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Geoff Ramsey was one of those people who society thought needed pity. This was not true at all, Geoff hated any pity or sympathy given to him because of who he is.
You see, Geoff does not have a constant. His life is chaotic, a jumble, a mish-mash.
It begins when he is seven. The teacher asks the students to write down three things that are always in their life. Geoff sits, stumped, and he racks his brain for constants. Eventually, the teacher takes notice and she leans down next to him.
“Why haven’t you written anything, Geoff?” He looks at her, eyes wide.
“I don’t have any of these.” She pats him on the head.
“Poor kiddo. Why don’t you come play with some blocks?” Her voice oozes sympathy and Geoff wants to yell at her, but he doesn’t really understand why. He hates it anyway.
And he continues hating it, raging against it. He is in high school and his English teacher assigns the class an essay about what they think their soulmate will be like. Apologetically, he pulls Geoff aside and tells him that he doesn’t have to write anything. Geoff is fucking furious. The next day, Geoff turns in a ten page essay about how people without constants are completely fine and don’t need any type of pity.
He starts drinking in high school. Only with friends, at first, and then by himself. He likes the way it makes him feel. And he will never, never tell anyone else, but he believes the warm fog that settles over his mind when he drinks is what it would feel like to have a soulmate.
The chaos is everywhere, on every street corner and hiding behind every wall. It is the flashing neon lights of an open sign that he blacks out under and he wakes up somewhere completely different.
It is the green beer bottles his father leaves lying around, cracked and empty and everywhere. He sees his figure, slouched in the easy chair, and he vows that he will never become like his father. He won’t become the husk of a man that he sees before him. The lack of love in his life won’t bother him, and he promises that to himself that night.
It is the first time he kills. It’s in a dark alley and there is a gun pressed to the back of his head. Geoff spins around, stabbing the man before he can pull the trigger. He stabs the man in between the ribs and he collapses. He smiles, the adrenaline doesn’t feel bad, the sudden need to run and run, so he does and he flees the body in the alley. He is twenty and he has practically disappeared into thin air, taking nothing with him and leaving nothing behind him..
It is a woman in an alley. Her red hair whips around her face as she fights two men. Geoff leans against the bricks, he knows that she can hold her own. He’s right. Two minutes later and both men are dead on the ground.
“I’m Jack.” She introduces herself.
They grow on each other quickly, for reasons neither of them completely understand. Jack never asks about his constant, and he never asks about hers. They have a good balance, an achieved equilibrium on a pointed corner, teetering back and forth, but never falling.
“Jackie…” Geoff slurs one night, sprawled on the couch of their shared penthouse, purchased with money from one of the last robberies they pulled. “You’re my best friend.”
“You’re drunk, Geoff.” Jack says.
“‘M not.” Geoff protests, but he’s passed out three minutes later.
The chaos is everywhere and he decides to love it. So, he gets tattoos. A certain kind of permanent disorder inked on his skin. It is a perfect kind of pandemonium, not similar at all, but fitting together exactly. Jack flips out when he comes home, saying that he’ll be recognizable, but Geoff assures otherwise.
“That’s a good thing!” Geoff protests. “Just think! When we start a crew, everyone will know about us and our names!” Jack snorts.
“I didn’t know that we were starting a crew.” Geoff shrugs.
“It’s a relatively new idea.” He looks at Jack, her red hair shining in the light. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I want you by my side, Jack, whatever we do.” Jack smiles and punches him in the shoulder.
“You’re going to make my retirement worthwhile.”
Chaos comes in a blaze of red hair and freckles in the form of Michael Jones. He is summer heat and Geoff can see the way he looks at fire because Geoff doesn’t look at anything like that. He is a hoarse throat from yelling and flickering flames licking the sky.
Chaos comes in a whirlwind of lanky limbs and wheat gold hair in the form of Gavin Free. He’s a hacker and a damned good one, too. He is guttering candle flame and struck matches. He is the lack of breath from laughing too hard and campfire light, washing everything in shades of red and orange.
Chaos comes in a tempest of blue eyes and soft smiles in the form of Ryan Haywood. He is smeared face paint and pastel pink sunrises. He is quiet reading and pink diamond, gleaming in the red and blue flood of police light.
Chaos comes in a deluge of thick glasses and raucous laughter in the form of Ray Narvaez Jr.. He is video game competition and headshot after headshot. He is comfortable silence and pink flowers wrapped in wax paper.
Chaos stays in a cascade of red hair and cherry lipstick in the form of Jack Pattillo. She is an old companion and a sense of stability. She is wry smiles and his best friend.
Chaos is incarnate in his own body. He is tattoos and cheap booze and cornflower blue. He is gunshots and bloodstained dollar bills and perfectly content in his own turmoil.