You took his swiss-army Knife two days ago.

you'd told him it must be somewhere in the ocean, having slid out of the boat while your friends goofed around.

you shouldn't have lied, or stolen it in the first place, but you were desperate.

you needed it. You needed something to take out the awful clawing thoughts on.

so when you'd seen it, sharp and gleaming under the sun, you swiped it from the boats deck.

it was wrong. You felt horrible and sick about it.

Lying to JJ?

but it was your only source of comfort.

You kept it hidden in a little wooden box in the chateau.

after a particularly horrible day, you'd left it out on your bed, vaguely hidden by your blankets.

you had forgotten about it because John B and Kie went surfing and you went with them.

you stumbled back into the house around 8pm, high, happy, arms stinging, desperate to sleep, and to unwind.

you pushed open the wooden door all the way, stepping into your bedroom.

JJ was there.

sitting on the hammock in the corner.

and to your horror,

the Swiss army knife is in his hands.

His lips are pressed into a thin line.

when you walked in, he stood up, taking a step toward you.

his voice is usually loud and playful, but right now, its low with something like anger.

"Why do you have this?"