It had been such a long time since he had given up. There was no use fighting for yourself anymore, after a while. He had tried for so long to escape this place, but he had finally realized that he was truly trapped her. His pride refused to break, but the spark of rebellion he had carried, like so many others, had gone. Or perhaps it was still there, buried under months of anger and regret for his life, hatred for the people that had carved the mold of his sanity, then smashed it like fragile glass. Maybe he was insane. Maybe somewhere along the line, he'd snapped completely and just not realized it. They all called him crazy, said he had problems that no one could fix, no one ever wanted to fix. The therapists seemed to enjoy his pain, and this irritated him. There was the occasional kind staff member, but they never worked at the asylum for long. Perhaps a few months, and then 'complaints' were put against them, resulting in their sacking. The patients never complained about the good ones, it was the guards and cold staff that wanted to put the lives of those attending through hell.

Josh knew this, and if it was even possible, it made him ever more bitter than usual. He'd relaxed his feud with Steven after a while, because he realized he would die here if the guard had his way. His blackouts weren't cured, but they were more spaced out now, seeing as he was careful not to let them rile him up. He wanted to be conscious if they killed him, because he was silently afraid that he would die here and never know the face of the man or woman that took his life. Never know what it felt like, unable to recall his last words before the last breath. That was a really terrifying thought, and one he tried to keep back as often as possible. He didn't want to scare himself into believing it would happen.

Since he hadn't put up a fight today, they'd finally taken off the handcuffs that had left almost permanent bruising around his pale wrists. He rubbed at it now, glaring but hardly even noticing the throbbing pain. He wore a black shirt, black sweater and black jeans, not in the mood for color today. As always, his shoes were Converse, standard black and whites. He flipped up his hood, which was large enough to hide his face. Then walked the halls, saying nothing to the guards he passed even though his mind screamed at him to make a harsh comment or at least flip them off. But he was weaker than he'd been even when in jail, so picking a fight might not be the best thing for him.

At some point, he stopped, though he didn't consciously figure out why until a few seconds later. His dark eyes swept over the sleeping form of another patient, and one which he was sure he'd met before... He thought hard to recall her name. Margot, he believed. What was she doing sleeping in the middle of the hallway? Or was she knocked out. No, he didn't see any signs of blood or anything. He crossed the rest of the distance and knelt beside her, shaking her shoulder. "Margot, what on earth are you sleeping in the hallway for?" he wondered aloud. He noticed she wasn't wearing any shoes, but made no comment on this.

Alarm flared in the in the dark teenagers eyes as a peircing scream cut the silence, and he jumped back in shock, holding his breath for a moment. As he exhaled slowly, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. Josh was not easily started, but the sound had been so unexpected that it had caught him off guard. Calming down now, he brushed his dark hair from his eyes and returned his attention to Margot, who was now speaking to him. Apologizing for the screaming. He might have been bitten and cold before, but he was feeling oddly... serene, despite the fact he was locked in hell. He just wasn't in the mood for being a total asshole, and that was definitely a rare thing. Huh. "It's okay," he assured, nodding. "Didn't mean to startle you, I was just wondering why you'd fallen asleep in the halls." That was a logical enough thing to be curious about, right?

Josh scowled slightly in disgust at the mention of the cells, his mind having no desire to take a trip back down the memories of that wretched place. But of course what could he do to stop his insistent thoughts? It had been in that hole that he'd first met Margot, months ago of course. Or how long had it been? Days, maybe, weeks? He was sick of not knowing the time, the day, the month. He'd probably even lose sight of how many years he'd been here if things kept up the way they were. New patients usually helped in providing such information, but it was soon lost later. It seemed that life in this asylum was an endless cycle of hell.

"Yeah, I'm... down there... quite a lot," he replied, not even bothering to mask the hatred of the cells from his voice. The guards loved having him locked up, loved the caged look in the patients eyes. It sickened him. "But I haven't attacked anyone today, so I'm all clear." For now, the dreaded concious added internally, but he was sane, so he didn't have to listen to it. Unlike his friend Zebby, he didn't have any second or third personalities to put up with.

He winced slightly when she brushed her fingers across his wrists. Now that the rage at their state had died, even the softest touch throbbed. "Handcuffs," he said, by way of explaining the purplish marks.

Josh nodded in response to her apology, not exactly feeling the need to say anything back. He understood that she was a curious person, and not purposefully causing him harm, so he managed to keep from getting angry with her. Though she didn't seem at all afraid of him, and this was slightly concerning and disturbing both. She knew that he was a murderer, and if he recalled, he'd mentioned the murder of his girlfriend when they'd both been locked down in the cells. The fact that a teenaged boy was so fucked up he could take the life of the girl he'd loved would scare any normal person. Then again, Margot wasn't normal, was she? None of the kids in here were. They were all either fuck-ups and delinquints or folk that life just choose not to favour. She was most likely the latter, himself falling under the other category. Josh was definitely fucked up.

Her desire to leave was sudden, and he paused for a moment in confusion, cocking his head to the side as his dark hair fell across his face. "Okay," he said with a shrug as he brushed it away, not wanting to be blind. Then he remembered how she'd acted in the cells, and wondered if this was a part of her problems. She had told him what they were, he believed, but he couldn't remember right now.

A prickling curiousity tugged at him, and though she might want him to just leave her alone, he took two quick steps, catching up to her and silently walking beside her. His curiousity often got the better of him, but the smart manipulator Josh was knew how to talk his way out if things got bad. And what would a girl like her be able to do to him? He was sure she was harmless. "Why are you so anxious to leave?" he inquired.

Josh never flinched when people overreacted or snapped, since he was used to being the target of the outburst due to his own tendencies. But he hadn't been expecting Margot to snap, no matter how quiet her voice was. He didn't show any other reaction other than raising his eyebrows in slight surprise, then furrowing them slightly with confusion. No one liked this place, why did she feel the relevence to say that aloud? She wasn't stopping, but he kept up with her even though his ankle was slightly injured and it throbbed every now and then as if indicating that he should stop. He couldn't quite remember what had happened to it... it might have been from a blackout, perhaps he'd landed on it hard, or one of the guards had whacked him. The latter was definitely a possibility, Josh knew they loved the pain of the patients. Bloody sadists. Wasn't he supposed to be the dark one?

Woah, Josh thought to himself as she seemingly shifted into some sort of panic, asking herself the same question and freaking out in a sense. His dark eyes traced her face, then flicked up to her hands as she ran them across her hair. It almost seemed frenzied, insane. Maybe this was the reason she'd been locked up in the asylum. They all had their reasons, some less obvious than others. Even though her voice was quiet, he was nervous that something would happen to trigger something that would alert the guards. No doubt they'd find a way to pin it on him, as they so loved doing. He glanced over his shoulder, then seeing no one turned back to Margot.

"Hey," he said, somewhat urgently under his breath. "Calm down! The rooms are just down that hallway, what are you talking about? Relax, Margot!" He had no idea how to calm her down, and that was making him nervous. All he could think about was having to face the guards again. Weak from depression, frequent blackouts and the bruising that was caused from the guards. He couldn't fight as he usually liked to. So what would he do? He had to prevent it. But how?