He doesn’t need to meditate. Not really. He’s not a monk, or a hippie, or into the new age Zen crap.
Occasionally he gets angry and kills people in creative, painful, and humiliating ways. And? It’s not like he kills people because he’s angry. It just so happens that when he does, he is.
It isn’t that Jason’s always angry. He just mostly is. So he died (was murdered, killed, beat down with a crowbar, broken, and blown up for good measure). So the guy who did it is still alive, and not even in a vegetative, comatose state even. So Bruce went and got a new kid, and Jason might have killed a few people (they deserved it by the way, he makes sure that they do ) and can’t really go home. (What is home anyway? Did he ever have one?)
None of that is the point.
The point of the entire thesis of death is –
“Jason.”
His eyes twitch open to look at her. She’s next to him, sitting lotus style, chakras aligned. She is so Zen, he’s sure she’s going to start floating any second. Her eyes are still closed.
“Raven.”
“You’re not focusing.”
Her words come out leisurely with her breaths.
“I was. You interrupted me.”
“Lie. I can feel your emotions, remember.”
“Oh, whatever,” he says and throws himself onto his back, stretching his legs out.
There’s already a grey haze from Raven’s meditative incense in the air, swirling around and Jason can practically feel it on his skin. The candles and incense are supposed to make a calming, relaxed atmosphere. They make Jason feel lightheaded, like there’s not enough oxygen in the room.
“I can’t help you if you don’t try.”
“I did try. Didn’t work. Oh well.”
Jason pulls a cigarette from one pant pocket, a lighter from the other, and lights up. A pleased groan escapes his lips along with the smoke, rising and mixing with the cloud above their heads. He folds his hands under his head and stares at the gentle curve of her back, her perfect posture. She lets out a measured breath that’s closer to a sigh.
“You’re hopeless.”
“You know what Zens me out?” he asks, speaking around the cylinder in his mouth. “Blowin’ stuff up. We should do that. You would love it, I swear.”
“Okay, first. Zens me out? And second, I am not about to play with explosives with you. Because you’re insane,” she adds on.
Like Jason doesn’t know or something.
Jason grunts and adds to the air pollution, blowing lazy, smoky circles.
“I give up,” she says, turning to look at him. “Why did you even call me if you’re not going to take this seriously?”
Jason stares at her for a long, meant-to-be meaningful moment. Then he arches a brow and smirks because Raven knows, pretending not to. With a resigned air, she lays back, steals his cigarette, and breathes out a thin trail of smoke.
Yeah. Not always angry.
