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Post by Sasha Cole on Jan 15, 2007 3:17:31 GMT
Disagreeing was part of life, and part that Sasha did very well. He completely disagreed with the thought that things just happened, for they didn’t. You could always stop something from turning out a way you would rather it didn’t happen, always. It was possible to avoid tripping as well as getting whacked in the face. It was preventable. If it didn’t happen daily, it could be prevented, that’s how he saw the whole thing. He knew it was a weird philosophy, but so were many of the things he thought and believed. Just because it could be prevented, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, you just had to be careful to make sure it didn’t, but being that careful was nothing more than a pain and a way to make sure you wouldn’t get through life well. Being too cautious made for slow progress and never taking risks.
Perched on his bike lazily he leaned slightly against the handle bars. His head was starting to throb again, but he wasn’t surprised. It always did this, probably a result of never getting any sleep, and not for lack of trying. He tried to sleep, really he did, it just never worked. His eyes would close and images he would rather not relive just flashed before his eyes, and he had more than one night worth of those as well. He always seemed to wake up in a cold sweat and out of breath if he did manage to sleep at all, and that was only after a few minutes of being lost to slumber. He sighed at the thought before looking at her as she elaborated on her previous words, which he had pretty much ignored. We all know Sasha isn’t the most caring person in the world, so why bother trying?
Such a simple phrase, but it could hold so much emotion and fear. She had seemed close to her mother, right? Oh, who was he kidding, he really didn’t have much clue about her family except what she had said today, which he would probably forget by tomorrow. He didn’t say he liked the fact that he forgot half the stuff he was told, he just couldn’t help it at all. He may be smart, something else he denied for some weird reason, but drugs just did kill your brain. He was surprised his organs hadn’t become useless as well, but he assumed that being as in shape as he was when he started using drugs it just didn’t have as big of an effect on him as it would to most people.
He continued to listen to her explain, not sure what she was expecting him to say. His face stayed cold and showed almost no emotion at all as he stared out at the beach as he had been before she had come up to him. He didn’t know what she wanted him to say. He was sorry? A lie, fully, not to mention he had learned from his friends that you never pitied them. It didn’t help. Most of his friends had problems with incest rape or beatings and saying you were worry just made them feel worse. And this extended to deaths in the family as well, but usually they weren’t to upset about that. In fact, half the time they were almost happy. You just had to be there for them, let them rant to you or cry on your shoulder. It was really what helped the most.
He thought about it all, thinking he should call tonight to make sure everyone was okay, but she spoke again, this time he actually looked over to her, more at the tone of her voice than her actual words. His eyes rolled to the top of his head before he pushed himself up so he was sitting instead of leaning again. His hands fell from the handle bars to his thighs. A leg was on either side of the bike and lazily he pushed it so it wasn’t depending on the kickstand, an old habit of his when he was bored or waiting for something. The guys all said he was wasting his strength, but he really didn’t care.
He looked to her, his slate orbs once again glaring as he slowly shook his head. All he wanted to say to her right now was “get used to it and get over it” but he wouldn’t. He wasn’t that mean, unless of course he was in a bad mood, then he probably would just grab her because she had said something like that. Sighing he just shook his head and pushed hair from his face, yet again. Okay, so maybe that was becoming a habit as well. He thought about standing, but in the end decided against it. He didn’t want to move just so he could seem more polite when talking to someone. Since when was he of all people polite?
“I know it seems bad, but you’ve got to put it behind you and keep moving,” he said, calmly. “Believe me, I know it’s hard. I’ve lived through a lot of murders of people close to me, but if you keep dwelling in it it’s never going to get any better,” he sighed again, giving his shoulders a shrug. Probably not something she wanted to hear, but that’s okay, it was something she had to hear. Why would he say it? He knew that she knew about the gang activity, she would understand what he meant, he was sure. There were so many gang killings where they had lived that it was kind of scary. Well, not to him, but to anyone else in the area.
“But look,” he started again, shaking his head before looking away. “Trust is something no one will ever deserve, me of all people would understand that,” he said, looking down almost sadly. “I lot of my friends were killed by people I thought I could trust,” he sighed and shook his head once again. This was becoming a hard subject for them both, and he didn’t like that at all. Finally he looked back to her, his slate-grays showing no sign of his inward distress. He sighed, deeply once again, before just shaking his head and forcing himself to continue.
“But the thing is, they might hurt you, and you have to learn to accept that fact. But, at the same time, you can’t go around trusting no one, in the end it tares you apart more than help,” he shook his head once again. This wasn’t coming out how he hoped it would have. He was butchering his thoughts, but how did he really explain it to someone who didn’t think the way he did? This was getting annoying, but he couldn’t stop his gang-learned explanation now.
“I know this won’t make sense to you, but it will in time,” then why was he saying it now? He just wanted her to ponder his words, make her think for a change. Make her realize that, when it came to stuff like this, he was the more experienced out of the two of them. “No one can deserve your trust until you give it to them. Then they can prove to you that you made a good decision by doing, or not doing, whatever you believed that they would. Trusting is a dangerous game, but one that has to be played to get through life and the sooner you make sense of that, the happier you’ll be.” The whole way through, he stayed calm, not yelling, hardly talking loudly at all. He just kept his eyes moving from her to the beach before his eyes.
For only a moment he waited before deciding he really didn’t want to answer to his rambling. He would prefer if she would just try to think about it and try to understand what he meant. “Did you like to ride this thing, sorry, I can’t remember?” he asked, glancing over to her again before nodding to the bike he perched on. For some reason, he was willing to take her around. A lot of girls seemed to like it, which could only be a good thing when they found out his horse was scared of women. He shook his head at the thought before looking back to her, waiting for his answer.
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Post by ALEX KING. on Jan 15, 2007 7:26:26 GMT
So we'll sing out loud for hours 'Till the morning that we know we can't avoid These nights are notable and priceless I swear that every word I say I mean until my dying day It's a shame, when I wake I can't recall a thing It's a shame, when I wake I can't recall a thing
[/right] Alex had been told once that she lived in "la-la land." That she didn't want to face what was painfully obvious, just because she was just that ignorant. Child-like, almost, in her oblivion. She'd ignore what sat in front of her face, putting on a smile and pretending it didn't exist. She couldn't say whether or not that still applied. She certainly didn't pretend things hadn't happened. In fact, it was more as if she avoided the fact that she had to get over it. Maybe she didn't realize it, maybe she did. Maybe she was just repeating some sort of sick, ignorant cycle. She took his words in, knowing each one of them was true, painfully so, even, but hating each one that hit her. It was as if he knew more about her than she did, a thought that made her feel quite panicked. She felt like such a total kid, like a toddler who'd just burnt themselves, being lectured by an elder. But she took it all in, frowning, but not objecting. She knew he was right. But, she didn't want him to be. She just wanted to stay fucked up until she got tired of it, then just go back. But there was no going back. She knew that. Everyone knew that. It was as if she was trying to climb a slide, from the bottom up. She'd slid down so far, not wanting to stop herself, not wanting to have to put any effort in. Just be angry and mad and scared, until she reached the bottom. And now she had to take that frustrating climb up, falling, feeling the burn of the plastic as her knee slid against it. Part of her didn't want to. But the rest of her knew she had to. She let the words settle after each pause, her mind ushering around them, trying to fit it all in. She almost had an image of herself throwing a tantrum, yelling that she didn't want to get over it. Absurd, it seemed at first, but the words she shouted made sense, at least for a fleeting moment. Maybe she thought she was honoring her mother by doing this. No, this wasn't any deal of honor. This was her own problems, her own flaws. There was no more passing the guilt on to somebody else. It was just the fact that she had to deal with it. No more procrastinating. No more sitting around thinking she'd get to it later. Waiting wasn't going to make the dealing with it any easier. She didn't know why she'd thought that, why she'd hoped it, but she had. And she'd been wrong. Dead, dead wrong. She looked down at her hand, realizing for the first time in what seemed like ages that she still clutched the old newspaper article. Part of her wanted to do something dramatic, throw it into the ocean or something. She pictured the whole thing mentally, and sadly, she knew she wasn't ready to give it up. So she just tightened her grip, listening to each new lesson. She could read all of the books, she could be Valedictorian, but what did she know about anything else? Nothing. She knew the basics, she knew what got you through college, and even into corporate America. But on anything else, anything that really truly mattered, she knew nothing. She could pretend to, she could make people think she did, but really, she was still as lost as anyone. If she could trade places with anyone, it would probably be that unbelievably trusting girl you always see getting tossed around, manipulated. It was the very thing Alex feared, but somehow the girl always managed to get through it, and still be as open as anyone. The fact that she could get hurt so much, but seem to fear nothing. And that Alex, who, if you thought about it, had gotten hurt so little, could fear so much. And that little part of her brain that doubted everything, whether that skirt would really look as good on her as she thought it would, or if that deal really was as good as it sounded, wondered if he actually was right. If the key to happiness was trusting. It made sense, really. She had so little trust, and so little happiness. Maybe the two did sort of walk hand in hand. Maybe she did have to gamble it away, risk getting screwed over, risk the pitfalls, all to reach that one pinnacle. She knew she could try and move on as much as she could, not to dwell on the things that had happened. To just try and go on with things, just try and be happy again. But she'd never forget. Not only because of the physical reminders-- the fingernail marks on her arm, and her neck-- but because the memories would always be part of her. Fuck, it was baggage. And she couldn't just drop it all and keep walking. It would keep on following her, keep on coming with her until the day she died. But she couldn't let it consume her again, make her blind, make her hurt. But right now, wasn't that just so much easier? No, no. It wasn't a matter of what was easier. As fucking Disney as it sounded, it was about what was right. Music reached her ears, from some far off car, a terrible beat with slurred lyrics and a pumping base. She cringed inwardly, her ears pounding with each blast from the music's crazy base. The fact that anyone could stand that stuff, let alone play it at such a magnitude, was beyond her. It didn't make sense to let yourself be brainwashed by the music, if you could even call it that. The car then was away, the music fading into oblivion, as if it had never existed. It was so easy to just forget it, now that it was gone. She let the whole thing go. It was too much thought to go into something as petty as someone's bad taste in music. As he asked about the motorcycle, she blinked, trying to push past the newly lain thoughts, back towards the bike. Trying to remember. She supposed she did; honestly, it had fled her mind as well. She was a little wary of the spinning wheels, but the whole topic from before had left her in a bit of a daze. She looked at him blankly and shrugged. She almost let out a bit of a chortle. Honestly, she said, I can't remember either. She took a step towards it, trying her best not to peer so obviously. She hadn't been on one in years, hadn't wanted to. But, for some odd reason, she was willing to now. The fact that he understood what she had felt, understood her predicament-- it made her feel so much more... Comfortable? She couldn't think of a word to use. It was a mixture of things, and her mind was tired, tired from all of the self realizations. It was much too tired to pick through the jumbled mess, and she didn't object. She didn't even know how to get on the damn thing, she was afraid she'd kick something and have it make some sputtering noise at her. She had no mechanical ability at all. She'd even taken an auto-repair class, but that had ended badly. She now had Tripple A on speed-dial. So she didn't get too close, merely shifted her gaze between the various spokes and gleaming metal pieces and him, trying not to be so embarassed at her bewilderment.[/size][/blockquote]
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Post by Sasha Cole on Jan 15, 2007 22:17:25 GMT
You should never think about changing places, never. You couldn’t do it, why bother pondering? Any question that started with what if was a question wasted, and that was something Sasha had only just figured out while he had in fact been locked up. Before that he had always had what ifs coming and going through his thoughts. What if his father hadn’t been injured, what if his mother had tired to stop it, what if he hadn’t been so high the night Kale died, what if his father hadn’t hated him so much once he was arrested, what if he hadn’t developed a temper problem, these and more but over time he just realized they were stupid to ask, for you could never know the answer. What happened just happened and there was no way to go back and change how it did. That was something you were just going to have to get used to and get over.
Now something he did have to agree with was that physical marks did make it quite hard to forget. The night Kale was killed he had gotten himself stabbed in the back of his left shoulder, something he only blamed on himself. He had turned to see Kale’s body only to have the person behind him take advantage, who wouldn’t? Now, though the wound was supposedly healed over the scar was still there, as well as some bad physical problems. The injury had ripped both the muscle and tendon and now getting hit in the back of the shoulder or simply over working it could really put a strain on him altogether. Good thing he had almost trained himself, or was trained by his father, whichever you could say really, to just ignore pain as much as you could.
The injury made him think about, remember, that night and everything that happened. Kale had died and it was a complete miracle that he was alive now as well. It was almost a good thing Ryan’s father did what he did that night, made Ryan come into the area. Not to Ryan he was sure, that burn had made Sasha grimace and even Markus had a hard time fixing the tattoo that had been under it. In the end, it looked pretty good, if Sasha could judge that.
It actually pleased him that she at least seemed to take in his words. Whether she understood or not, he didn’t know, but at least she seemed to listen. Hopefully she could store his speech away in part of her mind and replay it later, at some point when she could be able to understand it all. Some time when she had to go through it all herself, or let herself go through it all. He watched her carefully and was once again pleased as she didn’t go off into some tantrum like a child when he would have to point out that he was the younger of the two and if anyone deserved to through a tantrum, it was him.
He could rarely actually believe that he was younger than her, just like how it was with Rene. He just never got his mind about it all. The poor guy had to grow up so quickly and now was just overly mature. It angered him to think about it. He was robbed of a childhood and it was an annoying thing when you really thought about it all. Then you added to the fact that he looked older than he was, because of his use of a bit of Meth and it just made it all worse. The thought was pushed away, how random was that?
She responded to his inquiry about his bike and only smirked at the answer. Didn’t remember? Why didn’t that make much sense in his mind? He thought most people would be about to remember if they enjoyed riding a motorcycle, he knew he had always loved the thrill of it. Watching her carefully, he almost wanted to laugh, but kept that to himself. Was it just him or did she seem almost scared? He found it weird, to say the least, but wasn’t going to say anything. Instead he just turned his torso and grabbed the extra helmet and jacket before throwing both to her.
“Well, where do you want to go?” he asked, turning back and starting to zip up his own jacket. It could get a little cold when the bike was moving. She, obviously, had very little choice in the whole matter. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys and slipped them into the ignition, but didn’t start it just yet. His foot kicked up the kickstand and he balanced on the bike carefully as he grabbed his helmet and gloves, pulling the leather over his hands as well, making sure the sleeves of his jacket were over the edge of his gloves.
“Um, just for a ride or the park or grab something quick to eat, it doesn’t really matter to me,” he sighed as he looked back over, to her, tucking his helmet under his arm as he waited for her to his question. Suddenly he thought of something and sighed deeply. “Or if you wanted to keep talking we could go back to my place, I guess,” he said, shrugging slightly. He hoped she wasn’t going to take the option the wrong way, for it was just that, an option. He thought he may was well offer the idea, but she could turn it down if she didn’t like the idea. He just shrugged again before giving her a look that really proved he just didn’t care.
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Post by ALEX KING. on Jan 16, 2007 0:18:03 GMT
So let's keep things quiet 'Till the rest of the street falls asleep Then we'll break out Show everyone just what we're made of So young-- let's abuse our health And have a little fun I'll drink to that-- let's drink to that
[/right] There was something about the idea of trying to be so apathetic that had always bugged her, the fact that she hadn't wanted to care, but had always managed to. At first, it was like she was failing, failing at something as silly as not wanting to care. It was as if she was just made to care, made to feel. It had gotten under her skin, made her wary, made her try harder, fail harder. She figured maybe she was bad at caring. Maybe she cared just a little too much. And so she'd been angry about this for some time, just mad that she couldn't achieve this unfeeling bliss. But then, she realized something. Maybe it was better to care, to feel. Maybe it was better than wishing you could care. Maybe it was better than not wishing you could care. She didn't know, she couldn't tell. But somehow she cames to terms with it, at least a slight bit. She still wanted that apathy. But she knew now trying to reach it was pointless. Alex had always had trouble eating in mass quantaties. It wasn't a concern about her weight-- if anything, she should probably eat more-- but rather she just never felt hungry. She could eat a snack-sized meal only in an entire twenty four hours and feel content. People always pressured her to finish her meal, or order something else. And she'd tell them, point blank, that she wasn't hungry. The thing was, they never believed her. And that bugged her more than their constant pushing. The fact that they wouldn't believe her words, and would find it easy to believe she had some sort of eating disorder. It was as if, hell, she already had problems, so why not just add a few more onto her list? She'd always had rather good reflexes, actually. Her psychiatrist-- the one the social workers had forced her to see after her mother died-- had told her it was because she got so paranoid, always expecting things to happen, that when they did, she was ready for them. Part of it was true, she figured. She was rather paranoid, and she did expect things to happen. But she wasn't ever really ready for them. She just tried to make herself in the right place at the right time. It was better than vise versa. She'd experienced that senario one time too many. And so when he tossed her the helmet and jacket, she was able to catch them relatively easily. She tugged her arms through the sleeves, grateful for an extra article of clothing. She got cold easily, really; even though she had been wearing a jacket under the one he'd given her, she'd still been rather chilled. A lot of girls got so worked up over their hair. She could see them as she placed the helmet onto her own head, carrying on about helmet hair. She shrugged the idea off. She'd never been one to worry so much about it. It grew back, so why worry so much now? They could all be bald, for chrissakes. It was a sort of self-absorbed thing for them to think about, coming from someone who was practically the queen of self pity. Slowly, she slid onto the back of the bike, her frame barely adding any weight to it. Like it's been said, she'd always been thin. She weighed barely over one hundred pounds. Again, not really by choice. More from a fast metabolism, and not really enjoying the idea of eating when she wasn't hungry. Your place is fine, she said quietly. The hotel manager, who'd attempted to become some sort of parental figure since her arrest, would probably wonder why she wasn't back yet. Sadly, she hadn't much of a night life, at least, not for a while. Work, community service, hotel. Repeat. That was generally her cycle, her routine. And Alex usually didn't step out of her routines. She usually liked conformity. Liked things normal. But the past hour had been nothing close to normal. She barely remembered that she was a year his senior. It didn't really seem possible. She had always been a kid, always been that blissfully ignorant kid. Her head in the clouds, not caring what happened the next day. Actually, that might be a stretch, but it was partially true. She wasn't much so anymore, not at all, but he'd always seemed mature. Even when she'd been frivolous, he'd been hard as stone. She didn't see herself as older than him, even if it was true on her birth certificate. It seemed silly to even think of herself as older, because, in the end, she was perhaps the one who needed to learn the most. [ ooc. ewwww. blah. its probably really messed up, i have no idea what i was doing while typing this x.x][/size][/blockquote]
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