"Shut up." His voice grinds out of his throat, pitch-black and rough as gravel, actually painful. It surprises him, that sound coming from his mouth.

He looks J over -- J, presenting himself like some crazy martyr, letting him do whatever he wants. Nice of him he thinks bitterly, balancing the knife in his grip. He has to hurry, do it before his anger cools. Wants to hurry. Wants to be able to hurt for once, and not feel bad about it afterward. Why should J be the only one who gets that luxury? Why should J be the only one who gets to go insane?

He shoves him back on the bed, hard, and climbs on top of him. Looking down at the other boy, looking him in the eyes, as he gets a tight grip on his right wrist.