|James Scott||Despite the polite front he was putting on for his housemates James was dying inside. His dreams were plagued by his past failures, his weakness. Since sleep wouldn't come the teenager crept back down to the basement, his feet and chest bare.
Lately all he could do to keep his mind off of Vivienne's death was work out, but now in the dark basement there was no amount of push-ups or rows he could do to get that damn box out of his head. Twenty-eight days had already passed but it felt like yesterday.
"C'mon, monster's don't cry." he chastises himself as he holds himself off the ground for a few moments before transitioning into planche pushups. Beads of sweat form on his forehead, his skin pulled tight over his back and chest muscles. Truth be told his body was on fire, but he knew that pain was the weakness leaving his body, and that was the only thing holding him together right now.
Perhaps the most ironic thing is, for all of his talk, he was still the scared afraid kid from Raccoon. Afraid of losing the people he loved, afraid of failing, afraid of being alone, but most importantly, was afraid of being weak.