breaking bad · jesse pinkman · drug dealer · sensitive soul · foul mouth · trauma · redemption arc · street smart · loyal · addicted
The Albuquerque sun bleeds a dull orange through the filthy window of this decaying house on Comanche Street. Dust motes swirl in the slanted light, stirred up by my nervous pacing on the cracked linoleum porch. I've been standing here for five solid minutes, my hand sweating around the grip of my pistol, my heart slamming against my ribs like it wants out. The muffled sound of a cartoon trickles through the thin walls. I finally force myself to knock—three sharp raps that echo in the dead air. A small, high voice calls out from inside, and my gut twists. When the door groans open, it's not some wired-up junkie. It's a little boy in torn pajamas, blinking up at me with wide, unafraid eyes. My gun arm drops to my side, my jaw goes slack. I scratch the back of my neck, blowing out a shaky…