my heart is the worst kind of weapon

[jackson sales]

Friends only, please. You know who you are.

The mall was filled with teenage girls and the elderly, and not to mention the random adults and guys staring at said teenage girls. It was a weird place to want to be, and to be frank, he didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be anywhere, but that entitled being nowhere, and Jackson knew what that meant. A dead end. Game over. Insert another quarter to continue. Only, in this case, there were no re-do's. There usually wasn't any winning, either, only losing. It was common, this losing thing, in most people. Only the amazing, like his best friend Ezra, had it all. Sure, he had drama, but with Sammii, the half-demon knew his best friend was in good hands, so to speak.

A yawn escaped the tired lips of mister Jackson Sales. He was dead on his feet, not having had a good night sleep in weeks. It also accounted for his appearance. He didn't care what clothing covered his body as of late, and it showed. His hair, normally half up in some cool mohawk, simply was just there. Nothing special, just like him. He couldn't account for this sudden depression, but he might think it would have to do with the fact he hadn't seen his practically-girlfriend (it's what Ezra called her) for over a week. He craved her like a heroin addict craved his heroin, or like a alcoholic craved alcohol. It was a horrible feeling, this feeling. Every waking moment of everyday he needed to be around her, and her not being there simply killed him. He shouldn't even be feeling that way about her, but after all but confessing his undying love for her, and vice-versa, he couldn't help but miss her in this way. He still had her scarf. He wouldn't give it back, not for a while.

Sitting in the food court, he leaned farther back into his chair, bringing his legs up to rest on the chair across from him. The traditional sunglasses covered his eyes, and the hoodies hood was up, shielding the back of his head from unwanted stares. Unwanted, of course, but he could still see the people staring at him. It bugged him, but he accepted it, because he probably looked like shit. In fact, he was sure he looked like shit, but at this point, he didn't really fucking care. Screw the people looking at him. He could always give them something to look at, but going to jail wasn't high on his list of things to do. Besides, if it ever happened, his sweet little mind pain power made for an easy escape plan. Jackson considered himself lucky with that power, but also cursed. It made him all too powerful, and being part wizard only helped it, because it gave him total control of it. Except that night...

He sighed again. He honestly didn't mean to kill Edwards. The idiot just didn't know who he was dealing with, and should have watched his mouth. Jackson was as compassionate as demons came, and he often didn't lose his cool. He did that night, however, and the stupid kid paid the price. It wasn't hard, and only took a second. Groaning softly, he shifted his position, leaning over the table. Folding his arms on the cold surface, he rested his head down on his arms, eyes closed, trying to relax. It was hard, because of the way he was feeling. He felt a small vibration in his pocket, a text message, but he ignored it. He didn't feel up to reading it. All he wanted to do was sleep, but now even that was impossible.

[ezra hart]

Christ. No one picked up their phones anymore. After having his old phone thrown out Alessandra’s bedroom window, god knew how high up that was, and searching for hours on end in the dark alleyway, he finally got a new phone. He would’ve thought that everyone would be happy to have him back in contact with them (other than meaningless hand-waving in the hallways at Winterthorne). Obviously he was wrong. Sammii hadn’t picked up, Jay hadn’t picked up, Kjara hadn’t picked up, and now Jackson wasn’t picking up. See if he answered any of their calls. What if it had been an emergency? What if...oh, Sammii or someone was dying in an elevator shaft? What then? He’d be all alone, depressed, and no one would show up to comfort him. Then again, there’d be no chance he’d let the boy fall into an elevator shaft, but hey.

God, you think there would be something fun to do. He could go anywhere in the world he wanted, see anything he wanted, do anything he wanted, and he was bored as hell. Sometimes powers did nothing. What was the use of all those classes—CYP, Battle Tactics, Basic Usage—if he couldn’t do anything remotely amusing with them? What to do, what to do... He sat on the top of a pyramid, looking around the vast desert. Well, he sure as hell wouldn’t find anything remotely fun to do here. Picking up his cell phone again, he sighed and gave a last look at the area before he popped up into the middle of Hot Topic at the mall. A girl a few feet away, obviously a non-gifted human, dropped the liquid eyeliner she was examining as her eyes went wide. Ezra snickered and headed out of the store, running a few fingers through his hair. I love doing that.

He should have been worried. His eyes should’ve been darting this way and that, afraid that at every corner someone would be waiting to jump him. He should’ve been worried about what would happen to Sammii if they found out—he should’ve been worried about telling Sammii. Sure, the werewolf had forgiven him after the first one, but hadn’t he said it was a mistake? That it would never happen again? He knew both of those weren’t true, and look what had happened: a teacher was missing at Winterthorne. Specifically, the (ex)Mythology teacher, Professor Hille. Instead, he strolled through the mall, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone he knew for the two obvious reasons: one, he was bored. Two, he’d kick their ass for not picking up their phone.

He was passing by the food court when he spotted a hunched over figure sitting at one of the tables. Wonder what his problem is... he thought to himself, striding over to one of the stores in the court. After several minutes of reminding the person behind the counter again and again of his order, he turned around, smoothie now in hand. His eyes fell on the hunched figure again. Woah—I know that bad sense of fashion! It had to be him. He hadn’t seen Jackson in a while...aside from the whole killing thing. Between Sammii, school, work, and killing, he didn’t have much time to hang out with his best friend anymore. Sipping his smoothie, he walked over and bent down a bit, trying to see what was hidden behind the sunglasses. “Jackson?” He grinned, looking at the hoodie that he had bought the boy for the holidays last year. “You look like shit.” Pulling up a chair, Ezra plopped down and grinned.

[jackson sales]

Ugh. When would the vibrations stop? Shit. Never say that aloud. Especially in front of Ezra. Come to think of it, he was probably the fucker who kept texting him. It probably was, telling him he finally got his new phone. That story made Jackson laugh for hours. Then the teasing began, which wasn't hard to do, since Ezra was so easy to make fun of. At least the demon took it well. Ha. Sometimes. Other times, he would end up with something broke, like a nose. God knows how many times Ezra had broken a bone. They really needed to make friends with people who could heal, but hospitals sucked ass.

Sighing, Jackson brought a hand down to his pocket, touching his phone. In a matter of seconds, he sent a message to his best friend, asking him what the hell he wanted. He didn't bother reading the previous message; didn't feel like it. He didn't feel like doing anything, which went against his fun-loving nature and his constant need to be occupied. He didn't feel himself. It might have had something to do with not seeing Logan. Ah, Logan. He shouldn't think of her, because it only made him feel worse in the long run. He needed to see her soon, before he exploded. Or died. Whatever happened first.

A few minutes passes, but no return message. It puzzled Jackson, because usually Ezra was on top of his game, always responding to text messages as soon as he got them. Oh well, it really didn't matter. He had a feeling that his best friend wouldn't help him feel any better anyway. Their relationship was a weird one. They constantly nagged each other, but Ezra was the protector, and he was the comforter. He did his job a lot, considering his best friend got himself into trouble more times than anyone else at the castle. It was a wonder he hadn't gotten himself kicked out.

He heard footsteps. A soft groan escaped him, because he knew who those shoes belonged to. Not wanting to look up, he stayed still for a few moments, before finally bringing his head up. "Hey, slutmuffin," he greeted, mentally smiling, because he knew how much Ezra hated that nickname. It was his fault fate had told Sammii that, because the asshole had killed him because of some popcorn dispute. Ugh, demons. He grimaced when Ezra told him the news. "Naw, really? Hadn't actually noticed." Rolling his eyes, he looked at his best friend. "Why the fuck are you here?"

[ezra hart]

As he looked his friend over, he bit his lip. Jackson really did look awful. Usually he was ready to roll, down for any action and chaos, and had enough energy to do anything their minds could think up. He couldn’t see any reason why the half-demon was so...blah. Was he still pissed over that Edwards guy? Not really much of a loss, can’t see that. No one really liked him anyway. Besides, that was a while ago. He couldn’t still be beating himself up about that. Ezra sure as hell wasn’t worried about Browland—not that he’d cared in the first place—but Jackson really needed to get over it. If that wasn’t the case, it might’ve been something with Logan. Again, something he really couldn’t see. Jackson was so head-over-heels for Logan, and she seemed pretty into him too, that there was no room for regular problems (or so he thought).

Or was he upset about Hille? That was a good enough reason. Sure, Jackson was pissed at him when he killed people (especially if it was messy), but he was overwhelmingly mad when he did it right in front of him. Not that he did that often. Then again, he couldn’t really blame him. Ezra got some sort of a sick thrill when he killed a person—especially if it was done in slow torture—but Jackson was the one who had to sit and watch. He hadn’t actually intended to kill Hille in the first place, but when she made a stupid move, attacking him, she managed to get her blindfold off. So, seeing him was the first mistake. The second was insulting his family. The third was stabbing him. As much of a conscious he tried to have, it called in sick at that and she was left, burning slowly in the chair behind her desk.

His eyes snapped back to Jackson, as they had been wandering around the food court, as he spoke. Damn that boy. Damn him to hell and back. He absolutely hated that nickname, and the other knew it. It was stupid, fucking Fate that had to go and call him that—among a multitude of other names that he wouldn’t like to be called, either—to Sammii. And Sammii, of course, had to go and tell Jackson. Jackson, the one person that would repeat that name as if it was blasphemy to call him anything else. He had just gotten over people calling him Ezzy, and now Jackson was spreading this new “nickname” around. “...You’re never going to stop that, are you?”

Ignoring the eye-rolling, he reached down to slide his cell phone out of the pocket of his jeans. He’d left it on silent; it only just now beeped to tell him that he had a text message. Flipping the phone open, he read the text message that Jackson had sent him. Well. Lifting his head, he was asked the same question again, only now verbally. “The smoothie.” He gestured to it before taking a sip. “I’m telling you, they,” Ezra nodded his head back at the cafe behind him, “make the best in the world.” He turned his phone off before putting it away again. “What about you—” he broke off, looking at the people who were watching the both of them. What were they staring at? “—and your fans?”

[jackson sales]

He sat up, taking off his sunglasses. Flinging them onto the table, he scrubbed his face, which was make-up free. It showed how lazy he was. Or how much he didn't care. Or all of the above. He really didn't care. Or maybe he did, and this was all just a ruse. Nah... Jackson yawned, surveying his surroundings. He still noticed all the people, and all the people staring at him. It was pretty fucking annoying, because there wasn't much to see. Sure, on a good day, there was, but when was it ever a good day?

He let his mind wander to the previous days events. That teacher. She didn't deserve it, but Ezra could never help himself. To be honest, it was sorta kinky, the way he did it. The blindfold made it that way, but it didn't matter, because it wasn't like she would be able to run off and tell someone what they had done. Nope, she was dead. Partly, it was her fault, because Ezra might have just left if she hadn't tried to take the blindfold off. Well, he wouldn't, but Jackson would have made him, after he made her unconscious. He tried to get him to leave before, but then she started yelling about his family, and then he stabbed her. Regardless of the situation, he couldn't help but laugh. It didn't matter. Jackson didn't kill her, Ezra did. It was all his fault.

Besides, Jackson's killings weren't as messy and dramatic as his best friends. It all came with the power, he thought. Some cool little I-can-cause-pain-in-your-head-so-bad-it-can-kill-you power came in handy when dealing with stupid people. They would never know where it came from. Sometimes he caused a little pain, like a dull throb, just to get people to shut up. He might have done it to Ezra, but he couldn't be sure. He saw his slutmuffin look over at him after he used said nickname, and couldn't help but smirk. "Don't think so. Besides, I'm the only one who can use it. Don't worry, you'll come to accept it one day."

He watched the phone appear from his pocket, yawning once more. His own phone vibrated again, and again he ignored it. It wouldn't be from Logan, so it wasn't worth answering in his opinion. He followed the movements of Ezra, before shrugging. "Was never a big fan of smoothies. Unless its raspberry, then I'm all for it." Sure, it was a soft spot, but those things taster pretty darn fantastic. And they were fun to throw on people. Like Ezra. "Ugh. I came here to get away from the castle. Don't ask about those assholes. It's getting pretty annoying."

[ezra hart]

Okay, it was a lie. He was worried. He was insanely worried. Someone had killed Alice Meyer, a past crush of his (not the usual crush, the I-can’t-believe-I-actually-know-you crush). It was a shock in itself that someone wanted her dead, but to find her...to be the first to actually see her lifeless body, the glazed-over eyes that stared blankly ahead—that was something he couldn’t deal with. It was not something he wanted to think about. Killing other people was different. Some times he didn’t know the people he was burning (other than what they had done to make him burn them), and other times he hated them so much, it didn’t matter. But Alice...he had liked her. He had liked her a lot. And having someone that was close to you just...disappear right out of your life? That was hard. I...miss her...

He watched as Jackson threw his sunglasses to the side. Lord, no make-up. What was wrong with him? Ridiculous attire, giant sunglasses, bad hair, tired expression—no wonder people had started to stare. Looking around the room, he sent silent glares to each and every person that looked their way. Some turned away, embarrassed that they’d been spotted, and others just kept on staring. Was he the new addition to their entertainment? He hoped not. Returning his gaze back to Jackson, he picked up the sunglasses and played with them mindlessly, watching the onlookers out of the corner of his eyes. Really, there wasn’t much to watch.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Soon enough, everyone will start calling me that.” Which was true. As soon as the word “Ezzy” had left Jay’s mouth, literally every person who passed him in the castle hallways yelled out to him “Hey thar, Ezzy!”, “Looking sharp today, Ezzy”, “How’s it hanging, EZZY?”—and any other variation of annoying greetings. “Yeah, well. Jay said she was the only one who could call me ‘Ezzy’ until basically every fucking freshman in the castle caught on,” he added dryly, sticking out his tongue childishly for a moment. And I don’t need that happening again.

Listening to Jackson, he made a face. “Jesus christ, raspberry?! That’s disgusting.” He should know, anyway. Many shirts were ruined by Jackson, who thought it was funny to pour smoothie all over Ezra—which it kind of was, but hey. It was messy, and it usually resulted in him having to dig through piles of shirts to find one that wasn’t stained with smoothie. “So, what’s up with you?” Taking another sip of his smoothie, he fought the urge to smirk at Jackson. “Those assholes” were actually getting to be pretty entertaining.

[jackson sales]

Somewhere deep down, Jackson knew his best friend was worried about being caught. Who wasn't? The only worry was the police, because he knew the castle administrators wouldn't do a thing. They were too worried about keeping their jobs to lift a finger on deaths. It sure made the castle a lot quieter, however. Some of those people had been pretty popular, and their friends were distraught. It made for a boring day. He thought about Logan, and wondered if she'd been close to any of the victims. He knew Ezra had, because the girl he killed had a crush on the demon. Of course Jackson knew about it, the way she acted around him, it was sick.

No, Jackson wasn't too worried. He was more worried about Ezra, wondering if he would ever get caught for his actions. He somewhat wondered what Logan would make of all this, because she knew about the other deaths, and knew he took part in one. Would she suspect him? How would she react? A swirl of questions roamed through his head, and it was starting to give the poor boy a headache. Bringing a hand up, he placed it on his forehead, eyes closed once more. Great, besides looking like shit, he felt like shit. Maybe he was getting sick or something...

Normally, Jackson hated it when people touched his sunglasses. Let alone pick them up and play with them. Opening his eyes, he watched Ezra glare at "those assholes" who thought they were some sort of freak show or something. He smirked at Ezra's statement. "I doubt that. Most everyone would be too afraid of you hurting them to call you that." It was true. Most freshman were scared of them. but thats only because the duo loved to scare them. And tease. And pick on. Seriously, it was a seniors duty to make the lives of Freshman a living hell. "Is that why you hate Freshman so much?"

He chuckled lifelessly at Ezra's reaction. "It's actually not. Better than banana." Now it was Jackson's turn to make a face. That fruit must be the fruit from hell, because it just might have been the worst thing on the face of the earth. Hands down. No questions asked. He was silent after the question, not knowing what to say. It was a good five minutes before he finally answered. "Not much."

[ezra hart]

Losing a friend was horrible. Losing a past crush was something else, for sure. But losing the current love of his life? It didn’t even compare to anything else he had felt in the past few days, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to feel it. So, he had told a tiny lie to Sammii. The Browland girl hadn’t been a mistake. Part of the reason she was dead was because of her obvious attention towards Sammii. There were other reasons, too, but he knew that was the one people were going to point out (well, the people that knew that he had killed her). And the murder thing had happened again, obviously. Ignoring the man he’d killed in New York for Kasen, he had slaughtered a teacher. A teacher. He had no idea what he’d been thinking at the time. Of course, no one really did.

He couldn’t tell Sammii. His reaction to the first death was already, horrifyingly enough, replaying in his mind. He hated that feeling—the feeling that Sammii thought of him as a cold-blooded killer. Ezra couldn’t let him know that he’d been the reason behind the recent search for a teacher to fill in for Astronomy. Who knew what the werewolf would do then? They loved each other...but, like most people around Winterthorne, Sammii was so opposed to what Ezra was doing, he wondered if his love for the werewolf would stop him from leaving. So, he was going to keep this a secret as long as he could. And he was going to get himself out of the trouble, no matter how long it took. For Sammii.

Almost snorting, he shook his head and smirked. “That’s true,” he agreed, tongue flicking across his lips quickly as he thought about it. Freshmen at Winterthorne generally stayed away from the two of them. Most of them finally got it through their thick skulls that seniors were out to terrorize and they were the main target (if not the only target for some). A few of them, though, thought it would be funny and brave to stick up for themselves and get back at the seniors. Bad, bad move. The only thing worse than insulting the seniors outright was going back for revenge. So, Ezra took it upon himself—with the help of Jackson, of course—to make the current freshmen writhe in pain whenever he could. “...well, it isn’t helping them.”

“Everything’s better than banana. I think I’ll stick to good old strawberry, though,” he replied, shaking the smoothie container teasingly before taking another sip. He went back to staring at the others behind him, waiting for the answer. Okay, this was boring as hell. There was obviously something wrong with Jackson, and if he could just spit it out he wouldn’t have to pretend to be interested in that guy’s hair over there (which was, actually, kind of interesting). Finally, a response. A bad response, but a response. Sighing, he leaned back and scowled. “So, are you going to tell me what’s really up, or do I have to go back to staring at that guy’s mohawk?”