A.N. I love these "past lives/ABSOLUTE!AU" JosiexJojo drabbles x)
He frowned at her across the table. When that didn't get her to laugh he started pulling faces at her. Eventually she had to stifle her giggles behind her hand.
"So tell me about this 'Jojo' the woman in the glasses asked.
"Well, he's got green eyes, pale skin and a mohawk," she responded to the woman while trying her best not to laugh as he pulled more amusing faces. He focused his attention now and again on the smartly dressed woman but she didn't even seem fazed by his antics.
The woman nodded, joting little things into the file open before her on the table. "Any reason for the mohawk? You don't seem like the type of girl to be into that whole 'punk culture'."
"Its what makes him original," she replied. "He's known mostly as Jojo but I like to call him Joseph. He says he doesn't mind because so few people use his full name that it feels like its my special name for him."
"Mmhmmm...And what does he call you?"
"Joey," she smiled over at him when he shot her a face-splitting grin. "He's always looked after me, especially...you know...when my Dad..." she trailed off, looking down at the table. Silently, he reached across the table and placed his hand over her's. He wore intricate and gothic rings on his fingers and they felt cool on her skin. He shot her another smile, this one more sympathetic than silly.
The woman wrote down more notes and then closed the folder. After pushing her glasses further up her sharp nose she folded her hands atop the file and looked directly at her. "That'll be all for now, Josie. You can go back to your room now."
She nodded her goodbye and stood up. Carefully she made her way back to her room. He trotted up to her side and she had to look up at him to see his face. "I don't understand why she just doesn't talk to you," she told him.
He grinned once more and rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe she just doesn't like the whole 'punk culture' thing," he replied. His voice was distinctly Irish. All the years she had known him he never lost the vibrant accent. "Anyway, she's here to help you, not me," he added, bumping his arm against her's. She nearly tripped but his strong arms caught her and righted her back on her feet.
She didn't like her room. It was too bare. Too white. It was practically clinical. He often commented on how someone could perform surgery in her room. The bed was uncomfortable and the sheets were thin, but she sat down on it anyway and looked at the high window. "I don't need helping," she said and looked over at him when he sat next to her. "I have you."
He would be with her forever. He'd promised her that. He had been unable to protect her from her father's actions, but after each time he would find her in her room and wrap his strong arms around her and hold her until the pain went away. He said he'd never leave her. She trusted him completely. She knew she would do anything he asked of her. When he told her that the only way she'd be truly safe and with him forever was if she killed her father, she did.
No one was going to take him away from her. She loved him and he loved her. No amount of 'group therapy' or medication was ever going to tear him away from her. They could say he wasn't real all they wanted - she knew different. She could feel his arms when they slipped around her shoulder and pulled her close to the warmth of his body.
There was a scream down the hallway and she flinched. Sensing her fear, both his arms curled around her and she curled up against him. She hated it here but it was even worse when it got dark. Someone was always screaming or crying in their room. When he wrapped his arms around her though, she was safe. Safe from everyone.
Safe from the screams. Safe from the blood on her hands. Safe from the bleeding body of her father on the kitchen floor. Safe from the flashing police lights.
He was real. He loved her. She could feel him behind her when she tried to get comfy on the hard mattress, his arm would curl around her and stroke her shivering skin. "You're never going to leave me, are you?" she asked again. She always asked. She liked to hear his answer.
"Never."
It didn't matter that people said he was nothing more than a 'defense mechanism her mind had created'. Every time he said that single word she felt as if nothing could hurt her ever again.
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