Title: agree to disagree
summary: I like you because we're basically the same. BeckJade
author's note: Asdfghjkl, I knew this day would come. If you all hate this, it's because I hate BeckJade but UGH THE WRITING FAIRY HIT ME SO HARD.
Why the fuck do I keep writing stories placed in mental hospitals like Lara please just stop. This is really bad because I wrote it in like two hours and yeah.
I still hate them with all my heart.
I like my other story kissed me quite insane more so yeah.
He sees her when they're in another boring group therapy meeting. He thinks that group therapy is basically the best place to meet your next fuck.
They meet eyes, and it's that easy.
They fuck in the bathroom stall. It's good, he thinks, better than the last girl he fucked. She acts disinterested after, and lights a contraband cigarette. He coughs and warns her that it's going to kill her.
She smiles. He decides he likes it. He likes how her smile is ill fitting with her makeup, how her lips return to their usual straight line after a moment of thought.
"So," she asks while taking a drag, "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"
He chuckles, "I'm addicted to sex."
She yawns, to his disbelief, and says, "I thought you would be more interesting. Maybe it would be more interesting if I just fucked a sociopath who murdered his father. Sex addiction is just weak. Spice it up a bit next time. Carpe diem and all that shit."
She flicks her cigarette on the floor and he watches her as she adjusts her loose pants, "See you around, pretty boy."
"Wait," he calls out.
He never does this sort of thing. He's usually a fuck 'em and go sort of guy, but something peaks his interest. She turns around, which he wasn't expecting. He likes that.
"Why are you here?"
She opens the door and smirks goodbye at him.
He thinks about her while jacking off later, and it's probably the most romantic thing he can think of.
He starts to see her everywhere, which freaks him out a bit. She always seems to be alone and always at the edge of his eye, disinterested and so elusive. It's not long until he goes up to her and they end up fucking in a broom closet.
He decides he likes her, just a little bit. He likes how she wants to get out after as soon as the sex is over. He likes how she doesn't leave hickeys because she knows the doctors will question it. He even likes the scent of cigarettes on her – a bitter smell that matches her attitude.
He doesn't even realize that fucking her becomes a regular activity until she bothers to mention it.
"I pegged you for the fuck and go sort of guy," she says, "I thought we were similar in that way."
He shrugs, "I usually am that guy."
Her smirk is hypnotizing, he decides.
"I guess I'm something special," she says, cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.
"I guess I am too, if this isn't the usual for you."
She laughs harshly, before saying, "No, you're not something special, kid. I'm just fucking bored."
He doesn't feel sad or stressed out about her confession, just fucks her again with her cigarette still dangling in her mouth.
"My dad raped me," she says, out of nowhere.
It's not like they've just fucked, she just sits down next to him in the cafeteria. He looks at her weirdly, vaguely confused and freaked out.
"You asked why I was here, once," she says without the faintest trace of discomfort, "So I'm telling you. My dad abused me."
"Oh," he says.
She takes his hand and leads him to a bathroom stall, because it's much easier to fuck than talk.
Therapy would be so much more helpful if everyone just had sex, she thinks.
His doctors are all fucking idiots, he thinks. They keep saying things like: You're doing so much better. / I think you are finally getting a grasp on your problem. / Soon enough, you'll be able to have a monogamous relationship. / You have nothing to be scared about, you are doing so well.
He tells her later on, when they're fucking, and she actually laughs. It's a real kind of laugh and it tickles his belly, his insides, and he gets harder just hearing it.
They have such amazing sex that day that he constantly repeats it in his head.
She's on her period, so they just sit together in the bathroom. She's smoking a cigarette like always, and he asks her if he can take a drag. She looks surprised when he doesn't cough, but rolls her eyes when he says he used to smoke weed.
"Not bad," he says, and it grants him a smirk from her.
When they finish that cigarette, they both reach for the lighter, and their fingers brush. It's not like they haven't ever touched – that's obvious enough, but he can't help but feel like a fucking giddy girl. He blushes and she kisses him and it's nice. It's soft and surprisingly sweet, unlike any of her other kisses, and it doesn't even lead to anything else.
Except she jerks him off later, but totally doesn't count.
They're in another group therapy meeting when the leader calls on her to talk about her issues.
His head pops up. He can't help but be sort of interested. They've never talked about her dad before, and for some weird reason, he can't stop wondering about it.
She actually looks nervous for the first time before composing herself.
"I'm addicted to sex," she says in a monotone voice. "I engage in high risk sexual behavior with men who I know aren't interested in anything else. I lie constantly to people I actually can stand to be around. I didn't eat anything for three weeks because one guy said something stupid about my weight. I got put in here because my mom couldn't handle how fucked up I am."
He thinks later, when he's laying in bed, this is why I don't get attached to people.
Maybe it's a realization or something. His therapists often talk about a moment like this, when you finally reach the reason of your problem.
He feels kind of dumb when he admits it the next morning at an emergency therapy session, but he finally feels at peace.
He's packing his things when she walks into his room, looking bored like usual.
"Wanna fuck? If I have to listen to my roommate talk about her boyfriend who she totally misses for another five seconds, I think I'll stab her with the nearest object."
He breathes out slow, "No, I'm leaving."
She laughs mockingly, "Oh God. Don't say they've gotten to you. You must abstain from sexual behavior to get better."
She says it in such a way that he feels sick to his stomach. He feels like a phony, thinking he has reached fucking nirvana or something equally ridiculous.
But then he looks at her and sees a sad girl who doesn't see how pretty she is. A girl who constantly looks for someone to make her feel something. A girl who has to pretend she doesn't feel to get through the day. A girl with a mother that can't handle what she's become, and he thinks, I can't be her hero.
"No," he says confidently, "They haven't gotten to me. But they're letting me go because I don't want to be stuck here. I want to be able to see people who aren't as fucked up as me. For the first time in a long time, I want to be with someone without having to look over my shoulder to see if a therapist will be analyzing my progress."
She laughs again, and he hates how she makes him feel like he's insignificant.
"Save it, pretty boy. People like you and I can't ever get better, because there's nothing to get over. Sex is natural. All of this – the therapy, the getting better, the progress – it's all a fucking joke. And guess what. You're a joke too. You belong in a fucking chick flick."
He stuffs his last shirt in his bag and smiles, "I guess we'll have to agree to disagree."
She tries to smirk, but she can't.
As he leaves the room, he turns back to her, "You know what? I think I like you because we're basically the same."
She smirks then, and says, "Except you get to leave, and I get to stay here."
He looks at her then, like really looks at her, and he tells her, "You're going to get out of here, and when you do, I hope I get to see you again."
He leaves the hospital, and breathes in fresh air.
He does see her, months later, at his new school.
She smirks at him and says, "I guess you took my chick flick comment to heart."
He laughs until his belly hurts.