[OPEN] forever unforgiven

[connor crayze sykes]

"No!" Connor sobbed, clawing at the gate for a grip as they tried dragging him through the lawn to get a medical exam. The first step of initiation. The government had finally pulled him from home. Little did he know this wasn't rehab, but a surprisingly morbid testing attempt instead. A lab, and he was nothing but a mere rat.

Fingers wrapped desperately around the bars as the arms of the staff wrapped around his thin torso, trying to pry him away. Childish perhaps, but he could care less. "F-fuck you all!" He snarled huskily, beginning to cough. He hauled himself up against the gate some, knowing better than reach the top where electricity ran through. He wasn't stupid.. But he didn't want to be here, locked up like an animal either. Not rehab... He refused to give up his addictions. Sadly, so sick and addicted, being here wouldn't get him clean. He was in the wrong place for that. But he wouldn't know. Nobody on the outside knew what this place really was. And nobody cared.

The bars hurt Connor's fingers too much, though, and his grip slipped as he was hauled backwards. The gate glanced shut, buzzing with warning and leaving Connor to curse feebly as he was forced forward towards the ominous hospital of the campus. He shook hair from his face, spitting at one of the men in agitation. But they didn't so much as even look his way. Weren't rehab facilities supposed to be friendlier? Something wasn't right about this at all. He just wanted to go curl up in bed, call Christy and tell her he loved her. He wanted to be alone...shut off from the world... the druggie teenager, the creepy kid that nobody wanted to hang out with.. Anything but here like a caged animal. Anything but needing help.

But he didn't have the strength to fight them off. He was too sick and thin, hadn't eaten in days. Whatever evaluation they wanted, he doubted it would turn out good. Not that it mattered, he preferred being so close to death. That balance, that dance with Death himself, it kept him on his toes. Kept him addicted. And addictions were the only thing he even had left to live for.

[tarquin finley ellis]

At this point, Quinn didn't have anything to live for. Everything was pale and dull and listless for him. The drugs made it easier, took the edge off. Yet it didn't change anything. He did not have any hope that he would ever leave this place, that he'd see the one person that still truely mattered. No, there isn't any hope, no reason to be alive. Except Quinn's never been the suicidal type. It does not compute in his mind. He is first and foremost a fighter, and thus he will fight to survive even if there isn't anything worth living for. It's just the way it is, it cannot be helped.

But death doesn't scare him, doesn't really factor in much at all anymore. He could fight until his last breath just because there was nothing better to do. Usually it only takes quick submission for him to back off, to no longer hold much interest. There's an odd little balance here between himself and most of the staff. He doesn't mind most of the prodding and testing; it doesn't matter. They keep it professional -- funny, that -- and all would go well. They press at his temper and he was just another time bomb that would beat down whoever had pushed the wrong buttons. Normally, they knew when to back down, give up and it was over quickly and all was back to normal. Of course there were always the first few trials and errors. Those that tried to get the jump on him and used some means to do so? Well, they got to learn that Quinn can hold grudges and it's just better to let the issue go so it become calm again. He won't learn from those punishments, either. There's no reason to hold him to any of it.

Although he was allowed out on the grounds for not beating the crap out of anyone for the last few days, it did not mean that he had any intentions of being good. Then again, there wasn't any intent for bad, either. He also had no interest in trying to get away. It wouldn't work, and it was just a big waste of time. Electricity was still a problem, add to that the height of the gate, the barbed wire... not worth it. Again, he wasn't suicidal, just tempermental and violent.

Today, he was entertained. He was leaning against a tree with a cigarette, watching the proceedings of some male getting dragged in. Yeah, he had the idea right, didn't he? Didn't just walk right in not knowing just how fucked up it could get in here. Nope, the guy had been dragged in kicking and screaming. Fitting. Quinn had to wonder if the male knew what was really going down here. Probably not, though. He took another drag, flicked ash to the ground and moved closer to the ruckus. It was always good to get acquainted with the new patients, right? See what was coming in. "Hell of an entrance." He commented evenly.

[connor crayze sykes]

Blue eyes raised to the face mathing the voice, blood starting to trickle over his lips from his nose. He couldn't reach to wipe it away now that somebody had a grip on his wrists. Instead of replying to the male, he just jerked in the grips of the others. The guy was attractive, that was for sure, and a change in face compared to the staff so far. Then the grips vanished. "You have a check up in an hour," Somebody said.
Without the sudden support on his sick body now exhausted from fighting them off, Connor nearly collapsed. He staggered before finding his balance, and lifted a scarred arm to swipe the blood from his nose and lips. The faint trickle had already stopped.

Nose bleeds weren't anything new, snorting had its downfalls. But so did his constant needle use, with how paralyzed his right lower arm now was compared to his left. "Yeah, s-some entrance," He mumbled bitterly, body trembling. He knew better than to say he was safe from collapsing or passing out. Wiping his arm on his dark shirt, he looked around warily, fingers tapping on his hips. Jittery and uneasy and without a way to get a fix. And here he was standing like a fool with everybody who had seen his little act staring, as if he were a new zoo attraction to gawk at. Connor turned and flipped off the few lingering teenagers. He flipped them the bird. "F-fuck off, yeah?"

[tarquin finley ellis]

He watched without any real interest in the matters -- not his fight, afterall -- as the male tried to jerk away from the staff gripping him. But the guy was inside the gates now, and there wasn't a reason to keep dragging him, was there? At leaset not for the moment. They'd need to check him in all good and proper that he had indeed arrived first and then get to it. So the staff had let go, spoken, left. Quinn said nothing in these minutes, did not even try to help the male find balance. Not his problem, didn't mean anything to him.

Guy looked to be in bad shape already, which was not going to be at all pleasent for him once the doctors actually started in at him. Not that it ever was, but being weaker at first made some of the testing more lethal to a worn body. Catching the comment, he smiled faintly. "Some just walk right in, having no clue..." There's a snarky little huff of breath made after the words. Quinn had walked in calmly enough. Filled with a certain seething hate at his father, the clan. Yet he still hadn't realized just what was about to happen.

Noting the way the male had the jitters, the others staring at him and the guy's response to that, a few things clicked about the male. "Cigarette?" He offered, pulling the pack out and holding it open so the guy could take one if he wanted. It was probably the nicest thing Quinn was going to do, but considering the shape of the male, and the fact that he'd just been thrown into the lion's den; a moment of stress relieving smoking might make it a little bit easier.

[connor crayze sykes]

Connor had scoffed faintly at the comment about some people just walking right in. To rehab? Yeah right. What threw him off more was the offer of a cigarette. Weren't they banned..? What the hell was this place? Yet Connor decided not to question a perfectly good offer and took one with trembling fingers before pullig a lighter from his pocket and lighting up. He could care less that he was underage by a year, had been smoking at least two. Leaning back against the wall so his legs wouldn't give out, he eyed the male quietly in an appraising manner, though no spoken thanks was given. Connor was used to taking and giving in silent exchange. It came with dealing drugs and dealing sex on the streets.

He shifted his weight, glaring at somebody still deciding to gawk. He was almost tempted to go and punch their lights out for it, had he had the strength. Coughing faintly, he cleared his throat before bringing the cigarette back to his lips again, drawing in and letting out a slow breath, his bony shoulders relaxing. Fingers traced up his opposite scarred arm, trying to relax. But whatever this hellhole was, he doubted he could relax for long.

[tarquin finley ellis]

Quinn would probably start laughing at the idea of this being rehab had he heard it, but that wasn't so. It was amusing to see the reaction to the cigarette, though. When the guy took one, he put the pack back in his pocket. Quinn wasn't old enough to buy his own cigarettes, but it hadn't stopped him from getting them. Being underage did not stop him from a lot of things. He doubted the staff was going to care too much about the smoking, though he was sure there'd be a few sticklers in the lot. Seemed rather pointless to fuss over that type of health when what they were doing to patients was much worse.

He doesn't wait for any kind of thanks; he'd have ignored anything verbal in that way as it was. Don't make a random, very rare act of kindness awkward. That sort of thing wasn't cool. Accept or don't and move on. Thankfully, that's precisely how it went. Quinn was thoughtful as he looked at the male, glancing idly around for a moment, then back. "I wonder what kind of freak they'll turn you into." It was said bluntly, but there wasn't room to consider anything else. "Not that I suspect you could survive three rounds with a fruit fly right now, so maybe I should wonder on if you'll even live through what they'll do..." Oh, wasn't Quinn just a fun brand of cheerful today?

[connor crayze sykes]

Connor sneered at him in agitation to hide both his confusion and startle. He supposed all good looks came with bad attitudes. "Y-you can go fuck yourself, too," He muttered. He didn't need contacts or friends. He knew he was close to death. It came with being terminally ill and still putting toxins into your body without a care. Rubbing at his face he pushed away from the wall. "Don't n-need nobody giving a sh-shit." And yet a faint trace of loneliness lingered in his voice, in his tired blue eyes. His body hurt but he wouldn't admit to his father taking advantage of him before being dragged in here.

Limping only yards away, he collapsed. The cigarette dropped from his lips to the grass as he coughed, gagging. There wasn't anything in his stomach though, he couldn't remember when he had last eaten. Connor didn't bother raising his head, didn't want to see anyone staring at him. He'd always been the freak, the joke. It was nothing new.

[tarquin finley ellis]

He raised an eyebrow at the sneer, then chuckled lightly at the words and shrugged. There was no response to that, not a bat of an eye, even. He just sort of watched the guy, hearing the words and rolling his eyes a little. "Probably for the best, because no one probably will. You're just a labrat now, like the rest of us." No venom in the words, just calm acceptance of what was. Quinn didn't do friends. Just people he'd let hang around once in awhile. As far as it needed to go, in his opinion. People he might not beat up for the smallest of slights. He did not feel any overwhelming need to 'connect' to anyone here. Fuck that shit.

His gaze followed the male's movements, the way the guy collapsed. The state he was in only proceeded to attract some attention; a few patients inching closer, circling like vultures. He snorted and walked over, giving them a glare. "Oh go fly a kite, he doesn't have anything to steal." He snarled. Who knew, maybe he could get a fight out of one of them. But no, they backed off. Pathetic. He debated just leaving the guy there at this point, but there was a sort of 'lostpuppy' look to the male, and what could Quinn say? He missed his actual puppy. "If you can get up, I'll show you to the dining hall. You should probably eat something." Bland words, but Quinn had nothing better to do.

[connor crayze sykes]

Connor scowled. He didn't need any help.. Didn't care about anybody anymore if it meant he wasn't getting hurt. "Eat? R-right." Back home his father rarely had anything to eat in the house. And the. connor had started starving himself, food not sitting well with how sick he was. He got tired of spending his nights sick over the toulet. And if starvation killed him? Well darn. He could care less. Sitting up, he grabbed the cigarette and held it in his teeth as he got unsteadily to his feet. Finding his balance, he shook hair from his face, stalking towards that et again staring male and shoving him backwards before throwing a punch.

Satisfied when the guy spat profanities and backed off, Connor crossed his arms, slinking away towards the building he could only guess was the dining hall. He at least needed water, that was for sure.

[tarquin finley ellis]

He was silent, considering everything going on right now. Nothing really to do about this, and this was as far as he was willing to go out of his way. Anything else and that was too much. Honestly, even this was. Must be one of his good days. Good mood and all that. Quinn looked at the guy as he finally sat up, grabbed the cigarette and got up. He made no move save from turning his head to watch the male stalk off, shove another guy and throw a punch. Interesting. Then the male was going off to a building, and Quinn figured that was his que to find something else to do.

Yawning a little, he tossed the butt of his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it before moving away to a different building. That little scene had been entertaining, but he wasn't going to trail the male around. Not his business. Plus, he had some other things to do. Maybe hit the gym for a little while until one of the staff pulled him to do one of their little tests.

[connor crayze sykes]

Connor wandered into the dining hall and looked around uneasily. He finally got himself a water, walking slowly towards the exit so he could go sit outside. But a bag over a staff's shoulder caught his attention and he bumped into them, seemingly accidentally.
Fingers curled around a bottle and a bag and he smirked, stammering apology as the things slipped into his own pockets.

He was quick to make his way from the dining hall, sneaking around the corner to pull out what he had pocketed. The powder in the bag was labeled 'confiscated' a needle lying in the white content and he mentally praised whatever was out there. And OxyCodon pills. So they must have done drug rounds. Pick pocketing would become a great profession he could only imagine. Now to get his fix.

Connor started towards an emptier building, running his finger along the burn he had just put in his hand from the butt of the cigarette before tossing it away. He looked up once he stepped foot into the gym, and mentally groaned. "I'm n-not stalking you, believe m-m-me." He tried discreetly slipping the things back into his pocket, turning to leave. He would have to find somewhere else. Maybe a bathroom.

[tarquin finley ellis]

At least the gym was pretty much empty when he got there. Just one other person there, but it didn't take long for the guy to clear out. They'd had a tussle once, and it didn't look like the guy wanted a repeat performance. Quinn wasn't in a temper just now, though it wasn't as if the guy knew that. Probably for the best though. No reason to stir shit up just this moment, not when he was being so damn pleasent. With the gym now empty, he moved to a matted spot and started some slow stretches; liking the peace and quiet he had. Might as well savor it, since he didn't know when it would be interrupted.

Which was, of course, only about five minutes before he was interrupted. He paused in stretching, relaxing back as he heard the words, nodding once. His gaze flickered to the baggie and bottle the male tried to hide away; a wry smirk curling over his lips. "Just looking for a non-crowded place to shoot up? Well go ahead, no one's stopping you." He responded evenly, unbothered about any of it. Didn't seem to be any of his drugs of choice, so he wasn't going to try for some. Plus, he had his own stash hidden away. Just in case. But if the staff did by chance find it, he knew Ace would find a way to get more, so he wasn't too worried.

[connor crayze sykes]

Connor hesitated, eyeing him. Was it worth it? It surely wasn't Connor's own preference. No, he was addicted to far stronger. But it would be enough to get him through the next while. He was so desperate that it probably showed on his face. Letting the door close again, he wandered towards the corner of the gym. Connor had nothing left but his drugs at this point. It was his only escape.

He slid down in a corner of the room quietly, barely caring the guy was there now. Trembling fingers worked off the lid of the bottle, his paralyzed right fingers adding to the difficulty. Connor couldn't have even cared about an overdose at this point, tapped three pills into his palm and swallowed them down. He fished around for his lighter to melt what was in the bag and fill the needle, smacking his inner right arm until the veins stood out and he was able to make an injection. Desperate, lost and alone. And nearly too far gone to save.

[tarquin finley ellis]

He just looked back as it was the most normal thing in the world to be discussing here, noting the look on the guy's face and knowing what it felt like, to be addicted. He understood, and knew it wouldn't take much for the male to just go for it. Which was exactly what the male seemed to do. And thus, Quinn went back to his stretching, not paying much attention to the guy or what he was doing. No need to be watching, it was nothing Quinn hadn't seen before. Honestly, he probably couldn't count how many times he'd found Alex doing something like this at Manson. Nothing new, not at all.

Finishing up with the stretching, he moved a bit to work out any kinks left, then went into some capoeria moves. It was one of the styles he was best at, and his second favorite. He was damn good at it already, though there were a few flaws in what he was doing now, but he went on as if it wasn't so -- no one here would even be able to tell anyway -- and he was a little worn from the things they did to him here. All the testing and such. But he wouldn't give up his martial arts. No way. It was one of the very few things he even had left that mattered at all to him. He wasn't going to lose the skills. He depended on them, and for far more then fighting.

[connor crayze sykes]

Connor let out a shaky breath, rubbing at his arm slowly. He looked up at the guy curiously a moment, suddenly wishing he had meth on him instead. He would have to find somebody to get him his fixes until he could figure it out himself. He melted and filled the needle again. What if he overdosed righ here? Nobody would care. He jammed the needle back into his arm, clenching his fist so he could see the vein again. Eyes finally closed and he rested his head back against the wall, his lips parted with his shallow breaths. He would have seemed dead if it weren't for his occasional coughs or wheezing breaths. But he was starting to feel numb to the world, not so emotional and not so close to withdrawal. And that's all that matttered... Right...?