joe. Why would you think that...that I'd like you to leave? God, Joe. I've saved your sorry ass so many times that by now you should know that I've got to sort of want you here."

Joe just shook his head. He didn't have a clue how to respond to that whatsoever. All he knew was that he felt like someone had rolled over him thirty time with a steamroller, and then tossed him in a meat grinder. Organs and everything being squished and mashed and shredded to pieces and he couldn't do anything about it. Bones cracking and being ground up to little bits that they fed to the dogs...
This need to stop.
Jerking back out of his mind for the third time since Seb had been there, Joe swallow the large lump that had grown in his throat. Or rather, seemed to grow. It was just the anxiety and whatever else he was contending with boiling over.

"I don't know..." he muttered, lips barely moving - his words extremely hard to make out thanks to the slight slurring still clipping the ends of his words. Tossing his eyes to the floor again, he lightly shook his head.

"Well, fuck it, Joe. Just know, if you're going to die, it ain't me that's going to kill you."

"No? Well then I guess I'll just off myself."
He uttered that last sentence with the cover of anger and resentment, but picking it apart, you could barely catch the hint of actual seriousness that lingered on his words. And knowing Seb, he would probably do just that.

Rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, Joe refused to meet Sebastian's gaze - as he kept his eyes glued to the floor. And then he felt something warm and wet coat his hand.
Fuck.
Removing his hand from his nose, he saw the blood. Dammit, not again. Letting out a slightly exasperated noise, Joe stumbled over to the nightstand - not an easy task at all - and snatched up a few Kleenexes, shoving them into his nostrils to help stop the excessive bleeding.
It was getting to be extremely irritating, the nose bleeds. I had happened nearly all day just in this one day, and they seemed to never stop. Ever.
Of course, he knew the reason behind it, and yet he kept doing it. Kept doing it, and doing it, until it actually caused him physical pain to keep at it. And then he would do more. He would do it until he ran out, which is just what had happened.

"Fuck...fuck fuck fuck..." Joe muttered, discarding the blood soaked tissues into the waste basket, where the others from the past three days had also found their homes, only to snatch up more to clog the blood.
Shutting his eyes, he nearly collapsed onto his bed, but thankfully, he was able to maintain a sitting position. But barely.
He was hunched over his knees, one had holding the tissue to his nose, the other resting on his leg.
This was not good.

[/size]

[sebastian simmons]

Sebastian set his jaw and felt his hands clench up in his pockets as he watched Joe stand. Why was he even here? He could easily leave Joe to shrivel up, come down from his high, and become the same asshole that he always was. But some deep, sadistic part of Sebastian wanted to see Joe crumble in front of his own eyes, to watch the guy be weak for once. And then the saint came in and wanted to help Joe out, make sure that the guy didn't do anything really stupid. Which seemed wrong, really. Couldn't Sebastian just be a sadistic guy for once, with nothing else to balance it?

"I don't know..."

Well of course, Joe didn't know. What a surprise. These days, it seemed as though Joe didn't know anything, and at this point, it wasn't going down very well with Sebastian. He felt his teeth clench and he took a deep breath.

"No? Well then I guess I'll just off myself."

And then came in the serious part. Where Sebastian actually wanted to help out. But at the same time, he wanted to just see if Joe was going to go through with it. If he really did believe that people wanted him gone so badly that he was willing to do it himself. Something told Sebastian that Joe was actually for real about it, which made him want to give the guy a punch in the face.

Only Joe could make Sebastian feel more like a rag doll than a living human being, and only he could rile him up to the point where 'cool Sebastian' was a goner, and out came the half demon.

Now more than ever, Sebastian wanted to use his powers, to make Joe go crazy and just watch him suffer. But, no, Sebastian caught himself.

"Joe, you're suck a fucking---" Sebastian was caught off by Joe running off with a nice coating of red over his hand, source being the nose. Of course. What wonderful timing. Sometimes Sebastian wondered if he would ever be rightfully angry with Joe, and for now, it seemed as though it would be 'the day that never comes'. Sebastian walked to the wall off to the right, instead of the one where Joe had been earlier, and leaned his head on it for a moment before turning around to look at Joe again, fists still clenched, feeling of wanting to really hurt the guy still fresh in his head.

[Joseph Kennedy]

This wasn't fair. Not at all.
What wasn't fair? He had no fucking clue. But he knew it wasn't.
What was it? He didn't know.
Damn, he was getting so fucking confused.

Joe, unaware of Seb's ever growing agitation, was still perched on the edge of his bed, shoving more tissues up his no longer bleeding nose. Thank God.
The blood was beginning to make a mess - dripping onto his white t-shirt and soaking through all the tissues and whatnot. It was gross, and even Joe was starting to get irritated with it.
Blank expression still slapped across his face, he just sat there, bloody tissues resting in his lap just in case it started bleeding all over again. Well, he hoped that wouldn't be the case, but he didn't want to lunge for more Kleenex. Just in case.

It was funny, because Joe was completely serious. At this point in time, in this very instant, he was slowly sinking deeper and deeper into that stupid black abyss that seemed to swallow him whole. And he couldn't get out. Even though that's a way too overused metaphor, it fit this situation nearly perfectly.

"Joe, you're such a fucking---"

And those words were the precipitating factor.

"I'm such a fucking what?" Joe snapped, not even giving Seb a second glance. "I'm such a fucking what? Ass hole? Shit head? Douche bag?"
And then Joe stood up, clutching the night stand behind him for leverage.
"Fucked up no good dirty rotten son of a bitch? A junkie? A hopeless god forsaken attention whore? WHAT?!"

And now his hurt and pain and somehow manifested itself into pure anger and...rage. And helplessness. And desperation. And any other adjective you deem fitting.
Twisting his face into a glare that was directed straight at his friend, Joe let his lips part and his mouth hang open just slightly.
"You're such a fucking liar."
Reaching behind him, he walked the fingers of his right hand across the night stand, until he felt the cold, hard metal handle of his pocket knife - the one Seb actually gave him for Christmas. Bringing it forward in one swift motion, Joe flicked the blade open and just...stared at it. Almost as if he were inspecting it - peering deep into the molecular level and dissecting each atom, neutron, and electron.

"Such a fucking liar..."

And then Joe relaxed a bit, inhaling a deep breath as he continued to stare at the unblemished blade, twisting it and turning it in the dimish light of the dorm. And then his gaze met Seb's.

"You know..."
Joe inched the blade closer to his own neck.
"...you know you wouldn't give a shit. Look at you,"
He then gestured to Seb's extremely apparent angry body language.
"You already wanna hit my lights out. Then again, I can't say that I don't blame you..."

For some reason, Joe was now able to construct coherent sentences, whereas thirty minutes previous it was all just psycho babbling that no one could comprehend. And for whatever other reason, he had grown extremely calm and...was it relaxed?
No, not that. But, whatever it was, it was slightly eerie, and even Joe himself was tad bit unnerved by it.

"...I mean," Joe paused, now placing the edge of the blade directly on his skin. "Ah, fuck, what the fuck am I even talking about?"
That last statement was punctuated by a defeated chuckle, as he let his free arm slap against his side as he continued to meet Seb's dead on gaze.

[/size]

[sebastian simmons]

Sebastian felt himself slide down the wall into a sitting position, just about ready to give up.

"I'm such a fucking what? I'm such a fucking what? Ass hole? Shit head? Douche bag? Fucked up no good dirty rotten son of a bitch? A junkie? A hopeless god forsaken attention whore? WHAT?!"

Sebastian felt himself dig his nails into his skin harder, stare at his knees, his head starting to pound.

"Such a fucking liar...You know...you know you wouldn't give a shit. Look at you, you already wanna hit my lights out. Then again, I can't say that I don't blame you..."


His hands started shaking, and a slow smile spread across Sebastian's face.

"...I mean, ah, fuck, what the fuck am I even talking about?"

Sebastian laughed outright then, and slowly rose to his feet.
"Joe, Joe, Joe." The tone of his voice was completely different than it usually was, and there was a gleam in his eyes, something that the elf half of Sebastian never experience. But the other half...

For the second time in his life, Sebastian slipped into somebody's mind while being enraged. He did it easily, the drugs not affecting him anymore, not stopping him.

"Joe, you're such a fucking prick. Such a fucking idiot. Such a fucking retard. Such a fucking brat. Such a fucking..." [/i] With that, Sebastian laughed again, except this time it was right inside Joe's mind. And just think about it - do you really want a person laughing inside your mind.

With more ease than Sebastian thought he could handle, he fixed his thoughts and forced Joe to drop the knife, then walked to the guy and pushed him against the wall. Then, he came back out to the real world.

"You really don't understand anything, do you, Joe? You honestly believe that nobody in this world cares for you, that nobody would give a crap whether you live or die? Shit, Joe, at the risk of soundin a little sappy, what the fuck do you think I've been doing for all this time? If I really didn't give a fuck about you, I would have let you die."

Sebastian pressed Joe up against the wall harder, gritting his teeth. "Think of how many times I could have let you die, Joe. Just think about it. [/size]

[Joseph Kennedy]

"Joe, Joe, Joe."
There was somethin about the smile that Seb has placed upon his lips, and the way that he was uttering his name in that certain voice.
Expected the unexpected, someone had once said. And Joe should have taken that to heart.
Not soon after he had noticed Seb stand up from the ground, he felt that strangely familiar, extremely uncomfortable sensation.
Fucking Sebastian. He had managed to worm himself into Joe's head, latch himself in there nice a tight, and cause him to drop the knife that was pressed into his throat. And then he heard the answer to his question, and immediately, he regretted asking it.

"Joe, you're such a fucking prick. Such a fucking idiot. Such a fucking retard. Such a fucking brat. Such a fucking..."

It was too much, it was all too much. Involuntarily, Joe collapsed in a quivering pile on the floor, hands grasping handfuls of hair and yanking as hard as he could - thankfully, not tearing any out, other than some strands here and there.

"STOP IT! Get out of my fucking head!" Joe screamed, clutching the sides of his head with his hands.
Nearly on the verge of tears, Joe completely forgot about the knife at this point, and was only trying to get the stupid, nagging voice of his friend from out of his head.
And then Seb proved to him once again, that that silly little quote was true.
Being pinned to the wall by Mort was one thing, but with Seb, it was completely different.

"You really don't understand anything, do you, Joe? You honestly believe that nobody in this world cares for you, that nobody would give a crap whether you live or die? Shit, Joe, at the risk of soundin a little sappy, what the fuck do you think I've been doing for all this time? If I really didn't give a fuck about you, I would have let you die."

Joe's lip began to quiver just a little as Seb said those things. Those very, very true things that no matter how much Joe didn't want to believe it, he knew that it was the only truth in the matter.

"Think of how many times I could have let you die, Joe. Just think about it.

That was true too. And of course...
Expect the unexpected.
Joe's eyes began to sting suddenly, and then as if it were magic, his vision had been blurred by...
What?
WATER?
Blinking back in his own surprise, Joe quickly brought a hand up and furiously rubbed at his eyes, trying desperately to get the tears to go back to the depths from where they came. He succeeded for the most part. But the look in eyes had changed once again, from fear to what appeared to be nothing. Just, nothing. Maybe a hint of him giving up, but who knew.

"I..."
He paused.
"You don't fucking know, man, you don't fuckin' know! The shit I put up with all those... cock suckers! They don't fuckin' rag on you like you're a piece of...of...DIRT. They're all shit heads! Always fuckin' tellin' me..." Joe let his voice trail off. He was done with being angry for now. It wasn't getting him anywhere.
"Seb...I..."

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[sebastian simmons]

All of a sudden, that flash of anger just melted away, and Sebastian seemed a little bit shocked. He had every right to be angry, of course, but never before (alright, except once) had he lost that much control, and actually wanted to hurt somebody. It was just not part of who Sebastian was as a person, yet here he was, pinning Joe to the wall, practically yelling at him, with enough adrenaline inside of him to dent the walls with his bare hands. And that was just his strength. The power that Sebastian had with his words, with what he could have leap off of his tongue just added to all of that.

At that very moment, Sebastian had so much power over Joseph Kennedy, it seemed frightening. He could actually use that power, could actually hurt the guy, and what did he do?

Not moving, Sebastian tried to meet Joe's gaze, and noticed actual water - water! - welling up in Joe's eyes. Which was...impossible! Surely Joe didn't show the fact that he had emotions other than, well, anger. Yet Sebastian had seen little flashes of other things, and here was living proof. The fact that Sebastian had witnessed it was somehow a feat. He had seen Joe lose his guard.

"You don't fucking know, man, you don't fuckin' know! The shit I put up with all those... cock suckers! They don't fuckin' rag on you like you're a piece of...of...DIRT. They're all shit heads! Always fuckin' tellin' me..."

Sebastian dropped his arms from Joe's shoulders and took a step back.

"Seb...I..."

He held Joe's gaze and wondered if he should go inside that mind. Figure Joe out a little bit more. But, no. If Joe was willing to share a little bit of himself with Sebastian, then he would share it. It was a lot more satisfying to figure these things out in time, not to just read the minds and know it all.

Silently, Sebastian turned and walked away, out the door. He sat down on the porch and put his head down on his knees.

Sebastian, was, in one word, beat.

[Joseph Kennedy]

In all and complete honest, Joe could actually say that he was afraid of Seb. Good ol' Seb, whom he mercilessly critizied day in and day out - just as he did to the others at Winterthorne/Crestview. The same Seb who had saved his godforsaken ass one thousand and one times, and then one thousand more. The same Seb who was now pinning him against the wall, staring straight into his swollen eyes, trying to talk so sense into his screwed up little head. The funny thing is, it was actually beginning to work.

Tensing up beneath his grasp, Joe squeezed his eyes shut. If he didn't have to see Sebastian, then maybe he could pretend he didn't feel those eyes piercing a hole in his body. Those fucking eyes...
But then he felt the grip slack just a bit. Was it a trick? No, what the fuck was he thinking? Seb wasn't like that. Then again, Joe never would have guessed in his wildest dreams that his friend would have shoved him against a wall as if he were about to beat the living shit out of him. Expect the unexpected.
And then he felt the hands completely release his shoulders altogether, and only then did Joe feel it relatively safe to peel his eyes open to maybe steal a glimpse at Seb.
But what he saw made his bood run cold.
Seb was staring back at him, and equally pained expression on his face, and for one split second the thought crossed Joe that maybe he was going to try and pry his way into his mind again. And fuck him over. Again.
Flinching back involuntarily, Joe tore his gaze from the other, allowing it to drop down to the floor between them.
And that was one of the things that Joe respected about Seb. He gave him space. He didn't intentionally try to figure every little thing out. He let his have his secrets - he let him have his pivacy.
That was a real friend. Too bad Joe's head was too far up his own ass to actually admit that to him. Or himself for that matter. But nevertheless...
Joe felt as if he had already shown too much. Well, he had, really. Seb was offically the only person to ever see Joe behind the defense walls, completely and utterly vulnerable, even to the point of shedding a tear - which he hoped and prayed (Joe? Prayed? Nah) that Seb didn't actually see. Of course that was false, but Joe didn't need to know that.

And then he heard the door open and close. Glancing up, the fact that Sebastian had suddenly left nearly ripped his heart in two. Well, not really, but it stung a little. Or maybe he just didn't feel anything at all. Maybe he had just gone completely numb - which was more than likely the case.

Inhaling a deep breath, which caused him to nearly be thrown into a severe coughing fit, Joe slid down the wall once again to sit on the floor. This was surreal. It was...all too dream like.
And then his eyes landed on the knife that had been wrenched from his gasp a few moments before.
He knew he shouldn't. Yet he knew it was the right thing to do. No, no it was sick. Then again, it was probably for the best. Reaching over, he gripped the handle with white knuckles and slowly brought it up near his face. Twisting the sharp metal in the air, examining it - as the light reflected off the surface, how he could see his face nearly perfectly in the small blade. There were probably better ways. After all, Joe had always said that he was probably going to die from drugs, or something stupid like that. He had never imagined that it would be like this.
Just a small, sharp pain. A little blood, and it would be over. He just felt a little sorry for whoever found his body. Or whoever would have to clean it but.
Knowing this school, he assumed that it would be a student - probably Jay or Benji or something like that - and based on their last few comments to him, they would probably throw a fucking celebration party right over his dead body. And that thought just secured his fate even further.

Furrowing his brow into a frown, Joe held the blade still, clenching it so tightly that his hand muscles began to quiver, and the knife actually started to visibly shake.

Life's a bitch. It fucks you in the ass, gives you AIDS, then you die. And Joe had been fucked in the ass one too many times.

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