Just Like Standing [open]

[jason laurence sharpe]

JUST WAIT ON THE STREET WITH YOUR ENDLESS WORDS
LOST FOREVER IN THE OCEAN OF FORGETFUL NOISE
SOMETIMES, EVERYONE CARES, BUT CAN'T HEAR

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The chair was the classic hospital waiting room type. The inch wide "arm rests" weren't nearly comfortable, two inches tall and bent at a ninety-degree angle at the front. The wood was either fake, laminated, or too old and smudged to tell. The cushion was that pale maroon color, the one you could never tell if it was dyed that color of simple faded to it, the butt of the seat worn away a bit, bits of gum stuck underneath (yeah of course he looked). The fabric was lumpy, no uniformity to it, even the coloring, with it's misplaced but slightly more patterned and sadly on purpose specks of aqua, goldenrod, and lavender a sight one could hardly call complimentary. The chair spelled like baby powder and fruit punch, a combination he would bet one but wouldn't dare consider how it had come to be. It's superstructure wasn't too certain either, not quite squeaking so much as exuding that faint creak of metal on wood, a deep hum one could feel if they knew to feel for it.

And he did know to feel for it. It was a comforting sound, for some reason. It made him feel like this was any other helpful place. Too made he had been wrong about that thought before taking this job. He'd get over it, as usual. That was his life it seemed. First getting over having no father figure, then getting over having to be the father figure, then getting over his little half-brother's invisible father then getting over the dark alley before school that winter morning, then getting over moving, then getting over the military, then getting over men, then getting over women (in another sense), then getting over the lack of sound. He discovered he almost preferred being deaf. To not have to hear all the evils said in this world. He could still watch them, still understand the words through his eyes, but there were somethings better left unsaid. Like screaming. And tears. And ridicule.

Of course, there was endless things he never get to hear that he wanted to, either. But he'd get over that and shove it in the fucking closet if need be.

He leaned back in the chair, pressed his back to the maroon cushion behind, resting his head on the plain wall above, eyes closed, waiting. Mottled grey-green long-sleeved shirt and tight-fitting khakis. Not the uniform he'd been given to wear on duty. But he wasn't on duty. Well, he was but he wasn't, in a sense. He was supposed to be meeting some dashingly beautiful but oblivious doctor's aide for medical paper work that he'd gotten turned in late. But while he sat here, outside her defined workspace, she was the one who was late. Well, he could go for that. He'd stayed up late last night with the TV anyway, listening to some female reporter's voice lull him to sleep for the seventh time before the commercial dutifully woke him back up.

Jason sighed, spread his legs into the hallway in front of him, stretching aches that had been with him for five years and always would be. He watched the clock on the far wall. It was just like standing in a waiting line at an amusement park. Just like standing at the bus stop. Just like standing in the line of fire in Iraq.

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Case: Sharpe, Jason
File #: 564
Date: 9/8/10
Cabinet: Hospital
Inquirer: Unknown
Status: Public
Alarm: Thoughtful
Notes: First post, we'll see how it goes...

[isabella rose xavier]

i CAN feel the PRESSURE !

its GETTING closer NOW !

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Isabella was walking the halls of the asylum. It was nice outside but she had no desire to go out nor did she have the desire to sit some place and not do anything. So that was how she came to the conclusion of she would walk around and try and find something interesting to do to pass time. She wasn't in the mood to stick her nose in a book or draw either so another reason to her stroll through what she liked to call hell on earth.

Wearing a white scoop neck tee with a feather design on it, black skinny jeans, a pair of converse sneakers, and a beanie she had her arms crossed across her chest, in which were scarred over multiple times from not only past suicide attempts but cutting. None were fresh. There were a few that were a few days old and healing. Isabella let her eyes look around, as if inspecting her surroundings when she was really not paying any attention, as her bangs that were across her pale forehead fell into her eyes.

Brushing them away she found herself now wandering the infirmary corridor. Why she came here she didn't know. She had seen the place enough in her past five years there to really be sick of coming but when you just went where your feet carried you, you didn't pay much attention. Isabella removed her arms from their crossed position as she walked and fiddled with the medical I.D. bracelet that was secured annoyingly around her wrist.

Coming upon a few rows of chairs along the wall she spotted someone sitting there looking bored with they're legs stretched out in front of them. Her feet made hardly any sound as she continued walking once again brushing her annoying fire colored red bangs from her eyes and scratched at the side of her ear randomly.

Isabella only stood at about five, four and was on the smaller side then most people her age with red hair that was shoulder length and a multitude of colors, giving it the resemblance of fire, with hazel eyes that were on the distant side of the tracks when it came to looking like there was life behind them. But there was that spark of something there.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

wordCOUNT:: 383
currentMOOD:: bored
currentSONG:: if i had you - adam lambert
characterOUTFIT:: click here
taggedFOR:: jason, open
writersCOMMENTS::n.a

[jason laurence sharpe]

JUST WAIT ON THE STREET WITH YOUR ENDLESS WORDS
LOST FOREVER IN THE OCEAN OF FORGETFUL NOISE
SOMETIMES, EVERYONE CARES, BUT CAN'T HEAR

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Jason grimaced, imagining his watch to make that tick tick noise. Well, imagine was the wrong way to say it. It did make the noise, he just never heard it anymore. So he pretended, glancing down at it, thinking of what the sound had been like when he could here it, trying to match the movement of the second hand as it twitched in a comatose circle. It made him dizzy on a figurative level. He shuffled his feet, banging one against the floor. Not hard enough to hurt, but the sudden impact and the apparent lack of his own coordination made him mutter an obscenity to himself and anyone who could here it. Which wasn't him. He planted both feet on the floor, shifting his weight forward to a more practical sitting position for a chair, and that was when he noticed he had company. Or a sorts.

She was a patient. Or a prisoner, he supposed. No in depth detective work was required to add up the I.D. bracelet, the scars, and most of all, that vacant stare. She'd been here a while, he knew immediately. Years. It was that view through her eyes of a distant landscape now unattainable. As if something was draining the paint out of a canvas, she felt dull to him, a faded forgotten basketball or sand bucket or other child toy left too long under the oppressive sun. Everything but her fiery read hair gave him that impression, anyway. It seemed to stand out, a beautiful worked fabric of oranges, reds, browns and blonds, almost fake, standing out like a flashlight beam in the dark. It gave him a feeling of hope somehow.

Dark hazel eyes watched her a moment. The warden was temporarily uncertain what he should do. If anything. She was allowed to wander around here and she wasn't acting like the supposed "nut-job" everyone here was. But that was understandable, being a "nut-job" himself... Just in a different way. So then it was down to a matter of saying hello or not. A matter of simply letting her walk by him, in and out of his life like the majority of people he'd seen. A matter of making her feel appreciated, recognized by him. Even if he was a staff member. Hell, because he was a staff member. This reminded him he was out of uniform. Of course, he doubted that mattered; she could probably tell who he was, even if he only looked a little old to be here as a patient.

She moved like she was naturally quite, like he wouldn't have heard her if he could hear anyway. And even now, knowing she was near, he could only feel her feet hitting the ground as raindrops; a fleeting here and gone feeling. That, combined with the scars on her arms, worried him a little instinctively. Just like he'd be worried about his younger sisters if they moved like that. Worry for them and fear for their life. It unsettled the ex-marine. And that decided his action. He couldn't let that walk past him unchecked.

"My boredom spread to you too, huh?" The longer the word, the more apparent his lack of hearing his voice became. That was why he tended to avoid them, words like 'contagious' being painfully obvious. And here in the U.S., he would already be hard to understand with the Londoner accent. Unconsciously, he rubbed the burn scarring around his left wrist, a habit that probably wasn't the best for his health. "Or have you just been bored for years?" He tried on a smile, attempting to make light of her time spent here, long that it appeared to be, hoping she wouldn't find him rude. He wasn't sweeping anything under any rugs here, just wanting to fulfill the humor meter in life. The red head looked like she needed it. And at the very least, arguing ethics with him was better than wandering in this hell on earth.

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Case: Sharpe, Jason
File #: 670
Date: 9/10/10
Cabinet: Hospital
Inquirer: Xavier, Isabella
Status: Public
Alarm: Tired
Notes:

[isabella rose xavier]

i CAN feel the PRESSURE !

its GETTING closer NOW !

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Isabella was looking at a dusty table that was pressed against the wall wiping her fingers across it drawing a few swirls in the light dust when she heard him speak, Her eyes focused on him once again,

"Its just one of those days. I get them ever so often. Boredom in this place though is year round. You have to learn to work around it - but there are the days you can't."

She wiped her dusty index finger of on the leg of her jeans and went to fiddling with the bat shaped metal choker that was around her neck. The scar around her neck hidden from view by the choker and her hair. The only scar she had that could be hidden. Her eyes watched him closely. As if picking him apart like a old dried leaf in the fall and examining the little pieces for letting the flutter away in the wind.

She took him to be older than she was that was evident so that meant he wasn't a patient but one of the staff people. She never liked the staff. Quite frankly she hated them because they were all the same - ignored you unless it was to drug you, treat you like a lab rat or lock you up. But he didn't.

Isabella thought maybe he was gonna talk to her because maybe she looked suspicious walking around with almost inaudible footsteps. Which if you didn't know she was naturally a graceful walker you would think she was sneaking around. But he didn't seem like he was questioning her trying to get her to say something that seemed incriminating.

In simple terms to her he seemed normal like he was acknowledging her presence there in a friendly manner, that he was just making conversation. She felt at ease with him. Where as other staff members she wanted to rip their heads off for just looking at her - figuratively speaking that is.

She didn't really know how to go about a conversation. She couldn't recall ever being friendly with staff. Which was because she was never friendly and all buddy buddy with them. Isabella came to a conclusion though he was not like the others.

"So do you sit around being bored out of your mind often?"

She asked as she looked at him directly in the eyes. Light hazel eyes meeting Dark Hazel. She walked closer in the same quiet stepping manner and sat in one of the chairs and curled up in it - like a ball, dragging her legs up into the chair and wrapping her arms around them before placing her head on her knees.

He seemed as if he could use company and even though she was still slightly on edge about him with being a staff member as she trusted none of them she was calm and because she was bored out of her mind conversation seemed nice.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

wordCOUNT:: 491
currentMOOD:: bored
currentSONG:: two is better than one - boys like girls
characterOUTFIT:: click here
taggedFOR:: jason, open
writersCOMMENTS::n.a

[jason laurence sharpe]

JUST WAIT ON THE STREET WITH YOUR ENDLESS WORDS
LOST FOREVER IN THE OCEAN OF FORGETFUL NOISE
SOMETIMES, EVERYONE CARES, BUT CAN'T HEAR

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Thankfully, against all the odds of conversational-ism and other such rules and laws regulating how strangers spoke to strangers, she turned toward him to speak, instead of looking down of away. The young man contained a relieved release of breath, her action, rather insignificant to her perhaps, was a very we;come action indeed. It made his job of lip reading that much easier, without the craning and the bending and the awkward moment of pause in which he was trying to decide if she said this word or the one that looked just like it. Of course, sometimes he had to take that moment anyway.

He played a grin on his face as she proceeded to speak. Not that he necessarily considered it speaking. For all he knew, she was simply mouthing words, but most people couldn't convincingly mouth words without screwing over a few tongue an lip positions. And he doubted she knew he was deaf. Not many people did. Jason wondered for an instant how many fellow employees knew. Then again, it was only his second day. The warden leaned back in his chair, not certain if he should be impressed by her words or put off by the off-handedness with which they were handled. He hated when people were more articulate than him, even if that was the vast majority. "You'd think there would be enough to keep one occupied..." More a random thought than anything he wished answered.

Jason hated being analyzed. It made him feel itchy, the way her eyes ran him through a strict rule set, comparing him to other staff she knew and shredding through his personality, trying to find the raw motive and base nature that was there but not what she wanted. At least she didn't seem to find anything immediately revolting. And feeling he had passed this test with closer to flying colors than any he had yet in life (which was to say, he barely succeeded in her exam), he felt himself relax. Just as her civil, normal response had set him at an ease he hadn't know he'd been waiting for.

"Only when I'm on duty," the quip rolled off his tongue, something that should never have been easily placed there. "And currently, I await paperwork." Here he blushed, for no other reason than accent and that she was so much younger. He felt a little awkward, but shrugged it off. She was cute with red hair and light hazel eyes, and he was male; there was no lying to himself there. Of course, this seemed to be leading the conversation to a dead end and as he watched her take up residence in a nearby chair, quirking a smile at how she proceeded to sit in it, he knew he'd be the one coming up with a new conversation.

Jason created and decimated a list of topics in his head, then refined them, threw out the ones unable to be converted into reasonably lengthy discussions, deleted another few, and shrugged at the remainder. He was pressed on by her eyes on him, and he couldn't bring himself to break gaze with her, feeling it would be a personal defeat of his character if he did. Decided to go along with the boredom idea she had picked up on. "When I'm not bored, however, I enjoy bothering people. And reading. And walks And females." Add in a lopsided grin and he was golden, the perfectly cheesy man to run into in the hallway. The longer he talked the bigger fool of himself he'd make. Or the bigger ass of himself he'd make. Either or. "What about you? I doubt running rampant in the halls is encouraged..."

What was taking that nurse so long?

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Case: Sharpe, Jason
File #: 628
Date: 9/11/10
Cabinet: Hospital
Inquirer: Xavier, Isabella
Status: Public
Alarm: Fuzzy
Notes: I know, I'm a great conversation starter XD

[isabella rose xavier]

i CAN feel the PRESSURE !

its GETTING closer NOW !

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Isabella watched him blinking ever so often - She could tell her watching him like a hawk eyeballing its food deciding what to peck at and eat first was making him uneasy. So she let her eyes flick around the room ever so often as she tapped her fingers idly on her leg in a drumming motion. She raised an eyebrow at his words and spoke and went to idly playing with her shoelaces,

"Not much you can do as something to occupy your self in a place like this. Not if your like me..."

She trailed off but picked right back up with speaking. This was probably the most civilized she had spoken to someone on the staff of the asylum - mostly swearing and sarcasm was reserved for them,

"....Paperwork? I think thats fancy talk for saying homework for adults... Well thats my way at looking at it - I don't know how the rest of you look at it."

A small smirk crossed her face as he spoke while she gave him her almost undivided attention as she scratched the back of her neck idly,

"Well when I am normally bored I occupy myself with drawing, or reading. Sometimes singing and dancing, once in awhile walking around outside. But there are times I don't feel like doing any of those things so I just walk around where ever my feet take me. I don't socialize with the people around her much so conversations aren't my forte."

Dropping her feet to the ground she crossed her arms across her chest as she sat in the chair and went to idly twirling the god forsaken I.D. bracelet around her wrist as she spoke offhandedly,

"Why did you take up a job here? I mean you must be new cause I've never seen you here before - and I practically know every staff person here cause they've all been down riot lane with me at least once. This is probably the worse place imaginable.... Believe me take it from someone thats been around this hell hole for five years..."

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

wordCOUNT:: 350
currentMOOD:: bored
currentSONG:: misery business - paramore
characterOUTFIT:: click here
taggedFOR:: jason, open
writersCOMMENTS::n.a

[jason laurence sharpe]

JUST WAIT ON THE STREET WITH YOUR ENDLESS WORDS
LOST FOREVER IN THE OCEAN OF FORGETFUL NOISE
SOMETIMES, EVERYONE CARES, BUT CAN'T HEAR

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He grunted, crossing his legs loosely, running one hand through his dark brown hair. It might seem odd to some, someone who couldn't even hear himself using audible expressions of communication, but it hadn't been too long ago he'd been able to hear. So the moment's oddity surpassed him. Instead, he found it inhumane, how she thought of herself differently from the staff. Or rather, it would be properly put how the staff saw her as different from them. And yet, he also found it odd that she would think to exclude him, simply for being staff. "I wouldn't count that all of us staff aren't fucked up as well." He winced at his own use of obscenities, but there was little better way to put it.

"Ouch, insult my faith in the medical system now will you?" He laughed it out. "I suppose it's technically blood-work, but seeing as I'm not the one has to do it, sounds like some beautiful homework to me." Of course, he'd wondered about the term homework his high school days. He'd either done it at school, or failed to do it at home. so it was school work. school work he didn't appreciate. Of course, Jason had known going into school he would fail, and the whole idea of doing work at home, when he was busy keeping his sisters from killing each other and making sure his mother didn't worry about the house and could work for rent, and cleaning and making sure others in the house did "homework"... Well, suffice to say he'd missed out there.

Jason forced himself to leave his wrist alone and stop irritating the skin around it. He hated the obviousness of the scarring. He wondered, with a glance he made no effort to hide, - for why should he? - if she felt the same way about her own scars. Did she regret what had lead her to them? Or was he comparing to things never meant to be compared? Either way, it wasn't something to ask now.

He smiled at her list of past times. "Not so different huh? Even the high and mighty enjoy their walks, I suppose." He mocked his rank, sticking his nose in the air and briefly planting hands on hips, a frown on his face. But he shrugged it away with her next words, a more serious tone.

"I need the money. There aren't many placing willing to hired used and damaged ex-military goods for security." It dinged against something deep down, referring to himself as government property. In a moment of cynicism, he pulled his dog tags from their hiding place under his shirt. "It's a wonder how much we let little bits of metal direct our lives...for five years..." The similarity stuck. "Five years in the military for me, five years here for you. None to shabby hells we've rented out, huh?"

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Case: Sharpe, Jason
File #: 511
Date: 9/12/10
Cabinet: Hospital
Inquirer: Xavier, Isabella
Status: Public
Alarm: Out-of-it
Notes: There, now he's being talkative (if off-topic) lol

[isabella rose xavier]

i CAN feel the PRESSURE !

its GETTING closer NOW !

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Isabella looked at him and listened to his words. The day she seen a staff member in the hell hole she was currently residing in was the day the fat lady sang. But she had a feeling he was right and maybe there was a fat lady singing somewhere because he didn't seem like the rest of them to her. Not yet at least. Speaking as she began playing with the hem of her top,

"Faith in the Medical System? I ran out of that only after being here for a year and a half. You'll run out of it yourself sooner or later. Most people do."

She gave a slight smirk to his words and laughed as a smiled played across her lips at his impersonation of being some stuck up prude.

"The military? What branch?"

She asked curiously. Military talk was something she understood pretty well - Her father was a Marine. Reason she was thrown into what to here seemed like Dracula's Castle. One he couldn't handle her and was at wits end after her final suicide attempt before he placed her in the asylum under some quacks order.

"I'm only here cause of some quacks orders and my daddy being at I guess wits end with my attempts of suicide and thinking he can help me. Far as I'm concerned I'm normal compared to some of the people here. But others doubt that. I guess cause they don't understand....I never got your name. I'm Isabella. But I prefer Bella."

She noticed the scars around his wrists and turned her head slightly to the side but quickly straightened it back up and tapped her toes on the floor beneath her feet.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

wordCOUNT:: 285
currentMOOD:: bored
currentSONG:: misery business - paramore
characterOUTFIT:: click here
taggedFOR:: jason, open
writersCOMMENTS::n.a

[jason laurence sharpe]

JUST WAIT ON THE STREET WITH YOUR ENDLESS WORDS
LOST FOREVER IN THE OCEAN OF FORGETFUL NOISE
SOMETIMES, EVERYONE CARES, BUT CAN'T HEAR

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He shrugged at her opinion of the medical system, understanding a little of why she might feel that way. What sort of good medical system let this place exist, for example? Even if the "intent" was to help the patients... "Probably" was the unsaid agreement to her words. Never having much positive experience with hospitals, and now this place, he was beginning to wonder how much of a pessimist he was becoming. At least the company in hell wasn't as bad as he'd thought it'd be. Not yet anyway.

Her laugh made him smile, made him glad he could get something more pleasing than words from her.

Marines. Now there was something he could talk about, he supposed. Though, looking back, he doubted there was much more good that he had to say than bad. Government Issue men didn't get the same merit after they were deaf, whether the injury was incurred in-action or not. But then, it had been something he could do, something he could live up to without fearing to fail, something that he could use as an excuse, he supposed, for not being around his family, despite how much he missed and loved them. Jason leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. "Same here. My stint didn't last as long as I'd of preferred..."

Jason noticed her eyes on his wrists, caught her sizing up the burns. "And what you are looking at is the reason for said shortened stint in the military." He rolled up his left sleeve, revealing a liberally splattered stretch of skin liberally splattered with old burns that he would never have the money to make go away. The wet paint effect solidified the higher up one looked, almost solid burns by the time one neared his shoulder. But his sleeve only went so high. "Before you ask, or think about it, I was driving a truck in Iraq when it was bombed. Me and one man in the back were the only ones who lived. I can't hear anymore because of that." He gestured limply to his ears. "Anyway, name's Jason. Though I prefer Jaz. Pleasure to meet you, Bella." He smiled, rolled his sleeve down to cover his embarrassed clenching of fingers and then tossed a flimsy salute of hello across to her.

When she mentioned suicide, his jovial demeanor slackened a bit. He hated the thought of people trying to take their own lives, playing God, giving up, dying for a better life, whatever they called it, it made him sick to think about. Of course, this was hypocritical. He'd thought about suicide once. And gauging from her looks, he'd likely been a little younger than her the first time he really considered it. He had planned everything out after that cold morning shoved forgotten in that alley. Of course, as he'd picked himself up and dragged himself home, he'd never made it. Not mentally, anyway. Jason was a man of action, not inaction and suicide was inaction to him. It was avoiding the consequences and future, just like his shit of a father had. It was the easy thing, the least mind wearing thing to do. But killing himself wouldn't make things right. It wouldn't catch and try and kill the men who had molested him in that alley. It wouldn't pay for the rent on the flat, it wouldn't make his sisters happy, hell, it wouldn't even make him happy. But most of all, it would have made him just like his father, the man he hated.

So it was due to hate that he was still standing, still alive. And it made him wonder what she had gone through to even get to the point of attempting to kill herself. What had made her drive so hard at the target without looking back? The warden glanced up from his reverie, trying to find a way to pose his question without seeming blunt. But he ended up staring at her helplessly, trying to convey with his eyes the thought, hands twitching through a few half completed words of sign language that he knew was pointless. She likely wouldn't understand it. And if he couldn't ask in words, he didn't deserve an answer.

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Case: Sharpe, Jason
File #: 710
Date: 9/13/10
Cabinet: Hospital
Inquirer: Xavier, Isabella
Status: Public
Alarm: Intrigued
Notes:

[isabella rose xavier]

i CAN feel the PRESSURE !

its GETTING closer NOW !

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Isabella gave a side long glance at his burned and then looked back at him as he spoke about how he got them. It sucked how the service tended to toss people out for reasons as such even deaf she was sure people could do some sort of job in the military. Speaking she said as she frowned at his burns,

"Its stupid. They discard you for something so small. I'm sure there was something you could do even with hearing loss...But Military can be a bit of a bitch. My dad's a Sharp Shooter for the Marines. Is, or was. I wouldn't know after he put me here I broke contact with him."

She shook her head slightly and ran her fingers down one of the longer scars on her arm. If being in the place wasn't such a mood killer and the fact that they forced medicine on her that didn't help plus the fact that she seen dead people and heard voices she wouldn't be here - or be suicidal. then again she was worse off here than outside the walls. It would be easier if they had let her die.

"Your wondering why I think Suicide is an only option. Why I want to take my life. Most people do and even though some are blunt others just give me that look. I know it all to well. I've tried it hundreds of times and nearly succeeded a handful of times. Its hard to explain but to put it simply I see dead people and hear them talking to me when they aren't even there..."

She sighed and scratched the bridge of her nose before continuing.

"I moved around a lot being my dad was in the military and I never had friends. I never bothered making any. and when I was ten my dad got shipped off and during that time my mum died in a car crash. I was watched by a neighbor cause my dad was once again deployed after he came home when she died. I finally found some friends. Well what and who I thought were friends.... They only existed to me. They weren't of the living to me others called them imaginary friends. I tried committing suicide the neighbor who took care of me found me in the bathroom. I would have died if my blood hadn't stained the hallway carpet and sent the alarm for her. The spirits told me to do it. Told me I was better off with them."

She took a breath and watched him as she tucked her hair behind her ears,

"Then I tried drowning I jumped into a lake but a fisherman fishing saw me face down and pulled me out. Next I tried hanging..."

She paused and removed her necklace which revealed the ligature scar that went around her neck.

"My dad came home spent time with me and I tried cutting again. Several more times. After he found me bleeding to death he sent me here after a quack deemed me having psychosis. I've been here since. A few more life taking attempts all being stopped. I stopped speaking to my father after not even being here a year.... Maybe I am crazy. But quite frankly I don't believe what I see and hear is false - Then again you can only think that if you believe in spirits."

Isabella finished speaking and scratched the back of her head and looked down at her lap. She hated being in this place and she knew she was stuck here because even if she once manged to pass off as normal they wouldn't let her out because that would be money lost and she doubted if she actually managed a conversation with her father. The man that put her here to her because he didn't want to deal with her but to himself to try and help her he wouldn't want to talk to her for one to most she was insane and two she probably broke his heart when she stopped returning calls or talking to him when he called her or returning letters he wrote.

But what really got her internal cogs turning was the question on why she was telling him this - she hardly told anyone her story and the fact she told him her life story, well the short version any how in all terms of short as it could get, when he was a staff and barely knew him really made her what side of the bed she got up on that morning or if there was something in the air.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

wordCOUNT:: 775
currentMOOD:: bored
currentSONG:: decode - paramore
characterOUTFIT:: click here
taggedFOR:: jason, open
writersCOMMENTS::yay for sob stories XD *internally doesn't like a soap opera post*

[jason laurence sharpe]

JUST WAIT ON THE STREET WITH YOUR ENDLESS WORDS
LOST FOREVER IN THE OCEAN OF FORGETFUL NOISE
SOMETIMES, EVERYONE CARES, BUT CAN'T HEAR

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A nod of approval for the sharp-shooting gig. "I wasn't important, just another grunt. And it was a little more complicated than just being deaf... Sides, the desk job they offered was only for show." He felt himself burning inside at how fake the carelessness he placed in those words sounded. As if he hadn't been stabbed in the back, stepped on and crawled away betrayed and lost. The military had been his life. And when that was yanked out from under him because of a technicality, he had nowhere else to turn. He'd lived with his younger sister for a few months to get back on his feet. She'd convinced him that learning sign language and sitting life on the sideline was the cowards way out.

And of course, she knew how to talk to him well enough. Knew he hated cowards. So when she'd tossed the paper into his lap with the jobs section flipped open, he'd taken to the wad of dewy paper with a gusto, grim with the hope of finding something or someone that could use security, or something. He hadn't counted on the first place he called being a covert "companion" ring. He'd hung up on them. It got better after that...

She talked too fast and too much for him then. It was like learning a new language for a year, then being tossed into the country and expected to be fluent. He caught most of it. Nearly all of it actually, but he'd forgone figuring out words that weren't essential. He read her lips for nouns and verbs and maybe the occasional adjective, trying to focus on getting the info straight and then piecing it together as she talked. It was a sad story, one that lead him to understand perhaps a bit of why she would feel drawn to death. Jason sat silent a few moments after she finished, taking time to format the story better in his head, push in the last puzzle pieces. Of course, he still didn't know why nothing had stopped her like it had him. It made him feel her weaker willed, as if she did whatever these spirits told her becuase she had no one else to tell her what to do with them.

Her rendition of spirits only gained a shrug. Unfortunately, Jason had never really been religious. Yeah sure he was raised Catholic, but he'd never paid much attention. He'd tried, but he had never been able to see God as a Father when his own father had failed on him. It had been downhill from there. The attempted spiritual note pulled a wry face from the warden and he dug around in his pocket for his cigarette pack, slipped one out, shoved the pack away and rummaged for the lighter in his other pocket. He lit it in an easy, well practiced manner that displayed his long habit. The nicotine filled his lungs with a sweet aroma on the way down and he felt the faint wave of relief flood in, even though he was probably doing something illegal in this part of the facility. Screw it.

The collection of her scars bothered him. Girls, in his opinion, shouldn't have scars. They could be tough, they could do crazy things, fight, whatever the hell they wanted, but they shouldn't get scars from any of it. It was a naive conviction that was never true but to him, females were supposed to be immune to the imperfections of violence. The bodily representation of harm and her sob story made him feel suddenly pressured to tell his own. Of course, his was so short, so dull compared to her narrative. And yet, she'd confess the life story and was obviously wondering why. Well, he'd give her a "why;" as a trade.

"My family was ditched by my father when I was little like the coward he was. A few years later, my mother's boyfriend left town when he found out he'd gotten her pregnant. I hated males as I grew up, believing them to all be lazy, cowardly bastards who couldn't live with reality. When I was thirteen, I was cornered in an alley and molested by two men." He had been slowing down up to that point, as if dreading to hear it aloud. He'd never recovered from the mental scar. Or some of the physical, for that matter. Jason shook his head and continued, eyes fixed on the cigarette burning down the filter in his hands. "I was scarred in to fearing men, not just hating them. That was when I considered suicide. I planned it out on my way home after the incident. I walked through it in my head, told myself there was not other reason to live here. And then my sister met me at the front door. I lost the nerve, broke down in tears. It was a mess," he tried another wry smile.

"So it seems you've got more guts than me." He could smile for real at those words, tossing the mostly un-smoked but dead smoke at a trash can a few feet to his left, missed and got to his feet to can it for real before lighting another cigarette, standing and leaning his back on the walk next to his chair. He watched the red-head silently in the silence.

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Case: Sharpe, Jason
File #: 894
Date: 9/15/10
Cabinet: Hospital
Inquirer: Xavier, Isabella
Status: Public
Alarm: Self-Amusement
Notes: Soap operas and cheesy stories happen to all of us. lol

[isabella rose xavier]

i CAN feel the PRESSURE !

its GETTING closer NOW !

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Isabella heard the clicking of a lighter before the smoke assaulted her nose. She never understood why people most of the time turned to smoking when life became to much. Then again people probably wondered why others like her turned to ropes and sharp objects when life became to much. She watched the cigarette burn as he began speaking. She hadn't expected him to tell her anything even after she told him her story but as she listened she was somewhat glad she wasn't the only one spilling her guts. Isabella frowned at the mention of the group of guys that violated him. She never understood what drove people, if they could even be called that to other people.

The cigarette burned out and he stood lighting another one as he leaned against the wall. This time not leaving the smoke unattended to "go to waste" as the people who cared about smoking sometimes said about cigarettes that burnt out without being touched. Speaking she watched him with her light hazel eyes that were really closer to a green in color,

"That majorly sucks. I can't say I feel your pain because I've not been in your shoes but I do know how you felt about ending it all....I don't have more guts that you."

She said shaking her head giving a half hearted chuckle that was empty,

"You worked around it as much as you could and went on. Me I'm still trying to get out of it all. Obviously."

She motioned to her arms,

"It proves your stronger because your able to keep going and pick up pieces and not be a broken mess.... Me - I can't pick up the pieces. Its like no matter how much tape and glue I can use there is always a piece or two missing like the key pieces to finishing a puzzle have been lost or scattered to separate ends of the earth and prevent completion. I've been broken maybe its my own fault maybe it isn't. I don't know but I do know if there is a chance I can be put back together. Its a slim one."

Isabella was befuddled on how she was managing to speak more than five words to the guy and not blow a gasket. Like she did with so many other people who were staff. Maybe it was because on some level they each knew something on how the other felt. Or she could be wrong and it was something else entirely. But for some reason she had yet to understand she felt at ease and didn't have to grit her teeth while they talked like she did with so many others that talked to her.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

wordCOUNT:: 454
currentMOOD:: bored
currentSONG:: st.jimmy - green day
characterOUTFIT:: click here
taggedFOR:: jason, open
writersCOMMENTS:: n.a

[jason laurence sharpe]

JUST WAIT ON THE STREET WITH YOUR ENDLESS WORDS
LOST FOREVER IN THE OCEAN OF FORGETFUL NOISE
SOMETIMES, EVERYONE CARES, BUT CAN'T HEAR

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It was a habit. A bad one, he knew, but he'd picked it up in the military almost nine years ago. He'd tried quitting, what...twice? Three time? He manged to go a year once, without a real cigarette once, but he eventually found he couldn't handle it. He got shaky, light-headed, stressed, sick sometimes... It had never been a psychological addiction, not really. He could do without the fumes, but his body couldn't. Even doing it only off and on since he started, after the one time, he'd been stuck. He put it down to genetics and shoved it under the rug for the most part. He wasn't too concerned with his health over it. He'd given up on that. But he could still hate himself for never being able to stop, knowing that even if he went three weeks, he'd go back.

It was one of the few things his will failed to pull through, much like suicide. And sex. Jason grimaced to himself at that thought, knowing it was unlikely any of the latter would happen here, unfortunately. Drawing in another lungful, he glanced up from his brooding to catch Bella's eyes on him. On his smoking. On the cigarette. She didn't look quite happy to seem the nice staff guy lighting up. He smiled at her obviously high hopes for his life and past from the civil words he'd given her. If only she knew how stunning he thought she was, she might not be so concerned with finding him a lovely guy.

"Sorry," he mumbled suddenly, spurred by her hazel-green eyes. He plucked the smoke from his lips and set in the ashtray. Apparently, he was trying to fulfill her hopes in him being a lovely guy. He reasoned with himself that "It's bad manners to smoke in a 'hospital' building." Yeah, believable as hell.

He read the rest of her words in silence, hands shoved deep in his pockets in an absent-minded expression of his objectivity over the smoking incident. Jason felt himself getting twitchy after not even smoking a single whole one. It was easy then, to frown at her words, eyes a little distant, voice faint, wondering. "That, or I just lost the corner pieces. You know, the ones you base the frame of the puzzle on. the ones you need." It implied he'd lost a lot then. and he had, most of it what he had told her already. His father had been one corner. His faith in anything, be it people, friends, or a higher authority. His mentality in the event of loss his virginity and the psychological implications. His family was the only one left. "The puzzle still functions, but building it takes too long."

The mood was morbid for him. Gloomy. He sort of liked it. Of course, that meant his fingers were searching for the pack of cigarettes again and it took an effort to forcibly pull both hands from his pockets and clasp them together where he could keep an eye on them. Damn it, he sighed.

"We better start emptying vacuum cleaners, young lady, before they dump the bags and take the garbage out." It was a tentative offer of help, one he wasn't certain he wanted, one he was certain she didn't. But more than that, it was an offer to just be there. As a friend. Which, coming to his morose senses, might be an awkward predicament, considering she was suicidal and heard dead people. But she was cute and he was a lovely enough kind of guy to care.

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Case: Sharpe, Jason
File #: 602
Date: 9/17/10
Cabinet: Hospital
Inquirer: Xavier, Isabella
Status: Public
Alarm: Centered
Notes: I kind of like him in dreary, pessimistic moods...

[isabella rose xavier]

i CAN feel the PRESSURE !

its GETTING closer NOW !

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Isabella watched him as he smoked the cigarette. To each their own - if she had the right to get a hold of a razor and cut he had the right to fume the place up with cigarette smoke. A small smile formed on her lips as he put it out and apologized for smoking in the environment they were in,

"No need to apologize - a little smoke won't hurt this place/ Have you not see the layers of dust?"

She spoke and tapped her nails idly on the arm rest of the chair as his words floated in the air as he commented on her puzzle metaphor. Maybe he was missing a few pieces - Then again lots of people walked around un-scarred. unlike her with missing pieces to their puzzle. She was probably missing more than most - maybe not so many as she thought she was missing.

Isabella knew one thing for sure though she chucked on on her own though. That piece that was her own blood so to speak. Her father - She knew she had no need to do that - only when she really thought on it did she feel bad for it and regret it. But she had been mad at him for locking her up in the asylum so in her opinion she had right to chuck that piece of the puzzle into a field of tall grass where finding it would be near impossible. Figuratively speaking that is.

"You want to help me round up my 'missing puzzle pieces'?"

She asked making quoting motions with her fingers. If he was in deed stating that her mind ran a muck with the same question over and over as well as an eternal argument.

was he pulling her strings?

Arguing with herself silently as well as voices in her head spinning webs in her head. She wanted nothing more than to bat them away and clear her head and come to her own conclusion without the voices and an internal argument.

Scratching the back of her head - scrunching her red hair up in the process she watched him closely.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

wordCOUNT:: 359
currentMOOD:: bored
currentSONG:: mine - taylor swift
characterOUTFIT:: click here
taggedFOR:: jason, open
writersCOMMENTS:: sorry its on the short side

[jason laurence sharpe]

JUST WAIT ON THE STREET WITH YOUR ENDLESS WORDS
LOST FOREVER IN THE OCEAN OF FORGETFUL NOISE
SOMETIMES, EVERYONE CARES, BUT CAN'T HEAR

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She didn't seem to notice the real reason why he' put the smoke out. Of course, she was probably just making him feel better. Girls were always better at figure the obvious out and trying to smooth things he'd through in a heap. Of course, they didn't seem to realize he liked it in a scrap pile as compared to organized shelving. But he didn't bring it up, just smiled at he deft turn of his words from before. She had a point; there was a lot of dust for a place that had been serviceable a long time...

Personally, he hated puzzles.

It was hard to tell if she was serious. If his imagined it, he could place sarcasm in her words. But then, he could also place sincerity. But what did she hear in his voice? Enough good to open up and let him offer helping, at least. That, of she was just thinking what else could happen to her. He hoped not... But her use of floating physical quotation marls wasn't helpful for her cause; whenever such action was used, it typically entailed sarcasm. He shifted his feet a little, pressing himself higher up the wall, tapping a soft but silent rhythm with his left hand against the wall. Anxiousness for no reason except that stupid cigarette. Screw addiction...

"Yes," he answered her hopefully serious question, nodding, face and eyes neutral. He needed something to do. and besides, she needed somebody on the outside, somebody with even the faint connections he did. and they looked like they could both use a friend... "And first of all, I'd suggest you stop hiding those scars. It's you. Live with it. Face the consequences of your actions." He grimaced, trying in a vain sort of sense to keep his voice friendly, as far from commanding and heavy as possible. "It's like being deaf; just becuase I can't hear, doesn't mean I forget about times when I could hear. So don't forget, that will only cost you more of the puzzle."

His cell buzzed in his pocket, a vibration that was so soft, it barely made audible noise. But it was more than enough to get him to wince and pluck it from the fabric cave it lived in. Text message, from his sister, Gwen. He grimaced and shoved the device back in the cave without looking at the message. He ran a hand through his dark hair, mussing it around and generally forgoing any image of decency he had at the moment. He glanced over at Bella, shrugged in that way people sometimes do to express a fleeting sensation of the world collapsing around them but they didn't care. He fiddled again with his watch and his burned wrist, stretching the back of his legs before him, not quite certain how the rest of this meeting would go. Absently, he signed a few song lyrics through his fingers, like humming without sound.

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Case: Sharpe, Jason
File #: 495
Date: 9/18/10
Cabinet: Hospital
Inquirer: Xavier, Isabella
Status: Public
Alarm: Suave
Notes: No worries, I just get excited over little things in my posts...