SocialParasite
100% pure failtanium.
Registered: Jul 2000
Location: Beatrice, Nebraska
Posts: 18504 |
Pyscho roommate problem: resolved. (an update for a few of you, a tale for others)
Everything has been going pretty damn good so far. The day was great because I got to see Dan's baby again and Kat is doing fine. She gets to go home tomorrow. Everybody is happy. Life is good.
I go to work and work is good. It's a slow day and the shake machine ran out of mix. I got to take it apart at 8:00 PM saving me at least 30 minutes of work later that evening. We had a 20 minute close and we went to Country Kitchen for breakfast. It's our favorite waitress' last day so we had sort of a farewell breakfast. She hooked us up with some phat discounts for the final checks and we all gave her a big hug. Everybody fucking dance.
I get home and Dave and Brandon are in Dave's room talking and shit. I give them some cookies that I brought home because they were dead. Yummy fucking cookies.
A few hours later Dave comes out of his room and says, "Jon, can you stand the sight of blood?"
I thought it was a dumbass question and I said that I can't (and I really can't).
Dave is kinda quiet and says, "Oh." He starts to walk off and I'm thinking that he must really need something. I turn around and he's holding one of his fingers in a piece of cloth.
Now, I should mention that before this Brandon was scurrying about looking for tape or Bandaids.
I ask Dave what's up and he comes over and removes the cloth. He's got this gash in his finger that looks really fucking nasty and the blood is kinda squirting with his pulse.
Me: "How the fuck did that happen?"
Dave: "Oh, I cut myself on Brandon's sword."
M: Jesus Christ, what a stupid thing to do.
D: Yeah, so, do you think I should have a doctor check this out?
M: Uh, yeah. I suppose I probably would. Looks like you need stitches.
So he calls his mom and tells her to come pick him up and take him to the hospital. He goes into his room and throws on some street clothes.
Brandon comes out of the room sobbing like a little bitch and shaking like a tree int he wind.
I'm thinking, "Wow, I'd be upset too, but Jesus aren't you being a little bitch about it?" At this point I was under the assumption that Brandon was swinging the sword around like a retard, which he does sometimes, and had accidently hit Dave's hand somehow.
Dave is talking to Brandon telling him to chill out, it was just an accident, and telling him how he isn't pissed or anything. Brandon just keeps on sobbing like a girl with a skinned knee and is shaking. His breathing is now coming all ragged and through clenched teeth. He gets up and starts wandering around, sobbing and sounding like a steam engine.
Dave is telling him to cool down and I'm giving #wota a play-by-play. This is thoroughly amusing me. Of course, had I known what was really going on I wouldn't have been amused at all. I just thought Brandon was being a stupid over-reactive twat about it all.
Then Brandon sits down on the couch again. Shaking, sobbing, breathing through clenched teeth. He's muttering some stuff under his breath, I think. I dunno. It's not quite so amusing anymore.
Dave goes over and is telling him just to chill the fuck out. Brandon does this spaz thing and plows his hands through all the stuff on the table in front of the couch. I think he's being a spaz and shoving everything off the table. He stops and pulls his hands back. He has a pen in his hands. He yanks the cap off with all the force I think he could muster and scrawls on a piece of paper and hands it to Dave. Dave says, "Okay, fine, I'll leave you alone."
Then Brandon gets up and grabs a shirt that he had on the couch. He picks up the sword, in its scabbard, and appears to be trying to wrap it up with his shirt. After that fails he puts the sword down, puts on his shirt, and snatches up the sword. He goes outside, or out into the hall, or god knows what. I didn't care. Maybe he was going to off himself. Big deal. I was pretty tired of his shit right then. Dave's sitting there with a huge, bleeding gash in his finger and he's taking it like a champ, but here you are sobbing like a little bitch. God, what a fucking pussy.
So he comes back and is standing behind me, facing the fridge. He pulls the sword out of its scabbard and I'm thinking: Oh fuck. There's a loonie behind me with a sword. This stopped being amusing a while ago now. He starts caressing the sword and looking at it all funny, like as if he had never seen it before. I think he might have been talking to it, but I was too busy making sure he wasn't going to pull a Highlander on my ass to tell.
Dave comes over and asks Brandon to give him the sword. Brandon refuses and Dave is like, "Whatever, man. Just be careful."
Brandon then puts the sword back in the scabbard, takes a step, faces the wall behind me, pulls the sword out again, drops the scabbard, and just stands there looking at the wall. He's got this pretty blank look on his face and he's just staring. Dave again tries to get the sword, but Brandon isn't giving it up. This time Dave keeps trying but he gets nowhere.
I get tired of all this shit and get out of my chair and take a position so that as soon as I could get a clear shot I was going to put Brandon in a good hold and make him drop the god damn thing. This is getting pretty rediculous.
Brandon walks over by the couch and starts staring up at the window up above the fridge. He's just standing there, eyes glazed over, and looking at it. He cocks his head to one side like he sees something, and stares some more.
I'm taking a few closer steps, hoping to catch him while he's dazed. He then takes a step forward, stands on the old AC sitting by the fridge and proceeds to try and put the sword in the windowsill. This sword has to be at least four inches longer than the window casing is wide, and after a few tries he finally realizes it won't fit.
He steps down, turns to me, and says, "Hide the sword." I don't know if he saw me or what. He kinda was looking at me, but not really. Sorta looking past me. In that one instant our eyes connect and I can see what I wanted to see least: nothing. Nobody was home. The lights weren't even on. There was nobody behind the wheel of the 1982 Brandon Fairbee. This kid's brain had shut down and what I was dealing with wasn't someone I cared to be dealing with -- I was dealing with a psychotic.
Uh, okay. Whatever. So I take the sword and throw it in the dumpster behind the apartment. Fuck you and your sword, psycho fag. If you want to bitch about it in the morning I'll gladly knock your teeth out and throw them in the dumpster with it.
I get back upstairs and when I pass Dave I look him in the eyes and mouth: I want him out of here. Now. For good.
Dave just nods.
He convinces Brandon to go outside and wait for his mom with him, and after a while they're gone.
I spend some time in #wota talking about it, trying to make sense of it really, and came to the conclusion that this boy is getting his 30 day notice tonight. I wrote a note stating his 30 day notice and taped it to the door of the apartment.
I go to bed afterwards.
David kicks my bed and I wake up.
"What?!"
"It's done."
"Huh?"
"Brandon is gone for good."
"What do you mean?"
"He commited himself to the psych. ward at the hospital."
Turns out while David was getting stitched up he told the doctor EVERYTHING. Doc. called security and Brandon was given the option of commiting himself or being taken by force by the men with guns and being commited that way. He chose to commit himself.
Dave apalogized for even inviting Brandon down here and I told him it was no big deal. Neither of us knew that Brandon was a nut just waiting to crack. Brandon was pretty good at hiding it from me, and was pretty good at hiding it from Dave for a while. But he was closer to Dave and started confiding things in Dave.
Brandon had some problems with depression and had been recently talking about wanting to "erase his own existence." Brandon also had a paranoid belief that aliens were trying to take over the Earth and that he somehow had to stop it, and that he was the only one that could. Some bullshit like that.
Anyway, Brandon is going to be confined tot he hospital until it can be arranged for him to be sent back to CO where he may, or may not, be sent into a mental institute. It'll have to be voluntary on his part since he's over 18. Either way he isn't coming back here. Doors will be locked at all times and Lydia, the landlord, will be notified as soon as I can contact her.
Shit, that was more than I needed to deal with today.
Oh, and it turned out that Dave accidently cut his finger while reaching for a book that was on his bed and his finger brushed the sword edge the wrong way, so I really don't know what caused Brandon to freak out.
Here's a cam shot of the sword (as best as I could get it):
 Attachment: sword.jpg
This has been downloaded 300 time(s).
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10-07-2002 11:53 AM
