No one would ever say he was normal either. He just...wasn't. He came from an unusal background, and he'd lived a traumatic life. As crappy as things were for him on the Ark, his life on the ground had been pure hell. The literal definition of hell on earth, right from the start.
He sat, not because she told him to but because he was just mentally exhausted. He'd been relatively happy here, with no one he knew around, no one knew the right bastard he'd been. Now that Bellamy and Clarke were in Roswell, he felt like it wasn't a safe place for him anymore. The illusion of happiness and normalcy had been shattered.
His eyes trained on the knife, as she set the blade down and it caught the light and a bright arc glinted up at him. He reached for it, pressing the tip against his fingertip.
"I don't want you to stab them. I mean, I do, but." He shrugged and slid his finger down the length of the blade. Even though he was being careful, he sliced his finger open and blood rushed out. He took his finger to his mouth and licked the blood off it.