~JORDAN PATRICK~ Not a man of ice but a creation of flames; he is bound to only destruction as his form of expression. Aiming his fists and using his tongue as a weapon is the only way of life Jordan knows. Day in and day out anger swarms within him...
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'The more you look the more you start to notice things about them. That then means you can start to feel. And that shit is dangerous' - Agression
~
Lunch in this place has got to be worser than prison food. Well, I actually could be wrong with that statement. Nowadays crimminals seem to get treated better than the homeless as they bask in their 5-star rated prison cells.
I personally still believe in the death penalty. You take someone's rights away then your rights should get revoked too. It's only far.
By prison food I mean a plastic looking cheese sandwich with white bread that looks paler than my mother's wallpaper.
A red apple that probably is smaller than my entire fist and I dare not even begin to wonder if they have washed it or not. And finally a simple bottle of Evian natural spring water that tastes as natural as piss. Refreshing!
Honestly I'm better off not eating at all.
As I prod my finger at the monstrosity of a sandwich, I glance around the canteen. I always sit at the far back in the right hand corner so I can watch everything play out in front of me.
Patients also tend not to sit at the back and I'm starting to wonder if it's down to the fact that if patients come within five meters of me I'm scowling so ferociously that they have no choice other than to piss off. It's funny actually.
The sun is sadly out today so I'm guessing that's mostly where everyone has gone. Outside. I've never understood why people like to eat outside in the sun.
Water bottles grow warm, fruit turns mushy, and sandwiches end up tasting like dried out toasties. Not to mention the fucking wasps.
They are bloody lethal. I swear it's their life mission to entice fear into all that moves. The worst part is they don't die after stinging you; they can just go on forever.
Then there are ants.
Do. Not. Even. Get me started on them.
"I'm sitting with you," A tray gets slammed onto the table and my body jolts before my brain can even process what's going on. I'd recognise that voice anywhere.
I can already feel rage beigining to simmer within me at the thought of her. I'm just praying this is some sorted of twisted joke. One that I can punch Caden for later.
Raising my head I force myself to breathe.
Ivy.
In all her golden glory.
Golden hair that flows in controlled curls over her shoulders that covers small slivers of her collarbone. I have the urge to push the hair back so I can see more of her skin.
Hair that would look too good wrapped around my fist. A button down sun dress completed with a Roman floral print pattern, that holds on tight to her hips accenuating their full shape and I have to physically squeeze my hands tight to stop myself from grabbing them.
