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Jason Meth

"If there's one thing I know for certain, it's this: no one really gives a damn about my life. I don't even think I do."

0 · 549 views · located in New York City

a character in “She, He, Her, Him, We, They, Them, Us”, as played by Zander

Description

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I heard this quote once. It depressed the hell outta me. It went something like, “I’m here. I love you. I don’t care if you need to stay up crying all night long, I will stay with you. There’s nothing you can ever do to lose my love. I will protect you until you die, and after your death I will still protect you. I am stronger than Depression and I am braver than Loneliness and nothing will ever exhaust me” (Elizabeth Gilbert). I couldn't help but wish I had someone like that, but I know I never will. No one on this earth could really ever love me... It kills me inside.


What is this, a rehab meeting? Fine, I'll play along. Ahem.
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My name is Jason Meth; sometimes I go by Ace.
I'm 17 years old.
I'm lonely as hell, have low self-esteem, and I just feel empty and dead inside. I've always been unloved, but I've finally accepted that. More or less...
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Description:
What do I look like? God--don't you have eyes? I do. They're green. Almost an olive green, with amber flecks all over. My hair is a sort of sandy blonde, not short but also not overly long... I'm a pretty tall guy, about 5 foot 11 and a half inches. With how short girls are these days, it's not hard to be tall. This one girl, Hannah, she's only 5' 2". I tower over her. I always tease her about it, calling her baby, midget, child, and the like. Lame stuff like that usually ticks her off. She cusses me out because of it. Oh, I'm off topic. I work out and run a lot, for lack of anything better to do, so I'm pretty muscular for my age. Not to brag, but I am something of a stud. Not that it ever helped me in life.
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Personality:
What kind of guy am I, huh? That's a little tricky. I have 2 sides to me. It's all me, in the end, but they're very separated factions of me. I already told you I'm lonely. At my old school I didn't have any friends. I was a loner. When I came here, a place I could start over, I took on this role, almost. Except it isn't a role, yet it is. Confusing, I know. I guess I took the inside me and brought it out, then tucked away the loner me inside? Bah. I'm done trying to explain. Anyway, I'm kind of the jock, I guess. I have a lot of friends, fake friends, but no one that really likes me. I guess some people think of me as an asshole, because I'm a tad sarcastic and have a tenancy to tease. Really, what could my words ever do, though? No one cares what I do. I'm your average guy, academically, but mostly because I don't apply myself. I could do better, but what's the use? I completely fail at history, though. I run track and play football. Pretty typical. Sometimes I mess around with the cheerleaders, but it doesn't help me any. I guess I'm mature enough to know that all the relationships I have, they aren't real. I want someone to actually love me. Or, hell, even just like me. Everyone I have now would ditch me if I didn't act as cool as I do. A lot already stab me in the back, but I don't do anything. I guess fake is better than nothing at all.
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I'm pretty laid back and casual. I don't care much for perfection--what's the point? My hair is usually messy, but it adds to the cool aura so it works out. My humor, insane randomness, and somewhat nerdyness stay inside with the loner. I have to be the cool jock dude. I usually like veg out at home alone, as I don't have anyone I actually like to hang out with. People always disappoint you. My room is covered in random posters for things like halo burger, marvel/dc comics, assorted lesser known bands, old cartoons, ghost busters, mythbusters, and the like. I also have random quotes jotted down on notebook paper and taped around. I tried to learn the guitar, and I did, but I suck at it. My voice kinda sucks, too. It's funny. God, I'm lame. No one really knows, but I'm a huge science freak. Especially biology. Photography is pretty cool. I can do that pretty well. Drawing, ha ha ha... That, I really suck at. My stick people look like a child's scribbles. No--that would be an insult to the child. No joke. I'm kind of jealous of Hannah for her talent. Not that I would ever admit that to her. The truth is, I really suck at talking. I guess that's why I tease and joke all day. It's easier to stick with meaningless small talk with fake friends, and it's easier to tease someone and respond to their anger. I guess I'm messed up, in that way, seeing as I'll take negative human interaction over none at all. I feel like she'd be the one teasing me if I was myself and tried to actually talk to her. Or anyone, for that matter. You know, a lot of guys are mean to girls they like. I wonder what our deal is? I can't really help it. I just... she's so easily teased. Off topic again. I'm rarely ever serious, except when I'm sulking and depressed. I'm actually a really bad liar, especially if I'm put on the spot. I'm kind of a pacifist, but I'll fight if I have to. I'm a little selfish and maybe a tad arrogant. I absolutely hate when someone is better than me. If it's something I'm good at, my shattered pride is impossible to ignore. If it's something I'm not good at, I don't feel quite as bad, but the malice is still there. I try to be a good sport, but... Anyway, I hate being outwitted. If I think of some witty comment, and someone else counters and I have nothing to say back, oh god. Talk about shame. I also have this quirk--when I blush, my entire body flushes. Arms, legs, ears, everything. It's so god damn embarrassing. I've rambled too much for someone no one cares about...






Backstory:

Nobody knows this, except the school councilor and a few school staff, but... I'm a foster child. My mom was a severe alcoholic and didn't much care for me. In fact, she didn't even know she was pregnant at first. I guess it *happened* while she was pretty wasted. She never really liked me, because she was forced to stay more or less sober for 6 months. She still drank, though, and I had issues when I was born, a month premature. It's more or less taken care of now. I still have bad eyesight, and wear contacts during the day and glasses at home. I really hate contacts. My glasses are those big, black, square ones. I actually kind of like them, but I wouldn't want to get alienized, and the nerdy types wouldn't accept me. I also have photosensitive epilepsy. It's okay, though. I make sure not to get surprised or go to dances or anything, so I don't have seizures that often. Anyway, enough of my health problems. My mom died in a car accident when I was five. Sure, she didn't really show love for me, but she was there and she kept me. Yes, I stayed home alone. Yes, I cried and cried and almost never got what I needed. But she was there. And then she wasn't. It was hard for me. They tracked down my dad, who I had seen a few times, and he immediately signed off his parental rights. He flat out told me he didn't love me and wouldn't even care if I had died in that accident. That hurt. It really hurt, because it was the first time I heard it out loud.

The social worker dropped me off at a place in the city. A small apartment. I was a mess, physically, from more or less being neglected kind of. I was a mess emotionally, too. And to make matters worse, it was a snobby 2 parent home with their own biological child. They never liked me and the kid always framed me for everything he did wrong. One time I actually did something, since I was blamed for everything anyway, and I got moved to a new home. I became a problem child, I guess. People were scared of me. I bullied the other kids because they wouldn't accept me. I bullied my "siblings" at home. I destroyed stuff in my depression. My grades were crap. I was just some stupid, emotional, troublesome piece of shit that no one wanted. Some of the kids, once I got older, found out about my epilepsy and would purposely trigger it. Then they'd do crap to me while I was having a seizure. Somehow, I don't think I'm as much an asshole as people think. I don't bully people, in my opinion, I just tease a little. Well, actually, I am mean to some people. I'm mean when I get someone back for pissing me off. Anyway, I moved all over the place. No one liked me. Finally, I settled at my current foster home. With the Kelley's. I decided to try and make it work this time. There's this quote, “I believe that you control your destiny, that you can be what you want to be. You can also stop and say, 'No, I won't do it, I won't behave his way anymore. I'm lonely and I need people around me, maybe I have to change my methods of behaving,' and then you do it” (Leo F. Buscaglia). That pretty much sums up my catharsis. I hope to someday have someone like me, and I can like them. I'll be there for them--I'll be so good to them. I've always wanted to be someone's hero. Always. But I guess I'm too selfish to do anything for anyone, unless they do something for me. I don't want to save anyone unless they fill this hole I have in my chest. This loneliness... God, why couldn't I just be a normal kid?
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So begins...

Jason Meth's Story

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#, as written by Zander
The door slammed angrily behind him as he trudged out into the rain, shoes filling like sunken boats as he trudged through flooded puddles. He ignored the flashes of lightning, the grumbles of thunder, the vengeful rain pelting him and seeping into his bones. It wasn’t good for him to be out with lightening, but he didn’t care at this point. He reached the end of his driveway and darted off in a run, planning on moving forward until he couldn’t anymore.

It wasn’t even his fault.

Or was it? It really depended on your perspective. It dawned on him that it was his house, and he should’ve kicked her out instead of running out the door, but he’d look stupid if he went back now. Honestly, it wasn’t even a big deal. She didn’t react any different than he expected. He knew he was just going to be disappointed, so why was he so upset? Maybe because she not only failed him, but turned on him like he was such a terrible person. Maybe that was it. He didn’t like being told how he was just a nobody the world wouldn’t even remember if he ever disappeared.

Maybe he shouldn’t have called her a fake backstabbing bitch. Was that too harsh after everything else he said? No. She deserved it. She deserved any hell he gave her. Why? Because she made him feel even emptier, lonelier, and even more unloved. He should have known better. No one would ever love him or fill the void he had, so why did he even try? Why “fall” for girls just to have them do shit like this? If everything was just going to be one sided, or not even be love at all, why did he continue on?

He didn’t even know. All he knew was his terrible mood. It was some mix of anger, bitterness, utter sorrow, and a feeling of stupidity. He would be cruel to her. So cruel to her and her new guy. How dare she cheat on him and then peg him as the problem. Maybe he was the problem—but he wasn’t going to take responsibility. He would make her life miserable until he felt better. God, he wanted to feel better. He wished he was in class, where he could find someone to tease. That would make him feel better. It would take the edge off this pain, causing someone else irritation. It was like a baton that needed to be passed on.

Of course, this wasn’t school. There was no one. He kept running and running through the rain, unsure where he would end up.

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Character Portrait: Hannah Ashton Character Portrait: Jason Meth
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Once you die, no one can hurt you...
Her breathing became shallow as her heartbeat became so deafening she could barely hear her mother's drunken footsteps on the stairs, nearing her. She went numb, mentally and physically, as fear that no sixteen year old should ever be acquainted with came over her. Blindly, Hannah shoved the gun into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. Heavy footsteps echoed down the empty hallway as she turned towards the window. She rushed at it, unlocking it and shoving it upwards with all her might. It didn't budge.

"Hannah! Little bitch, answer me!" her mother's drunken slur came from the hall way. Hannah continued to push at the window with all the strength she could muster. A loud bang on her door caused her to jump- and shove the window up half way. Silently, she thanked whatever force had just helped her and continued to push at the window as her fear continued to rise. "Are you in there?" her mother screams from the other side of the door. The window slides up again, just another good push and she could fit through. "If you're in there you little whore, you better fucking answer me or I'll cut you up so much your body won't be recognizable if it ever heals!" she threatens. The window slid up, completely open now.

"Hallelujah!" Hannah cried at an audible tone, and then she froze. Oh no! Her door flew open and a scream left Hannah's mouth as her mother lunged at her with an insane speed. Her mother's hand latched onto her ankle and dragged her down to the floor violently. Her head hit the floor and black spots danced in her vision as she clawed at the floor, fighting her drunken mother like she had so many times before. As her mother cackled at her struggling, Hannah managed to land a kick to her stomach and break free from her grasp when she doubled over in pain. Her mother recovered quickly though, and when she stood up, she held a kitchen knife in her hand.

Dad died because the doctors couldn't save him. Marcus died because the voices in his head drove him to desperation. I'm going to die because I wanted to, not because I couldn't fight off my drunken bitch of a mother. she thought sternly.

Her mother lunged forward and she dodged, the knife missing its target of her neck and instead carving an insanely deep and painful gash in her left forearm. Hannah screamed in pain and anger, lunging at her mother. The knife's blade dug into her cheek as she tackled her mother to the floor, banging her head against the wood flooring again and again until her eyes rolled back into her head and she went limp. Hannah's breathing was shallow and weak as she checked and noted that her mother had a pulse. She may be a bitch who deserved to rot in hell, but Hannah refused to become a murderer.

Quickly, she moved to the window and jumped out, latching onto the tree outside and slowly climbing down to the ground. The rain soaked her to the bone within seconds, making her wounds burn painfully. She ignored the feeling of her warm and sticky blood trickling down her face and coating her arm as she ran madly through the rain. Blindly, she turned a corner and ran right into a wall. Crying out in pain as she landed on her cut arm, Hannah fell into the deserted street and the gun slid out of her unzipped back pack.

That's when she heard it. An inaudible voice. A new round of fear rushed over her as she looked up, her form trembling from the panic and the cold of the rain as everything slowly started spinning from the blood loss. And then she saw the eyes. Two, beautiful, olive green eyes.

"Fuck."

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Character Portrait: Hannah Ashton Character Portrait: Jason Meth
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#, as written by Zander
Just keep going.

He ran, and ran, and ran. The rain continued to attack him, cold projectiles stinging his skin, joining with burning muscles and straining lungs and irritated heart to create one big hell of hurt. Just keep going. He wouldn’t stop until the pain hit him like a fist to the chest. Even then, he’d still continue. That’s what he told himself. Because running was all he could do to forget. One foot after the other until he couldn’t even move. He just had to keep going.

Then it hit him.

He fumbled back slightly, but caught his balance. ”What the fuck?” he breathed, as befuddlement crossed his features. He alleged he wouldn’t stop if pain slapped him bitterly, and it did—he felt like he had really just been hit—but clearly that wasn’t the case. His entire mind seemed to halt as he heard a cry of pain. WHAT? In a moment, his head scanned the surrounding area, landing on a small blonde dame in the sprawled out in the street. Bloody trails streaked down her face, along with a substantial pool on her arm. His eyes took in the entirety of her trembling frame, until finally, his gaze met hers. He was taken aback when her lips uttered an annoyed curse. It was hard to see her in the rain, but he knew that voice by heart.

Hannah.

Hannah? A bloody Hannah? He was confused as hell. But, tearing his eyes away, for clearly she abhorred him and wouldn’t want his mug in her gaze, he glanced at the other object beside her. A backpack lay open on the pavement, a dark object a foot or so away. He squinted, trying to make out the dark figure. It was a handgun. Furling his brows, he tried to connect two and two together. Bloody Hannah running in rain, pistol in her backpack. Oh, he tried, but he couldn’t quite figure out a logical explanation.

His throat cleared, and he slowly crouched down where he stood. “So, what? Are you such a god damn clutz you cut yourself cooking or something?” Why not ask her if she’s okay, idiot. “And what’s with the gun? I’m sure you couldn’t shoot straight worth a damn. A child like you. Are you… okay?” His lips pressed together in a grim line. Oh, yeah. He was so smooth. Not. Way to go, doing this when she’s freaking shredded in the rain. Hey, wouldn’t the rain make you lose more blood? is she seriously okay? She isn't gonna pass out or something, is she? God… “What did you do, anyway?”

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Character Portrait: Hannah Ashton Character Portrait: Jason Meth
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"So what? Are you such a god damn clutz you cut yourself cooking or something? And what's with the gun? I'm sure you couldn't shoot straight worth a damn. A child like you. Are you... okay? What did you do anyway?"

It takes a moment for Jason's words to register in her brain. All she can do is stare at the gun in between them both. It was her father's. Then it was Marcus's. Now it was hers. She made a rash decision and hastily snatched up the gun before standing up in front of Jason with a weak and trembling form. His beautiful eyes widened as she raised the handgun to her temple with a trembling and bloody hand.

"There hasn't been food in my house for over three years, so no I did not cut myself cooking. The gun is for the suicide I'm about to commit, and I think I can shoot pretty straight from close range. And I'm not a child!" she hissed, stamping her foot and contradicting herself unconsciously. "And no, for your goddamn information I am not okay!" she didn't know what she was doing. One of the few promises she'd made to herself was to never tell anyone- dead or alive- about her life. But now here she was, face to face with the one boy that had been the cause of immense confusion, pain, and even heartbreak in her life.

"My father and brother are dead, my mother's an alcoholic from hell determined to kill me, and you are some sort of douche bag that doesn't know when to fuck off- or at least be a little fucking nice to someone! God, I'm sorta glad it was you I ran into! I hope this makes you feel guilty, Jason Meth!" Hannah yelled, her tears mixing with the rain as she made to pull the trigger. But, before she fire her world spun and her knees gave out.

And then she passed out.

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Character Portrait: Hannah Ashton Character Portrait: Jason Meth Character Portrait: Margo Greene
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Looking down at the street she saw two figures standing. One was a female, blonde small and skinny. The other was male tall, brownish blonde hair and a black jacket. Something flashed and then she saw the blood. "Shit!" she cursed as she ran into her room and grabbed her bag. She stumbled out the door, and fell on the road. Faint voices were coming closer. "Urgg!!" she yelled as she got up and started running down the street towards the two figures. Panting she dodged some furniture movers and made it down the hill safely. She yelled and waved her arms at the two. "Hey! do you need help?!" she asked. Her eyes went down the girls cheek and saw the blood pooling on her arm as she was laying on the ground. Images flashed inside her mind and then the black smoke came back and stared her down. Screaming Margo held her eyes and fell to her knees, crying and whispering I see it. Her other side was coming out. Slowly she rose up stacking each and every vertebra on top of each other. Her blonde wet hair hung over her face. "I see it!!! Now its coming to get me!!!"she screamed in a terrifying voice and lunged at the girl. "You want to die?!?! I can make that happen!!!" She yelled again.

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Character Portrait: Hannah Ashton Character Portrait: Jason Meth Character Portrait: Margo Greene
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#, as written by Zander
Holy fuck. DAMN, his mind listed off just about every swear word he knew how to say. What the hell had he done? How could he be such a fucking idiot? How had he gone from running around in the rain to somehow causing the suicide of a girl? All he could do was stare at her as she held the gun up to her head. It was all he had the mental capacity to do, beside pale to the hue of a freshly bleached sheet.

Listening to her troubles made him feel like an asshole. Even more than usual. There was a random thought thrown in with his panic, the fact it was really cute how she said she wasn't a child yet threw a little stomping tantrum, but the thought disappeared. Now was NOT the time.

She said she hoped it made him feel guilty, and it did. Like the burning flames of hell it did. He would probably get chewed out by god now and sent to hell for murder. Then all the demons would hate him just like everyone on earth, and he’d be even more alone. He’d be alone because he was a worthless piece of shit that nobody liked. Understandably, too… he wasn't worthy of anyone’s love. It hurt him so bad—because no matter what, he knew he’d never be good enough. And this, this, proved it. He should be the one with a gun to his head. He held a hand out to her,

“Hannah sto—“

It was too late. Or, it would have been, had she not passed out. Oh, god, he dodged a bullet there. Well, she did, technically. Though, he did too. Lord knows he probably would've killed himself if she had lost her because of him. Hyperventilating, he ran a hand through his hair and prepared to stoop down and get the gun and pick her up. However, he was stopped when another girl came out screaming like a lunatic. She was saying something about seeing something and it coming to get her. Then, much to his increased horror, she threatened to kill Hannah and lunged towards her.

He immediately put his own self in her path, wrapping his strong arms around her in an odd hug with an ulterior motive of restraining her. “Shh,” he said, not really knowing what else to do. He needed to call for help for Hannah, but there was this crazy chick. What do you say to a crazy chick? That was a hard enough question to answer as it was, but now he had to talk and be nice like a normal person. No more teasing, if he could help it. He made a silent promise to try not to harass Hannah anymore. “It’s… It’s okay, nothing is coming to get you. Um...I promise… okay? I’ll, um, protect you…?” It was a long shot, he thought… but, still worth a shot, right?

“She doesn’t want to die,” he lied, “It was a...mistake. She wasn’t thinking properly, but, uh, thank you for offering to help her… er… die. That was, um, kind of you…” Nodding purposefully, as though he meant every word, he continued on to bite his lip and cautiously release her. “Hey, uh, you asked if we needed help a minute ago, right?” Swiftly, before the crazy girl could do anything if she planned to, he picked up Hannah before scanning for the nearest dry place. “Can you call 911? I don’t have a phone on me. She needs an ambulance—now.”

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Character Portrait: Hannah Ashton Character Portrait: Jason Meth Character Portrait: Margo Greene
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#, as written by Zander
Finally settling on a slightly covered place, Jason moved forward to get her out of the rain. Hopefully it would help with the bleeding a little. Key word—hopefully. God—she better not die. He’ll never be able to live with himself if she dies. Having literally nothing else to do with his panic, he started a chant in his mind as the other girl fiddled with her—apparently shitty—phone. Please, please, please, god. Please. Don’t let her die. I swear—I’ll lay off her. I’ll never even look at her again—just, please, let her live… Oh, god, please… I’m sorry… I never wanted her to… please…. His thoughts became slower and slower as she became colder in his arms. The sirens were off in the distance, but they were closing in fast. He wanted to pass out. This was dizzying. Terrifying. Why was he such an asshole?

The ambulance came pretty quickly, and they took Hannah from him and put her on the stretcher in the back of the blaring vehicle and they buzzed all around her and took off. It was almost as though he were only half aware of everything. Part of him wanted to get in the ambulance and go with her. But he knew he didn’t have any right. No right at all. Oh, but her mom wouldn’t be there for her—would she? No. Hannah said her mom wanted to kill her.

The other girl asked about the gun. OH—SHIT. The gun. Distract her, or she’ll fucking murder you and Hannah. “A gun? Oh, yeah. Hey—Thank you so much for your help. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you… I’m, um, Jason. What’s your name? You know, you… you seem like a very nice person. We should be friends. Is that a British accent? Are you an exchange student or did you just move here or what?” He managed a weak smile.

His mind went on this seemingly long tangent, though in reality it lasted only thirty or so seconds. Well, he should call CPS on her mother; get Hannah to a safe place. But that could be traumatic for her. Hey—she already hate him, so what does it matter? It would be for the best. Oh, but the Kelly’s were looking for another teenager, weren’t they? She could end up living with him. Oh, god. She would hate that. He wouldn’t, but it would be awkward, and she would hate it. Oh, screw it. He’d figure it out later if she didn’t die.

As the ambulance sped off, he stood there in the rain with the other girl. Crap—he’d been tuning her out. Becoming aware again, he listened to what she had left to say, then—suddenly, he interjected. “She could die,” he said, more to himself. That trumped any right he did or didn’t have. “I’m going to the hospital. She doesn’t have anyone else… Would you like to come with me? I can give you a ride on my motorcycle, since you’re already wet… You did help her, so… yeah.”

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Character Portrait: Jason Meth Character Portrait: Margo Greene
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“A gun? Oh, yeah. Hey—Thank you so much for your help. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you… I’m, um, Jason. What’s your name? You know, you… you seem like a very nice person. We should be friends. Is that a British accent? Are you an exchange student or did you just move here or what?” The boy said.

She stood there in the rain studying him as he spoke this. Listening to the pitch in his voice go higher and lower. He was doing what all the others did...

It was back in her childhood. At the park she was alone unwanted and didn't care. A little boy came up to her and asked if she wanted to play. "Okay..." She told the little boy. He brought her to a bunch of other kids. They started playing hide and seek when she went crazy. She told them that if they found her she would kill them. The voices in her head told her to not to hide. The other children became scared of her as she talked to the voices. As she was growing up the others would tease her, but later on as they all started growing up they would taunt her and bully her. Soon they would start bullying her violently. By high school she was not safe. They all started whispering and trying to distract her from what she was asking and trying to calm her down.

She came back to the real world and glared at Jason. "Stop it! Quit trying to calm me down and distract me! Like the others!" Tears started to form in her eyes. "You can't help me, no one can and no one ever will!" She yelled over the rain and fell to her knees.

“She could die,” He interrupted. She looked up at him and bit her lip. “I’m going to the hospital. She doesn’t have anyone else… Would you like to come with me? I can give you a ride on my motorcycle, since you’re already wet… You did help her, so… yeah.” Jason told her.

"Okay..." She said wiping away at her tear streaked face. It didn't matter because it was already raining. The blonde haired girl looked up at him and nodded. "I'm Margo."

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#, as written by Zander
Honestly, he was only doing what instinct told him to do. You see someone freak out, you try and calm them down—right? Admittedly. He did do it primarily because he deduced her as a psychopath, but that was beside the point. She didn’t know that. So, it was okay.

Or that’s what he thought.

As she fell to her knees and glared at him, going of in a miniature speech in the rain, he realized just how wrong he was. Believe it or not, she did know what he thought. It kind of made sense… everyone probably DID treat her like that. They probably all acted in their prejudice and everything, just like he did. Man, he just couldn’t win—could he? No matter what, he just upset people. That’s all the bastard could do. Resolving to somehow do better, he extended a hand to the psyc—er, he extended a hand to help Margo.

“Well, um. That’s a really interesting name. Margo? It kind of reminds me of mango, which puts me in mind of warm places and beeches and summer and stuff… paradise, I guess? Yeah…I like it. It’s really unique,” carefully helping her up, he managed a somewhat guilty smile. “I’m…really sorry. For treating you like that and bein’ insincere, I mean… That wasn’t cool… I’m just, um, honestly not the best talker and everything. I’ll try my best to let you freak out if you need to, and treat you like a normal person, okay? But you’re probably right about me not being able to help you… Like I said, I’m a pretty lame person. So, anyway… we should get going. Follow me.”

Gesturing her along, he started back to the Kelly’s to his ride. It didn’t take that long, though it seemed to take forever. Hannah was dying, he was feeling bad about that and for upsetting Margo, and it was just a crappy day. He had been upset about something before.. what was it? What had made him take off running? Huh. Jason couldn’t really remember. Every once and a while, he’d look back at Margo to be sure she was keeping pace, even though he was just speed walking with hands shoved in his pockets. Really, it was only speed walking because he was nervous and—let’s face it—he had long strides.

Finally, they came to his house and motorcycle. Taking a helmet from the garage, he handed it to the blonde dame. “Here, put this on. And make sure you hold on tight, okay? I don’t want you fallin’ off and hurting yourself. One girl in the hospital is enough for one day.” With the aid of a neurotic sigh, It didn’t take long at all for him to hop on and turn the key, listening to the engine mix with the storm as he waited for Margo to get on behind him. “You all set?” He asked, getting ready to push off and roll to the hospital. Someone had to be there for Hannah, even if she just chucked shit at him and shooed him out later. He’d be okay with that—really—as it would mean she’d be okay. “Okay—remember to hold on.”

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Character Portrait: Jason Meth Character Portrait: Margo Greene
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"I have a nickname too, if you prefer that over Margo...it's Mo." She said. The blonde accepted his apology and followed him to his motorcycle. He walked fast with long striking strides. While hers were small and slow.

They passed houses and houses in her neighborhood, until they reached his home. A bit better then mine. She thought, as she waited for him to wheel it out of the garage. He handed her a helmet, it was black and shiny. She slipped it on and adjusted to her head. She watched as he started it up. The engine rumbled to life like a wild beast. He sat down and she did too. She nodded at him, and listened to his instructions. The rain still falling lighted up just as about they were going to take off. She looked up in the sky and watched as the dark grey clouds started moving.

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