John was tired.
He was angry as well, angry at Jazz, at thestupid cast on his arm, at Kieran and Susie, and just life in general.
Luckily, it didn't take long for John to pack his things back into his bag, deciding to get changed out of the scraps of smelly materialJazz had found for him in the back of the Porsche.
He loved his car, but cleaning it up wasn't the most endearing thought.
Neither was moving off of the small, cramped bed he had been camping out on. Heknew that Jazz would probably appreciate itif he had some help with clearing his thingsup, but John felt that he was doing enough simply by letting Jazz keep all of his crap in the car.
Or, he wasn't arguing about it just yet anyway.
His brain was numb, most likely a result of the drug cocktail he had been given, and he enjoyed the feeling. Too much had happenedrecently to really think about, and he didn't want to have to think about it yet.
John wanted to be able to say that he was heroic, but that title went to Jazz - John hadn't really done much in the way of protecting Chris, and he'd gotten himself beaten to a bloody pulp, although he did have this recurring dream of staggering into Jazz's torture session and slugging Susie...
' Nah. I wouldn't do something like that.'
The loud, obnoxious growling from his stomach eventually urged him to his feet, muscles stiff and sore and protesting through the drugged haze.
John had grabbed a bag of crisps from the pantry, and was trying, in vain, to open them when he heard a loud crash and curse come from across the hallway.
Puzzled, he moved towards the noise, if just to make sure Jazz hadn't brought the roof down.
"Jazz? What was that?" When there was no answer, he nudged the door to the creepy dining room open and peered inside.
Jazz was sat slumped on the floor, looking for the entire world like he had lost the willto live.
Concern coloured his mind, and he made to move over to Jazz and ask what had happened, before his mind caught up with him and he remembered he was supposed to be angry at the other man.
Therefore, instead John marched across the room, standing between Jazz's spread-eagledlegs and crossed his arms as best he could with the cast.
"So..." He looked around the room, finding the source of the crash, "You killed the table."
Jazz nodded his head sulkily, glaring acrossthe room at the uncooperative furniture.
"Is there any particular reason you killed thetable? Or are we just destroying various innocent pieces of Susie's furniture?"
When the other man continued to remain silent, John tried to piece together what hadhappened.
It looked like Jazz had either stood on the table or landed on it, as it was caved in at the centre and lying in sections on the floor. The chairs were scattered away from it, some having fallen over onto the floor.
...And the fan on the ceiling was spinning askew.
"What the heck were you doing in here?" This time, John wanted an answer, and so he kicked Jazz with a booted foot, realising a moment too late he'd nudged the wrong spot.
In between Jazz's curses as he cradled his left ankle, John berated himself mentally and winced in sympathy, cringing backwards from the other man.
"Jeeze John. Tell me how you really feel." Jazz muttered a few minutes later, once he had effectively recovered.
"Sorry." He didn't prolong the apology, keeping the word simple but trying to sound sincere all the same.
YOU ARE READING
Relapse to Instinct
Korku"How much is that doggy in the window?" A deep, guttural growl emanated and echoedaround the cold street from the black pit of shrubbery. "The one with the waggely tail?" The doll squeaked in protest to manipulationat the exact moment as a wayward t...
