{ we`ll make the GREAT ESCAPE

[fitch tobin garrison]

This paper is gay.
This paper is gay.
This paper is gay.
This paper is gay.
This paper is gay.
This paper is gay.
This paper is gay.
This paper is gay.
This paper is gay.
This paper is gay.

The school wasn't even legitimate. Who in hell would actually type out a paper for a school that barely even existed? No one, that's who. Absolutely no one... well... besides those little suck-ups that had absolutely no life. You know the type; they're the types of people who stay after class to get on their teacher's good side, the type to beg for one extra point on their test... The total losers.

Fitch pushed himself away from his desk, simply uninterested in typing out some retarded paper for his dickwad English teacher who didn't know his left hand from his right. It seemed as if anyone could be hired as a teacher, nowadays, even convicted sex offenders... Seriously, why do you think so many teachers have sex with their students, nowadays?
Get the drift?
Even Fitch thought that he could teach his English class more than Mr. Palmer could in five times the amount of time.

The male ran a few fingers through his long, dark tresses, his lips pursed together in thought for a mere moment before he stood, walking to the kitchen of his apartment. Nothing was out of place, thanks to Fitch's slight case of OCD. Everything was either organized by size, color, or shape, and it was impossible to find a piece of clothing that wasn't folded anywhere in the male's house. Because his case wasn't severe, Fitch could always withstand from fixing something or another, but when something was either messy, out of place, or unorganized, he noticed it a little more than the rest of the population.

From the pantry, Fitch took the bag of chips in hand before taking out a small bowl from a nearby cabinet to pour the chips into. After dispensing the sour cream and onion potato chips, the male rolled down the top of the bag as far as it could go before clipping it closed and placing it back into the pantry, in the same exact spot it had been in before, next to the other snacks.

Skidding back across the hard-wood floor in his socks, Fitch took the bowl of chips, plus a napkin from the metal napkin holder so he wouldn't have to wipe away the geese on his new jeans. The napkin holder was one that Fitch's father had given him before Fitch moved away... mainly because the old man didn't want it... It's not like Jansen would use it, since his wife wasn't around, anymore.

After sitting himself down in front of his wide-screen television, Fitch brushed the imaginary dirt from his black Ralph Lauren polo. But, instead of turning the television on, the male simply laid back on the couch, his electric blue eyes searching the ceiling for... well... anything, to be honest. Reaching into his pocket, Fitch pulled out his iphone.
Nothing.
There were no missed called.
There were no text messages.
There was absolutely nothing.
How boring.

Fitch pressed the "contacts" button on his phone, scrolling down a list of people, mentally deeming them either worthy or unworthy of his time... And it's pretty predictable how the list went...

Unworthy.
Unworthy.
Unworthy.
Unworthy.
Unworthy.
Unworthy.
Unworthy.
Unworthy.
Unworthy.
Unworthy.

And then there was Aime. Hm.
With a slight shrug, the male opened up a new text message addressed to the girl.

Fitch Garrison: Hi ho. Come give me a blow? ;]

Fitch let out a slight smirk as he hit the send button, waiting for a reply.




((Sorry. Way crappy. xD.))

[aime holden mcgilvray]

"GET OUT. GET OUT. GET THE FUCK OUT." She didn't have to tell Aime twice, fucking twat. Grabbing her jacket off the hanger she stalked out of the condo slamming the door behind her for effect. The last time Aime and her mum actually got on without trying to kill each other was when Aime was five years old and didn't know there was the option of speaking for herself. Since she had discovered that possibility her mother and her had never been able to hold a decent conversation without it turning into a screaming match. Her younger sister and dad were used to Alice telling Aime to get out and listening to Aime slamming the door behind her. At this point as far as they were concerned the only thing Aime was good at was fighting with Alice and walking out.

Throwing her pleather jacket over her shoulders Aime slipped her arms into the holes and pulled it around her body. She loved that jacket almost as much as she loved life. It was bright yellow, and looked identical to the one Uma Thurman wore in Kill Bill. It made her feel badass when she wore it. Of course she'd always get the odd ignorant prick who'd make a snide comment about how she was so 'passionate about no animal cruelty and yet she wore a leather jacket'. People were retarded, it didn't even look like real leather. She shook with anger still slightly at the thought of more arguments. Half the time her mum and her fought, it was for no reason at all. The reasons were petty and stupid, which only enraged Aime more because she hated petty arguments, but they were unavoidable... Especially when Alice McGilvray was involved.

Digging her hand into the pocket of her jeans she pulled out her iPod and flipped the cover open pushing down on the play button watching the screen light up. Scrolling through her song list she put on some Queen before tucking the earbuds in her ears. 'I want to break free' was Aime's unspoken theme song. Whenever she was 'kicked out of the house' she put that song on and everything was made better again. Shoving the iPod back into her pocket she fished through the other pocket pulling out a disheveled looking pack of cigarettes, the very same pack that was the culprit of the latest fight. Apparently 'occasionally smoking' wasn't acceptable. Whatever go take another pineapple and shove it up your ass Hitler. Pulling a smoke out of the pack she set it between her lips before shoving the pack back into her pocket and extracting a lighter. Slowing her pace for a moment she stopped to light the cig before lifting her head again and continuing on her way.

She needed to relax herself, get everything off her mind. No- the cigarette wasn't going to do that. Sure the majority of people used cigarettes for 'relaxing' themselves but for Aime is was just a temporary nerve reliever. Once she was finished her butt the nerves tended to kick back in. Pulling the fag out of her mouth she blew out the smoke and sighed, see... she was relaxed, for about the next three minutes, give or take a puff. Her flats scuffed along the pavement of the sidewalk as she aimlessly wandered. She was trying to think of somewhere she'd be able to get her fascist leader off her mind... The pocket of her jeans vibrated sending shivers down her thighs. She dug into the pocket and pulled out her slider, opening the phone it read: 1 new message from Fitch my Bitch. She hit the top left button and opened the message Hi ho. Come give me a blow? ;] Aime laughed out loud, took another drag of her cig and switched routes that she was walking.

Coincidentally enough his house was only like a five or six minute walk from her house. Or maybe fate had just picked it to be that way. She took another steady drag as she walked along watching the scenery go by. Finally she stopped at a familiar driveway... My mouth isn't that small babe. She hit send before shoving the phone back in her pocket as she headed up the driveway. She sat down and politely finished off her cigarette on his steps. Hopefully he'd be home, but she'd know if his door was unlocked. Taking one more slow drag on the cig she finally put it out on the cement of the step before tucking it back into her pocket. C'mon, she'd throw it out. Do you really think she'd leave it to rot in nature? Please. Standing up she instinctively wiped her ass off before turning to face the door. Bending down one more time she grabbed a pebble and moved around to face his front window.

She whipped it haphazardly at his window before moving forwards so she could see through it into his living room. "Romeo, Romeo where the fuck are you, Romeo? Something, something... open your fucking window I'm not swiping shit." Aime leaned against the window pane looking over her shoulder into his house waiting for him. If she swiped to get into his house her mum would know where she was, would want to know why she was there and then the government would be up their asses about a boy and a girl being alone together. Fuck heads.

[fitch tobin garrison]

Now, although Fitch was placed in the government-run town for protection, neither of his parents lived with him. Why, you ask? Well, neither of his parents could stand him, to be blunt. His mother found him as annoying as her husband, and his father couldn't stand his snide remarks that came every minute, on the minute. When Fitch was ten, his mother moved away from him and his father, and until his eighteenth birthday, Jansen, Fitch's father, had to put up with him. So, once the whole government-run town idea popped out of nowhere, Fitch was on the first flight to Talbott... alone.

As Fitch's phone let out a high pitched chime, he reached over to the coffee table, blindly feeling around for the small device. Once the tips of his fingers felt the smoothness of the touchscreen, the boy picked it up, bringing the phone so it was mere inches away from his face.

Aime Ho McGilvary: My mouth isn't that small babe.

The male let out a slight snicker. Did that make any sense? Either way, Fitch took a few seconds to type out a reply, obviously coming to the defense of his "little" friend.

Fitch Garrison: Your mouth must take up two thirds of your face, then... Not as big as your loose, gaping vagina, but close enough. =D

After pressing send, Fitch put the phone back upon the coffee table before reaching for a potato chip, popping it into his mouth. After chewing and swallowing, he heard something at his window... something that sounded like.. Shakespeare? The boy rolled off his couch to make his way to the window, only to see Aime... in a really... weird... bright yellow... jacket, "What the fuck are you wearing?" Fitch said through the window pane, raising a single, dark eyebrow, "Take it off..." The boy thought for a moment, both of his brows lowering and his lips curling up into a slight smirk, "And dance while you're doing it... just because..." Fitch pulled a chair over to the window, seating himself. "We both know you're good at strip teasing," he said, referring to Aime's job.

Fitch placed one ankle over his other knee comfortably, leaning back in his seat, "Dance, bitch, dance," the male's smirk only widened as he reached forward, locking the window before leaning forward to press his nose against the pane, teasingly.

Fitch always had an... odd sense of humor. Either he was immaturely talking about sex and intimacy, or he had a more sarcastic, cruel sort of humor that he used most of the time around a more broad-range of people. The boy had little pity for others when he jokingly poured their cup of boiling coffee on their head, or when he led people on that he knew he would never ever sex up.

"Let's see it, ho, we don't have all day," Fitch's smirk could only widen as he let out a loud wolf-whistle that was followed by a soft snicker, "If you want, I can even shove some money into your thong, you know, so you can pay your way through med school..."

[aime holden mcgilvray]

Aime carelessly flipped up her middle finger and pressed it up against the glass. Half the time she didn't know why she hung around Fitch, okay she did but it wasn't really that good of a reason. Still, he was a dick, as big as they came and despite the fact she had once left a bruise on his jaw- he still found it hilarious to comment on her gender, pussy, and employment. But he was a typical teenage boy, so you had to forgive him on some level. Aime however learned to roll with the punches and knew how to put up her own Rocky Balboa fight. Suddenly her pants vibrated again and she dropped her finger to grab the phone. Sliding it open she looked over his message, she rolled her eyes and turned away so he couldn't see her writing her response.

I believe that if my vagina is loose and gaping I'd look like you faggot. She slid the phone closed shoved it in her pocket and turned back around to face him. At this point he had made himself comfortable at the window, one leg crossed over the other. She was waiting for his mouth to drop to the floor and his eyes bug out a la Jim Carrey in the Mask. But alas she wasn't pleased when he instead leaned forwards, locked the window and proceeded to lean against the pane tauntingly at her. "Let's see it, ho, we don't have all day," He disgusted her, he really did. And yet she put up with him? Why? Because he was Harding's best friend. This guy was a bigger twat then the school's queen bee Van Ness or whatever. Her name and face both reminded Aime of the Loch Ness Monster and that was all she could think of when someone said Ain's name.

He whistled and cheered from behind the glass and she crossed her arms staring at him with one eyebrow cocked. "If you want, I can even shove some money into your thong, you know, so you can pay your way through med school..." Why did people make this guy think he was the shit again? Oh yeah, cos he had a nice cock. Christ almighty she wanted to sack him. Whatever, what an asshole. She wasn't taking her clothes off on his front lawn that was for goddamn sure. Aime unfolded her arms and stepped forwards unzipping her jacket as she went. Grabbing the hem of her white tang top she pulled it up slowly as she took another step towards him making her breasts all but press up against the glass like his nose. There had been clearly no bra to lift, and it was obviously cold out with her pert nipples singing to the sky. She rolled her eyes, sighed and dropped her shirt again.

Did that make her a slut? No. She wasn't, it made her comfortable with her body. That's what she told herself. Besides it wasn't like she slept with just anyone. She had personal rules she had to follow, Fitch was probably the only exception seeing at the first time they had, had sex was when she was seven thousand sheets to the wind. Damn Harding and his challenges. And it wasn't Aime's fault that by her twelfth shot she wasn't puking but taking off all her clothes. She could vaguely remember being dragged upstairs to someone's bedroom where Fitch 'attacked her' as she likes to so bluntly put it. Unfortunately for him it's not rape if you enjoy it...and come back for more like a week later. Asshole, it all went to his head. Everything did though, and if everything wasn't going to his top head, every girl was going to his bottom head. One thing Aime's mouth would refuse to wrap around, no matter how much he asked.

"If you make this a code thing to get into your house I'm seeking dick elsewhere. Horny fucking tomcat, now open the goddamn window before I break it and make the chickens show up. Then we'll see who's smirking." She slung a thumb through her jeans belt loop and rocked on the balls of her feet waiting for the entrance to open up. At this rate he definitely wasn't getting any, the only thing she'd be dishing out would be punches to put him in his place. Arrogant son of a bitch. And this is why Aime did not date, because she knew all guys were just like Fitch deep down inside them somewhere.

[fitch tobin garrison]

Fitch's smirk merely widened as Aime rose her middle finger towards him, "You're going to need more fingers than that to fill that massive vagina of yours" The boy's smile only widened as she turned away to do... something... even though Fitch found out that that "something" was texting him. As his phone made that familiar chime, the boy let out a slight sigh, seeing how he was somewhat annoyed that he had to get up from his... reasonably comfortable seat. Sliding out of his seat, Fitch walked over to the coffee table, snatching up his phone to see the crude message Aime had sent him.

Aime Ho McGilvary: I believe that if my vagina is loose and gaping I'd look like you faggot.

Fitch's smile only widened as he read the message, laughing slightly to himself as he quickly used the touch-screen keyboard to type out a reply.

Fitch Garrison: My vagina's only loose and gaping because I pleasure myself many, MANY times a day. ;]

Pressing send, Fitch walked back to the window, shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. The boy turned the seat which he was sitting in around before settling himself so he was still facing the window. As soon as the boy looked back to the window, he was just in time to see Aime lift up her shirt and press her breasts up against the window. As she did so, the male's smile faded to his normal, smug type of smirk, as if his ego was just fed.

"If you make this a code thing to get into your house I'm seeking dick elsewhere. Horny fucking tomcat, now open the goddamn window before I break it and make the chickens show up. Then we'll see who's smirking."

"Don't worry, next time, all you have to do is bring booze," Reaching forward, Fitch unlocked the window and opened it up so Aime could climb in... before walking back to the couch to grab a handful of chips, eating each one by one, as to not make crumbs scatter all over the floor of the living room, "Anyway, good show. I really expected you to only take off your jacket, like I asked, maybe spin it around your head a few times... but brava. You get a five star review." Fitch let out an amused scoff as he pulled the chair by the window back to its regular position: right by his desk, since it was bugging him, somewhat.

"I'm getting some vodka, want some? I won't take advantage of you, this time," Fitch made his way to the kitchen, once again, not even waiting for Aime's answer before pulling out two tall glasses, made more for red wine than for vodka, but they worked, either way. He pulled a tall bottle of strawberry-flavored vodka from the refrigerator, filling each glass to the brim. To make sure that none would spill while he was walking, the boy took one to two sips out of each after putting the tall bottle away. "Here," Fitch shoved one of the glasses to Aime's chest, purposely brushing the girl's breast with the back of his left hand.

"How's life?" He asked as he sat down on the couch, stretching out his legs to set them on the coffee table, "Probably not as interesting as mine, but you can tell me, anyway."

[aime holden mcgilvray]

Things were starting to appear that even him being Jax's best guy friend weren't going to help his case. Breathe and respond. That was her mantra. Aime closed her eyes inhaled, opened them and turned her bright blue eyes on him. "Of course, you say that as though I didn't know I had to fist to get some sort of response." She smirked at him and her reflection. Her pants vibrated again and she sent a pointed look at him before pulling the phone out of her pocket and checking the text. She scrunched up her nose in distaste at his comment before responding. Yeah, to mental pictures of Mr. Taylor. Yum, saggy dick. She shoved the phone back into her pocket and recrossed her arms waiting for him to open the freaking window.

Of course she'd have to bring the booze next time, because she really wanted to give him an excuse to get her mouth around his dick. He finally unlatched the window and slid it up to let her in and then turned around leaving her. She grabbed the sill and threw one leg in, straddling the window for a moment before heaving herself the rest of the way through. Before closing the window she stuck her head out and looked around carefully for any nosey neighbours as she closed the glass pane and shut the curtains. As he commented on the fact that she hadn't needed to flash him she rolled her eyes. Likely story. He had totally wanted to see her tits he was just playing it cool now. She walked past him and launched herself onto his couch, throwing her legs up and kicking her feet up on the arm of the sofa. She sat up only long enough to pull her coat off and drop it on his floor before lying back down.

He was cracking out the vodka already, maybe she should text Jax and get him over here. Her hand itched for her phone but she threw her legs over the side of the couch and stood herself up again just as he was coming back into the room. Too late now, fuck. He handed her, more like threw, the vodka at her and she caught it carefully. "Some bartender." She scoffed mockingly before eying the size of the glass. He was definitely attempting to take advantage of her light-weightedness. His hand ran along her boob and she turned her eyes back up to look at him defiantly. Just because the offer to come here was 'come over and give me head' did not mean she was actually going to do it. Why didn't he just Manson it. She was pretty sure he was capable of those sorts of acrobatics. She had, after all, seen him on the dance floor whilst drunk.

He dropped himself onto the couch and expertly didn't drop any of his alcohol. She sighed before tentatively taking a sip of the pretty-sure-it's-40-percent-pure-alcohol-vodka and then slipped herself onto the couch close enough for comfort beside him. She took another instinctive sip just as he started talking. Damn, why'd he have to ruin the nice silence with his raspy voice? "Probably not as interesting as mine, but you can tell me, anyway." Aime laughed to herself and turned to look at him, "you a psychologist all of the sudden?" She sipped again, "sorry but I only fuck guys with real PHDs." She smirked at him before turning to look away again. How was life? She was kicked out of the house again, she had flunked that stupid science midterm thing, her job was pressuring her more then ever to actually take her clothes off all the way at work (wouldn't Fitch enjoy that) and her probation officer had dropped into town.

She was peachy. "So swell that my cilt is the size of your dick." Ten points for being punny. She leaned forwards and grabbed the remote for the tv before sitting back up and looking over the buttons for the power one. As she was contemplating the workings of the controller she looked back up at him for a second, "Got any porn? The Penetrator, I'll come again? Star Prick - the next ejaculation? The hills have thighs? Or even Sorest Rump? I'll take anything right now." She smirked all knowingly at him before tossing the remote at him. "Give me a good show, hoe."