punch your lights {OUT}, hit the {pavement}

[candipunk]

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Jamie walked into the fitness room, eyeing the punching bag that hung in the opposite corner. She'd been itching to come down here since late last night, her nails digging red crescents into her pale palms, feet bouncing off the floor in anticipation. She strode across the room, tying up her hair as she went then dumping her bag by the wall next to the punching bag. She stretched to begin with, reaching up above her head, before swinging down and touching her toes. She always stretching before she actually did any sort of sport, it was a sort of calming ritual. Moreover, the aches and pains you got from not stretching weren’t the good kind. They weren’t the bruises on your knuckles which reminded you of the perfect jaw breaker, or the pain in your ribs which reminded you of nearly losing, but then recovering. No, they were the annoying aches and pains that seemed to spring from nowhere, and had no good reason to stay, and yet still, they did.

Pulling her MP3 (the shitty kind you could get at Best Buy for under thirty bucks), she plugged the headphones into her ears, and strapped the small device itself onto her arm. Music was always a good background, it would ground her if she drifted too far into her anger. Which she used to do a fucking hell of a lot. Less now, but she still took precautions. Going terminator on whoever’s ass breathed on her next was not a good idea, and that always seemed to be the result of what happened whenever she lost track of herself. It was one of those things she loved and hated. Loved because, fucking god, the control (and yet complete lack of control) and power was intoxicating, when you knew that someone was at your mercy. It felt like no one could hurt you. At the same time, Jamie knew logically that she was “dangerous” when like that. And that being “dangerous” wouldn’t get her out of here. And then, sometimes she didn’t even want to get out. It might not be fun here, but it was easier than the streets, and a fuck off lot easier than home.

Then she was ready. Okay, perhaps ‘ready’ was the wrong word. But whatever, she had warmed up, got her MP3 in (listening to Mindless Self Indulgence, for those who are interested), and now she bounced up, balancing lightly on the ball of her feet and she brought her fists ups, narrowing her eyes down, focusing solely on the fake read leather of the punching bag. Her mind began to zone out as her fists began to lash out.

Really, this was the only peace she got. No one seemed to understand, but it was just so pure, so emptying yet filling, so… Everything, really. It was her nirvana, her ultimate peace. Some zoned out to cocaine and weed, she zoned out to adrenalin. Okay, she didn’t always zone out, she also would spike up. But now? When it was controlled, wanted, warned for? It was purely relaxing.

The feeling of the punching bag going slack under her fists made her snap out of it. Funny, she was sure it was only people who did that. Oh. Her eyes focussing, she realised the bag was now torn and leaking sand. Not that she could really take the blame for that, since the bag had been getting more torn up, to the point of nearly breaking in the past few weeks. It would of taken anyone’s well aimed punch to finally get the seams to split. Still, Jamie hadn’t fucking finished with that punching bag – she still was all pent up, all angry. Growling lightly, she turned on her heel, fist lashing out the catch on the wall, the brick tearing into her skin, leaving grit and dust into a torn mess with the flesh on her knuckles. Fuck. She really had to stop doing that.

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TAG open
WORDS bit under seven hundred, me thinks.
NOTES sorry post is so long, you dun have tah match it at all.
TUNES when you were young, the killers.
CREDIT template by MUNZTAR * of caution 2.0[/center]

[victoria hope jean]

Hope walked into the fitness center, and looked around. She really shouldn't be here, she knew that she shouldn't. Something was telling her to just go back up to her room, but she couldn't find it in herself to do so. It was in her weekly schedule to come to the fitness center and work out for an hour or two, even though she was trying to get better. She wasn't getting better at all. Anyone could tell you that; if anything, she was getting worse. She walked over to the tredmill and pulled her dark hair up into a messy bun, before climbing on.

She looked around for a moment, seeing a young girl at the punching bag. She was really getting it. She smiled lightly for a moment, before taking notice of what she came here to do, turning on her iPod (listening to Chiodos, her favorite band, if you must know), and turning on the tredmill as well. She turned the incline up to atleast 5, and the speed up to 7. She liked running fast; it got her heartbeat up. It wasn't as great as going out to the sports field and running, like she would love to do, but she could manage.

It was too cold to go outside and run like she usually did; she was depressed, not stupid. She didn't want to get sick and stay in bed, resulting in her not running for days, or even weeks. Besides, she was one of those girls that couldn't stand the cold. She breathed in her nose and out her mouth, keeping a steady pace; well, steady for her. She was running pretty fast, almost sprinting, on the tredmill. She knew that her pace wasn't like the others, she loved running fast. It got her adrenaline pumping. Usually, if she was upset, she would automatically go to her room and that would result in selfharm, if she had the things that she needed, or she would play her guitar. But lately, she'd been finding herself running more and more. It could be because Alex was here at the school, and she wanted to make sure that he had nothing to tease her about, or it could be because she was burnt out on the other two things. She had a feeling, however, that it was the first one. Ever since he came to Hawthorne, she'd been on edge about everything; and she knew that the staff members of the school had noticed.

Hope had a good view of the girl at the punching bag. She was really getting into whatever she was doing, and she began to wonder if she had an anger problem. Goodness, she sure hoped not. She made sure that she kept her speed up on the treadmill, so that she wouldn't fall off, as she watched the girl. She wasn't used to running on a treadmill, she always just went outside and ran. Her brown eyes widened when she noticed that the girl had busted the red leather punching bag. Now, that was pretty insane. She stayed where she was, however, not wanting to get into anything. Just incase the girl was upset about it.

And, quite obviously, Hope was right. She watched as the girl lashed out at the wall. That reminded her of Alex punching her dorm room and she frowned. People with anger problems freaked her out. She slowed her speed down on the treadmill when she noticed that the girl had messed up her hand. She wanted so badly to go over there and see if she was alright, but she was too frightened to do such a thing. She bit her lip, hard, contemplating for a moment, before she turned the treadmill off.

She wiped the sweat off of her forehead, before cautiously making her way towards the young girl. She didn't want to have her head bitten off. She let out a breath, before finally finding the words to speak, "Um.. are you alright?" she asked the girl, in a very quiet tone. Now that she'd gotten her first words out, she had a bit more courage to speak, "Do you need help with anything?"

i believe i told some lies /jamie. im holding onto all i had /718 words.
i believe in butterflies /done. go to hell some other day /outfit, click..
saying sorry for when i was bad /i kind of rambled in this post. haha. sorry, but i hope it's okay.(:. trust me itll be ok REAL SLIM SHADY !?

[/color]@ caution 2.0.
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[candipunk]

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"Shit!" Jamie cursed under her breath as she snapped out of the fog which seemed to cloud her mind. She really needed to stop doing that. It either meant more scars to add to her array on her knuckles, or another stupid, unnecessary visit to the infirmary, where they always asked annoying questions. 'Was it deliberate? Did it hurt? It is a form of self harm? Do you want pain meds?' The answers never fucking changed, so why did keep asking the questions. No, no, no, and yes (simply cause codeine was easy to flog to the other kids - easy trading goods). She wasn't depressed, she was angry. It was surprising how easily people seemed to mix them up - well, 'people' meaning the therapists she had to see. The majority of them simply went 'Now, Bethany [and then she'd want to punch them, simply cause they called her that], do you think that perhaps your violence comes from an inner sadness?'. Just cause she was meant to be depressed and sad and shit cause of the stuff she went through didn't mean she actually was. Not Jamie. Jamie was a fucking survivor. Bethany wasn't.

Jamie jumped slightly when the girl first spoke, having drifted off slightly into her thoughts, before her eyes went up to meet the girl's. She looked nice, if slightly timid, if only from her tone of voice. "Do you need help with anything?" Jamie smiled slightly, before shaking her head, and gesturing with her thumb towards the broken punching bag. "Nah, it was already breaking, just needed a few more hits. I think the sports people were expecting it, so think we can just leave it."
Jamie shrugged, before looking at the girl for a little longer. She recognized her - as in, she had probably seen her around the place, but never really interacted. Really, that was like most people her. Although Jamie wasn't shy, she was rarely ever the starter of conversation, and what with being a tiny fourteen-year-old, she hardly got approached either. But you know, common courtesy was common courtesy... "Hey, I'm Jamie."

Her hand had started throbbing lightly, and she winced - not out of pain, but because of the sight of the grit which didn't look pretty. Fucking great. With her other hand, she began to brush out the dirt, before realizing that oh, maybe the girl had been asking about her hand. "Oh, and yeah, I'm fine." Well, close enough.

[/blockquote]
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TAG hope
WORDS just over four hundred.
NOTES it's a lot shorter than the last post, but i had less to say, and also it;s nearly bedtime here.
TUNES half jack, dresden dolls.
CREDIT template by MUNZTAR * of caution 2.0[/center]

[victoria hope jean]

Hope looked over at the, now a crazy mess, punching bag. She was glad that the girl wouldn't get into trouble, but it still troubled her that the girl could even do it. Although she said it was already breaking, she knew that she, herself, wouldn't have been able to do that. She was very weak now, due to her anorexia, and she knew that it would get her into trouble someday. She could easily say that it wasn't her fault that she was the way that she is, but it would have all been a damn lie. She knew that it was her fault: she was the one that chose not to eat.

She smiled slightly and nodded at the girl, "Well that's good. But I know that I wouldn't have been able to do that," she pointed at the broken punching bag, "I'm far too weak to do so." Atleast she could admit that she was weak, although she knew that some people could use that to their advantage. She trusted that the girl wouldn't do that, though. Atleast, she prayed that the girl wouldn't use that to their advantage. She knew a lot of people that would jump on the fact that she couldn't hold a fight anymore. Well, back in Texas, anyway. She used to fight pretty well, her brother teaching her how to defend herself, before everything went downhill.

Hope snapped away from her thoughts. Luckily, she hadn't missed anything when she had zoned out, so she was still into the loop of things. She knew what they were talking about. A warm smile made its way to her lips when the girl introduced herself, "Hi Jamie, I'm Hope. It's a pleasure to meet you." She knew that she was a very nice person, probably too nice for her own good. Actually, she knew for a fact that she was too nice. She didn't think of it as a flaw, Lord knows that she had so many different flaws that were so much worse, but it wasn't necessarily a good trait. Hell, she had cared too much about Alex, and look what happened. Now, she was sent here, to sort out her problems, only to have him come into her life again. Ever since he'd came back all she had worried about was her weight and memories from the past would come back. She didn't know how she could handle it.

Hope bit her bottom lip and her eyes shot up to the girls face, having been looking at the ground, when she winced. She then looked at her hand; it was nasty looking with all the grit in it. She then pointed over at her things and looked back up at Jamie, "Are you sure? It looks pretty nasty," She said, scrunching her nose up slightly, "I have some water that you could atleast clean it out with."

i believe i told some lies /jamie. im holding onto all i had /510 words.
i believe in butterflies /done. go to hell some other day /outfit, click..
saying sorry for when i was bad /(:. trust me itll be ok REAL SLIM SHADY !?

[/color]@ caution 2.0.
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[candipunk]

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Jamie giggled when the girl said she was weak. Not mockingly, but simply at the fact that, well, it was a bit obvious? Jamie couldn't beat up quite anyone, but this girl? Not even a danger. Which was one of the reasons that Jamie felt relatively relaxed around her. It wasn't as if this girl - this skinny, young girl (who yeah, may have been older than Jamie; everybody was here, but was still 'young') would ever actually be able to physically harm Jamie, unless she was really taken off guard. And mental hurt? Well, for one thing, the girl seemed too nice for that. And secondly? Jamie didn't get mentally hurt. Not on her watch. "Eh, I've just had too much practice punching things. Beside, you're all skinny and boney, if you don't mind me saying. I think I could more easily break you than I did the punching bag. Not that I would, of course." As I said, the girl didn't pose a threat.

"Cute name." Jamie grinned, not even really mocking, it was just that her name seemed so much to suit the girl's demeanor so far - just so sickly sweet. Not even in a bad way, but just... She couldn't imagine this girl hurting a fly. She certainly wasn't gonna be in this place for anger, violence, or sociopathy. I mean, not unless she had a split personality as well. Which was always annoying and confusing. Jamie normally, at some point, would end up punching the people she knew who had split personality disorder. It just reminded her too much of too many people in her life who tried to manipulate her by doing the 'good cop, bad cop' thing. And okay, whilst the kids in here didn't mean too, it still pissed her off.

Water? Actually, fuck yes, water would be good. At least for simply cleaning it out, just to stop infection and that sort of thing. Infection really wasn't fun, as she knew from experience. She smiled at Hope. Really, you normally didn't meet people quite this helpful. At least, not unless they wanted something in return. Then... Well, then the helpfulness was cancelled out by what you'd have to do in return. Drug dealing, entering the icky world of whoredom, or simply being in someone's debt (that was actually the worse. Jamie would rather whore herself out for a fucking week straight than be in someone's debt. Cause debt was bad. Debt hung over you. Shit, she was still in some people's debt. And she dreaded to think what they would do if they ever say her again.)
"Yeah, actually, maybe some water would be good, if you don't mind."

[/blockquote]
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TAG hope
WORDS bout four hundred and fifty.
NOTES sorry it's so late, there were major complications in my life for a while.
TUNES if i had you, adam lambert.
CREDIT template by MUNZTAR * of caution 2.0[/center]