I Want To Paint Your Lips

Chapter 7

“You can’t be serious.” Tyler slammed both his hands down on the table, glaring into Evan’s eyes. The Asian man continued to sip his drink as his friend angrily sat across from him. “I will not let you be in charge of Jonathon anymore, he’s completely unpredictable! He shouldn’t even be below 9.5 at this point. Evan, you cannot be in there alone with him every day!”

Bryce shifted in his seat beside Evan, having met Tyler a few days earlier. “He knows what he’s doing, Tyler,” the blonde said timidly, wanting to stand up for his friend but a slight bit intimidated by the other man’s fury.

“No,” Tyler growled, “he doesn’t, because he’s still sitting around spoon-feeding a psychotic lunatic who is bound to be painting the walls with this dick’s blood tomorrow. You’re insane, you know that?”

Evan shrugged. “That’s what I get from taking care of Delirious,” he admitted, not agreeing or disagreeing to his angry friend.

Daithi strode up to the table, taking a seat beside Tyler with what seemed to be a permanently disapproving frown set in his lips. “I have to agree with Tyler here, Ev. Delirious is just too far gone now,” he muttered, his accent thick in his quiet voice. Evan leant back in his chair.

His friends had been butchering him since the incident all yesterday and from the moment he’d gotten to the building at eight thirty that morning. His morning visit to Delirious was at ten and he had come early to finish of his incomplete assignment, only to be bombarded by his co-workers and friends.

He let out a soft sigh, placing his pencil down. “It may not look like it, but I know what I’m doing guys. I know Jonathon better than anyone and I know he won’t hurt me.” Tyler groaned loudly, Daithi sighed and Bryce offered a weak smile. Not even he looked very confident. “Just trust me.”

The moment Delirious woke, stiff as usual, he got to work. He had forty minutes until Evan would bring breakfast and not much time to get to work on his plan. It had to be perfect or he’d be getting himself and Evan in a lot of trouble. He was risking his rank here, but for him and the voices he listened to: it was one hundred percent worth it.

After about twenty minutes, he was wriggling his right arm out of its sleeve, putting it in under his jacket and using it to ease his other arm out. He hadn’t tried to remove his jacket in months, and now the jacket was loosened only slightly, “only slightly” was all he needed. His fingers were nimble and quick with undoing the collar around his neck and reaching up to undo the buckles that held his jacket awkwardly over his shoulders. He slipped it off, dropping it on the bench. The grin of his face reeked excitement.

He stood, slowly unfurled his body and stretched his arms up, feeling his spine pop. He bounced over to the light switches by the door, dimming them down as much as he could without it being hugely noticeable. He didn’t want Evan to instantly notice he wasn’t chained because of the brighter lights, plus they hadn’t been fixed since that bitch changed them. With nicer lighting, he happily sat himself down to the side of the door and waited, watching the clock’s big hand from across the room slowly make its way from the number 8 to the 12.

He stood and resorted to leaning against the wall as he waited and listened. After several long moments, the swipe of a card on the other side of the wall emitted a little positive beep before the door eased open. Evan stepped into the room, bag in hand, and frowned in surprise, and confusion at the empty chair. Delirious stepped up, surprisingly agile despite the amount of time since he’d used his arms. He yanked the man towards him, saying a small, “I’m sorry, Evan,” and cracking the back of the Asian man’s head against the concrete wall, sending him crumpling to the ground, out cold, before he could say “Delirious”.