Don't fear it //Jim Moriarty//

[11]

Your Point Of View

It was peaceful. Jim was asleep next to you, Sebastian was off god knows where doing god knows what, and it was quiet. You were glad it was finally calm. And it stayed like this for hours, until Sebastian came stumbling through the front door, drunk. And possibly high, but you didn't know that. You sighed, pulling a blanket over Jim and going out into the hallway.

"Shh, Jim's sleeping in the living room. Don't wake him up." You told Seb quietly.

"I don't care." He slurred.

"We both know that isn't true."

"He doesn't care about me, so why should I care? Not caring is so much easier... He just plays with my feelings for some kind of sick entertainment..."

"Sebastian, I'm sorry. I know you like him and-"

"Don't feel bad. I know I could never make him as happy as you do. He deserves to be happy."

You smiled at him sympathetically, and then took him by the arm. "C'mon, Seb. You're drunk. Go to sleep, yeah? I'll help you upstairs."

"Don't wanna sleep up there. Don't like it."

"Okay, well why don't you sleep down here on the sofa? I'll get you a blanket."

"Okay." He mumbled, tripping onto the sofa and just laying there. You went upstairs and pulled the blanket off his bed, then going back downstairs and putting it over him. You felt bad for him. You knew what it was like to want to be with someone and have them not want you.

"M'sorry bout what you saw earlier. I didn't want to kill him. I just... It just happened. I was scared."

"It's okay."

You sat down next to him and ran your hands through his hair gently. You wanted to comfort him. He was shaking. Nervous.

"It's not okay, it's never gonna be okay."

You didn't respond. He was drunk, and being stupid. Sebastian had killed his brother, and for some reason you didn't care. Why did you feel so scared of yourself? Your best friends were murderers, and you were perfectly fine with it. You weren't scared of them. You knew that they wouldn't hurt you.

"Y/n. Why do I fuck everything up?" Seb asked, out of the blue.

"You don't." You answered.

"I do. And Jim just fucks with my feelings all the time. He kissed me, yet when I kiss him it's different. He hates me. I know he does. I think he enjoys hurting me, y'know? I'd do anything for him, he's my best friend. And he won't do a single thing for me."

"He doesn't hate you."

"You're just telling me what I wanna hear."

"What you wanna hear is the truth."

"My brother was right. Maybe I do need help."

"What would you get help for? You can't tell them that you've killed people, they'll send you to prison."

"You're right." He sighs, running his hands through his hair.

"Do you feel bad?"

"No. I don't think I have any reason to feel bad. My parents would throw money at me to get me to fuck off, my brother was a cunt, my half brother never did anything to stop it. He knew it was happening, yet he did nothing. They all deserved it in my eyes. I have to live every single day with what my brother did to me."

"It must be hard."

"Yeah. It is. People saw my family as perfect, but behind closed doors it was anything but perfect."