Juvenile arrived after parting ways with the Italian to see that he'd already gotten a roommate. Much to his extreme displeasure, of course, considering he hated to share. Shaking his head, the boy decided that as long as the girl didn't try to talk to him or anything, touch his s**t, he'd be fine. Yawning softly, the ex-Cocaine addict strolled to the pristine white bathroom, as he'd marked on the magical notepad, and turned on the shower. Allowing the room to fill with steam, he removed the offending clothing articles and stepped inside, becoming swallowed up by the powerful force of the shower. He closed his eyes, lost in meaningless thought. To be honest, there surprisingly wasn't much clouding the boy's mind. Of course, it was because he simply knew nothing yet. Oh, the beauty of ignorance. If only Juvenile was aware that his brother and friends, who hated him so, were attending this same school. Oh the torture that would occur as soon as he found out... Blinking out of distraction, Juvenile realized he'd been standing in the shower for quite sometime. He turned off the shower and dried off, changed into a simple pair of basketball shorts and plaid boxers, and fell asleep the moment his head hit the couch, a spot he was used to.
When he awoke in the morning, the sun was no where to be seen through those thick black curtains he'd added
A nose bleed from the guilty-geared boy, he awoke with such. Blood staining the couch and pillow, he rushed to the bathroom, clutching his nose and trying to avoid getting more blood on his clothes. Juvenile nearly knocked down the door in trying to get there, and when he did, it only got worse as the urge to vomit came along again. Two weeks sober and it only seemed to get worse. Holding the sink and the food in his stomach, he let the blood flow freely from his nose, eyes clenched shut. Shaking. Thankfully, no one was awake to see him stumble. He turned on the sink, verge of crying strong, and watched the water turn from deep red to a tinted rose to clear, indicating the user spell was done. He was getting better. Usually the nosebleeds lasted fifteen minutes and he spent at least five of those minutes throwing up. No one knew this about him, this struggle of his. No one needed to know the weakest part of him.
Straightening himself up, vowing to clean up the blood later, Juvenile shed his dirty clothes and turned on the water, letting it steam before he stepped in. All he could think about was the slight irony of the situations. All this time spent making people's nightmares seemingly real, and, this happens to him after a few days. Such a terrible shame, a cruel joke. After turning off the water and wrapping a towel around his waist, he made his way into the bedroom, where his bed lay. Made and unused, whereas the one beside it was occupied. He tiptoed quietly to the closet and picked out a white, sleeveless shirt with the neck cut low and a symbolic explosion of purple, black and pink 'birds'. After pulling that on, as well as black pants with three belts and two chains, he left the room to acquire a sponge and bucket via the pad to clean the blood from the couch. Normal people would order a new couch.
But, who said Juvenile was normal? There he was. On his knees, scrubbing the couch to make it look clean.
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