JONES, JAX ALEXANDER

Full name: Jax Alexander Jones
Age and D.O.B.: 19, August 28, 1993
Sexual orientation: Pansexual
Occupation: Patient
Member group: Caulton Asylum (Eating disorder [anorexia], cutting)

Face claim: Cameron Ugh
Distinguishing features: His dark hair [dyed], bright green eyes, the black zip-up hoodie he always wears.

Likes:

• Cats
  
• Music [namely, Icona Pop, Blood on the Dance Floor, and My Chemical Romance]
  
• Blankets [he's always cold]
  
• Piano music [it calms him down]
  
• Sitting outside on cool-weather days [60's/low 70's]
  
• Sharpies [drawing with them, not sniffing them]
  
• Motorcycles
  
• Trees [specifically, climbing them]
  

Dislikes:

• People touching him
  
• Dogs
  
• Eating
  
• Scales [the weighing kind]
  
• Cold weather [snow, especially]
  
• Shorts [pants are a must]
  
• Bullies [verbal, physical...all of it]
  
• Making decisions
  
• Cars
  

Strengths:

• He can [at least pretend to] get along with anyone
  
• He's good with computers/technology
  
• Good at dancing [something few people know about]
  

Weaknesses:

• His mother
  
• Animals
  
• Ignores his own feelings
  

Fears:

• The dark [or, rather, what's in it]
  
• Being left alone
  
• Dying
  

Habits:

• Scratching at his hand when he's nervous
  
• Mumbling to himself
  
• Pulling at/chewing on the sleeves of his jacket
  

Secrets:

• His mother blames him for his father's death, and he has an eating disorder because of her mistreatment.
  
• He was sexually abused by his uncle when he was 12
  
• He wants to be a burlesque dancer someday
  

Overall Personality: Jax is a very quiet individual. Even if he has a strong opinion about something, he tends to not speak up. He doesn't want to draw attention to himself. Before he was enrolled in Caulton, one of his biggest fears was someone finding out that he wasn't okay. Now he worries more about people hurting him or him hurting himself, or being left alone at Caulton, forever. He hides his fear, putting on an attitude of indifference. He pretends not to care, to just go along with everything that happens. He tends to overthink a lot of things and worry needlessly.

He has always loved animals; his cat, Pandora, was always his greatest comfort. Connecting with animals has always been easier for him than connecting with people. Animals don't require him to talk or to pretend to be something he's not; he feels more comfortable talking to them.

Music has always been extremely important to him. He loves to dance, in any form: ballroom, hip hop, and especially burlesque. He has never really shown his talent (or shared his desire to dance) with anyone. He's afraid of being laughed at or messing up. He used to practice in his spare time to keep his mind off of things, but recently he hasn't done much more than listen to music and pretend to be dancing.

Starting high school, he identified as gay. But most of the time he wasn't sure if it was right. He didn't find himself attracted to people because of their physical attributes; he liked who they were. Midway through his junior year he stumbled upon the term "pansexual" and it just seemed to click with him. He still felt like he didn't fit in and people still called him a fag. Nothing changed except how he saw himself, but it was enough to help him out a little. He never told his mother anything about his sexuality; she often made negative remarks regarding those who were LGBT, and he didn't want to deal with her wrath if she found out her son was "one of those freaks."

He hates speaking in front of people. He'd rather fall down a flight of stairs than give a speech, even a short one. In high school he was forced to give a speech by one of his teachers and he nearly fainted, he was so nervous. Discussing things in small groups is easier for him, though he is still quiet. He much prefers listening and learning to speaking, especially since he is always afraid he will make a fool of himself or say something stupid. He also doesn't want to offend or hurt anyone.

Mother: Andrea Jones
Father: Nicolas Jones [deceased]
Siblings: None.
Other: None.
Pets: A cat, Pandora.

Overall History: Jax was born in Early, Iowa. Even though he only lived there until he was 12, it was always very obvious to him that he was different. All the other kids in his class--all 23 of them--seemed to be interested in things "normal" boys and girls were. The boys teased the girls and chased them around on the playground, threatening to kiss them. The girls said the boys had cooties, but giggled to themselves as the "cute" boys walked by. But Jax didn't tease the girls, nor did he want to. When he didn't show an interest in girls, the boys started making fun of him. They called him names--"gay" and "freak" and "faggot." Jax didn't have many friends after that.

The summer before 7th grade, the family went to the yearly family reunion. Jax's uncle, who hadn't attended a reunion for nearly five years, was there. He spent most of the time talking to Jax--or, rather, at him, since Jax didn't talk much. A lot of the relatives went to a local pool that night, to just hang out and swim. Jax went into the bathroom later in the evening. His uncle followed. Jax has never told anyone what happened in there. No one suspected, or even noticed. Jax dreads the family reunion every year because he knows his uncle will be there.

Shortly after returning home from the reunion, Jax's father was transferred out to NewPort Beach. The entire family moved with him, and Jax was glad to get away from the small town, where everyone in his class seemed to be against him. Adjusting to California was hard for him, though. All the kids in his new school already seemed to have friends, and he was a quiet boy. He was afraid to get close to anyone and actually talk with them because of what had happened in the summer. His mother, noticing how he had separated himself from his classmates, bought him a kitten, hoping the small animal would help him open up. Jax named the tiny kitten Pandora and adored her, though she did little to improve his social life.

The summer before 8th grade, Jax and his father were in a horrible car crash. Jax was the only one that survived the accident; his father and the driver of the other vehicle--a teenage girl who was later found to have had alcohol in her system--both died on impact. Jax was unconscious for three days and had an inner ear imbalance after the accident that caused him to get dizzy every time he moved for about two weeks. After enduring balance therapy and countless days laying in bed, he was almost back to normal. He barely made it sitting up through his father's funeral, and the experience is a blur in his mind. His mother changed gradually over the next year, slowly drowning herself in alcohol. At first she cared for Jax the way any devoted mother would; she made sure he got to balance therapy, that he had everything he needed, that he would be okay to go to school in the next few weeks. Over the next month, though, she stopped asking how he was feeling. He thought it was because he had improved so much. By December, it wasn't mentioned at all, and the dizziness was completely gone.

By the time school let out in May, he could tell something was different. His mother wasn't going to work as often as she had before. She was staying out later, coming home at two in the morning reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke. The fridge started to have less food.

By the time he was a sophomore in high school, he was lucky to find anything in the fridge. His main source of food was school. When there was food in the house, his mother told him that because he didn't work, he didn't deserve it. So he didn't eat it. One night, she screamed at him for eating the last of the peanut butter, telling him he should have been the one to die in the crash, not his father. That was the first night of many that he took a blade to his skin.

His mother's words always seemed to follow him around. When he looked in the mirror, he would tell himself he was fine. He didn't need to eat. He didn't deserve it. He hadn't earned it. He would tell himself he didn't deserve to be alive. So why did he need food? Food was for people who deserved to live.

Just after he turned 18, his mother disappeared. She just didn't come home one day. Jax had no idea where she went, and he was afraid to look for her. When he had gone for two days without any food (he skipped meals at lunch, blaming himself for his mother's disappearance), he fainted during class. He was enrolled in Caulton shortly after that so he could be treated.

The bushes rustled slightly as a dark-haired teen emerged from between them, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. The night made him appear paler than he was, his skin standing out against the blackness of his hair and wardrobe. He was thin, his pants low-riding on his hips. His shirt was cut off just below his rib cage, the edge of it jagged, one sleeve hanging over the edge of his shoulder. A red heard with an eight in the center could be seen on his hip, the end of the heart disappearing just below the waistline of his pants. His eyes were nearly as dark as the navy-black sky, standing out against his face. His mouth now clean of the sticky substance the warden had left on his lips, the boy tucked his hand into his pocket, moving away from the bushes, ignoring the sound of the leaves rustling as the warden he had previously engaged with left the area. Getting cigarettes for his service was just as good as money, and the warden he had “helped” was one Dareynn knew he could count on to get him what he wanted when he wanted it. Sure, blowing one of the men that kept him locked in this place was almost tacky, but…he wanted the little cancer sticks that his body was convinced that it needed. It was almost an ache, when he went without having them. He would tremble and shake, and he couldn’t do anything, it seemed like.

It was during one such time that the warden had set up their little agreement. One blowjob for two packs of cigarettes. Dareynn had been so desperate for the nicotine that he’d agreed almost instantly; had he been less shaky, he would have demanded more cigs. Since then he’d driven up the price, because the two packs where nowhere near what he would normally charge. As long as he got the things, though…he couldn’t complain. Much. At least the guy wasn’t bad-looking. That would make it unpleasant. As it was, the dark-haired teen didn’t mind blowing the guy. He didn’t shove his thing down Dareynn’s throat, as a lot of his previous customers had. Being able to do his job without nearly choking was definitely a plus. Not that he couldn’t go that far—he could. Just, when it was unexpected…that made it harder to control his gag reflex. And it made him feel a little like a low-class whore when guys did that. He was not low-class. Or a whore. He got paid, those ugly bitches didn’t.

Running his tongue over his teeth and lips, the boy frowned slightly. Even after countless times of swallowing some guy’s cum, it still left a nasty flavor in his mouth. At least, it did most of the time. There was the occasional guy that didn’t taste horrible, but they were few and far between. He wandered through the grounds, the weight of the cigarettes in his pocket a comfort. He had a lighter tucked away in his back pocket, along with the twenty dollars the warden had given him. The guy had only had a single pack of cigs with him, so Dareynn had made him pay twenty in cash as well. It was a bargain, really. A deal, even.

He waited until he was well away from the bushes before sliding the pack out of his pocket, all but tearing off the plastic the cigarettes were encased in, shoving it into his pocket. He yanked open the pack, slipping one of the thin white cancer sticks out and replacing the pack in his pocket before sliding out his tie-dyed lighter. Placing the cig between his lips, he flicked the lighter a few times before a small flame appeared, burning the end. He inhaled, feeling his body relax as the nicotine infiltrated his lungs. He’d need a new lighter soon, but he could deal with that later, when he wasn’t busy enjoying giving himself cancer.

He was just walking, minding his own business and sucking away at the cigarette, when he stumbled over…something. He didn’t know what it was, really. Just that it almost made him drop his precious little white stick. Luckily the object in question had been in his hand, not between his lips. If it had been in the latter place, it would have ended up on the ground, because he had gasped. At least he hadn’t completely fallen; then the cig would have been on the ground either way. He turned and glared at the thing he’d tripped over, slightly disappointed to realize that it was just the sidewalk. Damn cement, moving around on him.

Scowling, the thin teen went and leaned against one of the few light poles lining the path, his free hand resting in his pocket as the other lifted the cigarette to his lips, allowing him to take another drag. It relaxed him, shoving away any tension or worry he had felt earlier. He was unconsciously standing with his hips forward, a soft sort of pout on his lips. It was just a habit, standing that way. It attracted customers. And customers meant money. Money meant cigarettes. Cigarettes were pure bliss. Yes, it was a good habit. One he never really intended to break. He didn’t mind the sexual favors; he’d never really had someone he cared an awful lot about, so what was the point in trying to stay with one person? There wasn’t one, really. Until he found someone he figured he would be able to stand that long, anyway. Once he found that person, he could get all the sex he wanted from them and maybe they’d get him cigarettes, too. That would be amazing. Heaven, if such a thing existed. Excellence. A Utopia, if he was pushing it. But there was no need to push it, really, since he had no person that he liked in “that” way.

Alexander; central united states; roleplaying on and off for 7 or 8 years now; this is my first character here