Jul 31, 2014
What do you mean why do I look like this?
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What do you mean why do I look like this?
Survivor || James & OPEN
When James started to open his eyes, everything was brighter than he expected. Shit, had he really made it to Heaven, instead of where he belonged in Hell? Surely Hell couldn't be this bright. He tried to move, but felt pain in his arms that made him stop. If he was dead, why was he feeling pain? No. The male slowly forced his eyes opened, the lightness fading away, and the familiar darkness of the Dauntless infirmary came into focus. He wasn't in the main part of the room, but in a smaller room off of the side, the rooms they kept for those who weren't very stable. There was needles in his arm again, blood bags attached to him, and his wrists were tightly bound. He'd failed. He'd failed at killing himself. Jesus, he wasn't good at anything. A pit grew in his stomach and he took in a deep breath, biting down on the inside of his cheek as tears started to fill his eyes. He was useless.
"Fuck...."
This can not be happening. This can not be happening.
James was shaking as he sat on the floor of his bedroom, one of his hands fisted up in a ball at his side, and a joint in the other. Just weed, for once, but it was puffing on it as if it were oxygen. His stab wounds hurt, but not as much as his heart, and when someone opened the door to the room, he just looked up darkly and greeted them without acknowledging who it was with a "Fuck off."
James had no idea where he was when he opened his eyes - he wasn't in the dark hallway that he had been in, and he wasn't leaning up against the wall facing Leo. Noises around him soon helped him realise that he was in the infirmary again, and a soft groan escaped his lips as he tried to move. "Fuck..." His throat was dry, and his body fucking hurt to hell - he couldn't move, and there was various tubes sticking out of his arms.
"How the fuck did I get here?"
I’m sorry did you say you wanted a sip?
We are Dauntless, if there's something going on in the building then we should fight back and take care of the situtation
Fuck. Not again. James groaned as he slipped down onto the floor, and let his legs flop out in front of him. He could taste the iron taste of his blood in his mouth, coming from his once again bloody nose, but he didn't care. He closed his eyes and exhaled, before running a hand over his face. He'd had his nose smashed in again, but this time, for good reason. For Scarlett, and Callie - and for Nyla. For their respect and dignity. That was allowed.