Broken Boy Soldier

Bridgit stared for a bit, then narrowed her eyes at him and scoffed. “No, I don’t want to see it.” Her gaze returned to the notebook in her lap that she was scribbling in. “How irresponsible do you have to be to punch a window?” she murmured irritably, keeping her eyes on her notebook.

“It’s called irrational anger, and there’s no responsibility to it. But hey, it seems like you’ve got your own things to worry about -- what with that stick up your rear. So I’ll let you handle that all good and well, and if you feel like you need something to ease the pain of the removal I’ve still got half of my prescribed oxys that I can sell you for a nice price.”

“Sounds fucking awful, Iz. Sorry bout it. Twenty seven? Damn. As for seein ‘em…well…I believe you, dude. If I look at your stitches I can’t guarantee I won’t hurl. That kinda stuff skeeves me out ya know?” Kennedy shivered at the thought of stitches just picturing them in their mind grossed them out. There was no way they could ever be in the medical field. “But hey, at least it’s summer..  tell me you’re gonna do something out of the usual. Besides puttin’ your fist through windows that is.”

“Can’t say that I have any plans for anything grand or exciting. Just the usual trips upstate to visit my mom and that’s about it.” There was slight relief that they didn’t want to see the stitches -- it hurt just to keep rolling up his sleeve or peeling off his jacket, especially because he refused the pain meds. Regardless, there was the usual clumsy grin smattered on his face, “It’s been worse. Like pain-wise. I had scarlet fever when I was a little little kid. Heard that was nasty.”

“Sounds like you need to get high.”

“Nah, man. I don’t smoke, I just deal.”

“We usually don’t argue. He and I get along like two peas in a pod. It’s just been a stressful past few weeks so, you know.” Izzy shrugged, working at his sleeve to reveal the clean and freshly stitched line of skin up his arm, “Gonna scar pretty nasty, I think.”

“Sounds.. Interesting. Is it Mercury retrograde or something?” She shrugged, fiddling with her sweater cuffs. “Uh, sure?”

“Mercury what now? Erhm, no, if you mean the bike it’s a Harley Davidson Forty-Eight.” He was careful to shuck off his leather jacket, peel away the gauze and medical tape covering the stitches and extend his arm enough for the petite blonde to see the zipper-like line up his arm. “There it is.”

Stella’s head tilted towards her friend as she listened, but brown eyes looked just past the familiar frame. As he finished, her face lit up as she turned to him with pursed lips. “I’m just surprised you’re still in one piece,” a nod of her head indicating she was down for checking out the damage, “Surprised and thankful. What, with that week you had?—  Managing to return relatively whole sounds like an accomplishment, Iz.” Fingers tucked imaginary flyaways behind an ear, “Do you plan on lyin’ low for a while?” 

“I feel like sleeping an awful lot, to be honest. They prescribed some kind of pain killer for the arm but ... I sold half the pills to some kid an hour after I got out of the clinic. I don’t need ‘em.” Izzy shrugged, tugging on the sleeve of his bike jacket to keep it situated over the damaged arm. When he came to a stop it was beside her, bumping a shoulder lightly into her own and purposely, a gentle and friendly nudge. I’m more pissed about tghe bike, really. That’s what we argued over. He doesn’t want me dropping cash to get it fixed but I have no choice, you know?”

With slumped shoulders and bags under her eyes, Sloane wandered through the halls of Westwood in a daze. The past week hadn’t been kind to the quiet Freak and she was more than thankful that it was finally Friday. A much needed break from responsibilities and reality was exactly what Sloane was hoping to find as she pushed through the doors of the library. She had her eyes on a table tucked into an empty corner of the room and was hightailing it towards her destination when she suddenly caught a glimpse of a familiar form. There was a moment of hesitation before she decided to change her direction and head towards her friend. Sloane let her backpack slide off her back and she plopped down into the empty seat beside Izzy. She rested her head on one of his shoulders. “I think I might die of sleep deprivation, if these finals don’t kill me first.” Noticing that the boy had been in the middle of something, Sloane quickly lifted her head and stammered out an apology. “Oh, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

His attention had been so absorbed in the music that he didn't notice her slide up next to him -- in fact he gave a slight start when he felt the pressure of her head on his shoulder. Perhaps he was jumpier than usual, something he found to be amusing considering his unofficial post at the school to medicate those who often had tightly wound nerves. Izzy himself never imbibed, though that was besides the point. Pulling the earbuds from his head, Izzy shook his head quickly and pushed the notebook a little away from himself. "No, no, it's alright. I'm just ... you know. Up in the air, all over the place, whatever. Are ... you okay? You look dog tired." He could read the exhaustion on her face, nearly feel it rolling off of her. Of course he was worried. Probably more than he should have been.

It was a rare specialty to find Olivia Reed walking into the Westwood library. She did most of her studying at home and hardly ever found valuable use for the book clad room, aside from the occasional socializing that was done in there. The blonde was unaccustomed to the silence that envoloped the library and much prefered to be outside on the lawns or in the busy cafeteria where she could be with her peers. Several heads turned when Olivia glided through the bookshelves and she matched their wide eyed stares with an icy glare. She let out a inner sigh of releif when she spotted a familiar figure sitting at an otherwise unoccupied table. “I don’t know if I’m more surprised that I’m here, or that you are.” Olivia said with a smirk as she sat down across from Izzy. 

Truthfully he was unsettled, the noise in his head could have been comparable to a thunderstorm, even over the inconsistent music his fingers thrummed. He was fortunate that he spotted Olivia in one of the instances that he looked over his shoulder, though it took a literal beat or two for him to pull an earbud from his ear and shift his things just enough for her. Instantly his features transformed, a veritable mask covering the worry and concentration that had tinged the same visage a moment before, to the usual warm and welcoming smile that clad Isaiah Butler's features. "Hey there." It had been an eternity since he had seen Liv, by no fault but his own. "I'm way more surprised to be here, honestly."

It is a pretty fucking horrible team. Don’t ever join it, even if they offer you cookies and sex.

That’s how they get you, you know. They advertise all of the good perks that you just get once, and then they hook you in and kill you. Rest in Pieces, Dawson.