#jerscy

     “I don’t have to ask, I can tell.” Voice quiet and smooth, Benny is calm. Far too calm, in fact, for standing in the presence of the vicious man that her new foster siblings wouldn’t stop talking about. In fact, their constant bickering about his entire crew---- liberators or public menaces? chaotic good or chaotic evil?---- it was an endless argument that piqued her interest, so much that her 2 a.m. stroll led her to the lions den itself. Mossy irises flicker from whiskey-brown hues to her own bare feet. Gaze glides over the weapon, but she never feels she’ll give him any reason to go for it. Benny was just curious, is all.

The last few months had been hard. Specially when you wake up in the middle of nowhere with no memory of who you are, or how you got there. After about a week of trying to survive without a name he’d ended up resorting to stealing from stores. That’s when he’d figured out who he was. His name was Ray, and he had quite the bounty on his head. 

Most of the time he tried to stay out of public eye, stayed inside, tried to remember more about himself. He remembered where he lived, that he liked video games, and that he was pretty good with a rifle. So he started taking little jobs here and there for money. Nothing too big at first. Which is how he found his way to Los Santos, there was a job needing someone like him. No one seemed to know him. But he was being careful, or so at least he’d thought he was.

It was only supposed to be a quick run out for some groceries. He wasn’t thinking that there would be someone that knew him out and about. He would have been fine brushing someone off saying they’ve got the wrong person, but this guy didn’t look like he was taking no for an answer. Not to mention he’d already gotten Ray into a position where he couldn’t escape. 

It was just a few playful punches to the shoulder and a hug, but something about it felt different. Ray felt, warm? There was something about this guy that was definitely familiar somewhere in the back of his mind. After all, he did just say they were best friends, but could he really trust this guy? His arms lifted, as if they were going to wrap around the other, but stopped halfway, only to push the other a bit away from him. Instead of just standing out in the open with him, he pulled him over to a nearby alleyway.

     “No really, who are you?”

Maybe a name would help him start to remember this guy. It seemed to work that way so far. A name, a place, an item, small things make his head hurt and then he would slowly start remembering things that went along with that thing.

Yeah, she definitely broke a promise. It was one she even swore to herself that she would never do again, but... This time was different. This time, the threat went directly to him, to them. And the eyes that were watching, they needed this show. 

So here, she uttered words she never meant, eyes screaming I’M LYING I’M LYING I’M LYING to ones who just couldn’t see it. Could she blame him? No. No, this is an anger that these words deserved. It was the same, that night so long ago. Sarah never would and never could blame him for this heat, this rage he carried in him towards a semblance of betrayal. She wouldn’t, even when the flames licked at her skin, she couldn’t.

These are the side effects of befriending the devil--- you get the HELL inside him, too.

What happens next come from orders. She walks into her room, grabs a backpack, and fills it with random pieces of clothing. She skips over every photo of her siblings, of her mother, and grabs the one oh her and Michael, a stupid one that Gavin took of the two, Sarah on Michael’s shoulders looking as though she’s about to tip off, but Michael’s white knuckles on her legs say otherwise.

Sarah makes no effort to argue or to hide the pain and the tears that fall as she passes Michael once more towards the door. Iriska meets her at the door, and Sarah’s goodbye is a gentle pat on the head. She utters, “Take care of her,” as she exits the penthouse, and soon the building. 

“What, can’t a guy visit his best friend at,” a quick glance to his phone, which is blindingly bright in the dim light, “two am?”

It’s not that he wants to be there, Hell, he’d rather be where he’d come from – a shitty little bar down on Grove Street, couldn’t remember the name of it now. The taste of alcohol was fresh on his tongue, but so was blood ( which wasn’t the only place it was. ).

Meg sauntered over to Michael, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Need a drink?”