muse_write | 16. Pain
Co-written with texas33forever
There were no cars in the drive when Taylor got home that evening. She knew Jason was in Dillon to visit his folks, and help Coach with some football something or other. At least he wasn't sitting around boozing again. He hadn't seemed to do that since she tore him a new one and dumped the pregnancy news on him. Since then, things had been tense between them, and she hated it it. She wasn't sure if they were just having a rough patch, or if their whole romance since the day she saw him in the supermarket in Dillon over a year ago now was just one big rough patch. As hard as she was trying, she couldn't connect with the baby she was carrying. Whenever she tried to think about it, she could only feel negativity. So, instead of talking about it and trying to fix it, they had just fallen into this slump of monotony, where one day slipped into the next without revisiting any of the issues. The truth was, Taylor was just plain scared that being pregnant again would lead to her losing Jason again. She was burying her head in the sand, and she didn't even know how to fix it.
Now it was just another night coming home after a long and tiring day. Being knocked up and working as a cop could really take it out of you. She was glad no one was home, and she was yearning for taking a hot bath and just going to bed. Jason wouldn't be home until the morning, when she had a day off and they had made plans to spend the day together. Even now, she had no idea what they were going to do. Sleeping all day sounded really appealling. She missed curling up in bed with him, just being with him. She was trying to stifle a yawn when she unlocked the door with her keys. Her shoes were kicked off and jacket hung messily on the coat rack, and she was tugging her out of the elastic that was holding it back and out of her face. The house was blissfully quiet, no shouting, no football on the TV... just easy silence and Taylor actually pause, indulging in it with a sigh of relief. She didn't know where everyone else was or when they were due back, but even this peace for just a couple of moments was glorious.
She went into the living room to put her work bag behind the door there, which had come to be one of the only places it wouldn't get tripped over. She was just wondering if there was anything good on TV that night when she spotted the sofa and realised she wasn't home alone at all. Tim was on the sofa, asleep, but strangely with no beer in easy reach and no TV on. The room had been dark, save for a stream of light coming in from the side of the blinds from the street lamp, and she only saw him when she switched on the lap in the corner. She was met with a small, strained groan, and Tim shifted a little to turn his face into the cushion his head was planted against. "It's a hard life, huh, Riggs?" she asked dryly, frowning in annoyance as she walked over to the sofa. He had promised he would try and find some sort of work, and Taylor had even taken some time to help him out by making a list of local car garages he could talk to about getting a job as a mechanic. It wasn't like he didn't have the experience. But here he was, back slugging around on the sofa. "How ya' legs even still work is beyond me."
Tim's head felt like it was going to explode. The light felt like it had beams stabbing his skull, and even though Taylor was softly spoken, to him, it sounded like she was screaming through a megaphone. "Please... shut up..." he groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. If he had been drinking at all in the last few days, he might buy this was a hangover. But he hadn't. The day before, he had visited some of the places Taylor had given him, but none of those had been hiring. That morning, he had planned to visit the others, but a draining tiredness set in all over, and he didn't even manage to get out of bed until after lunch. He wasn't even sure why he even got out then. As soon as he did, his head was pounding and he felt weak. He had only been going to lie on the sofa for a little while, and then go out. But a fact he didn't even realise was, that was hours and hours ago. Now, he was pretty sure he was dying. Everything hurt, and he just wanted to be left alone.
"Charmin'," Taylor mumbled, scratching her forehead with the tips of her fingers. She was about to leave the room and leave his lazy ass to what it did best, but just before Tim's hand covered his face, Taylor copped sight of just how pale he was. He was almost white, and it immediately rang warning bells with her. The lack of beer and football suddenly didn't seem just a strange phenomenon. "Riggs..." She leaned down, carefully prying his hand away from his eyes so she could press her hand over his forehead. "My god, Riggs... ya' burnin' up."
"Just turn the light off an' stop talkin'... I'll be fine," Tim said with something akin to a whimper of pain. He just wanted to go back to sleep so everything would stop hurting. The small movements had him feeling like he was on a fucked up rollercoaster and he really wanted off. That was the last thought he had before his stomach twisted and the next thing he knew he was throwing up without a chace to stop it. He wasn't foreign to that, but once he started, it felt like he couldn't stop. He didn't even realise at first that he had gotten sick all over Taylor's leg. Why was even throwing up making his head feel like it was being belted with a steel pipe?
Being puked on was always a shock, and Taylor gasped in surprise stilling for a moment. She held his shoulder, making sure he stayed on his side so he wouldn't start choking on his own vomit. The damage was already done, anyway, and it didn't take a genius doctor to deduce that he was quite badly ill. She massaged his shoulder softly with her fingers. He was sweating heavily from the fever, and she could deduce nausea, fever and headache, but did that mean it was serious? It was enough to tell her it wasn't a simple hangover, to say the least. "It's alright, Riggs. I'm just gonna... I have no fuckin' clue. Ya' need to tell me what all hurts, love. I can't be liftin' ya' nowhere. How long ya' felt bad? Tim, ya' need to work with me here."
"Everythin'," was all Tim could manage to come out with. It was hoarse and choked, and why the hell wasn't she just switching off the fucking light? He wasn't burning up, either, he bloody freezing and a shiver wracked his body. Feeling cold was the last thing he acknowledged though. His brain felt like mush and he felt like he was going to pass out. Why couldn't he just die in peace?
Taylor caught the shiver and it threw her, but nowhere near as much as it did when he started to shake, like he was having some sort of seizure. "Tim!" she gasped and tried to hold him still, but all she could do was stand there, knees against the edge of the sofa and her hands on his arm and hip to try and stop him falling off and hurting himself. Something inside her tried to tell her to scream for help, but there was no one home. Thank all the gods to ever exist, Tim's cell phone was on the coffee table by the sofa and grabbed it up, still trying to hold him still through the convulsions. It was a fit of some sort, but as soon as it started, it stopped, and he was slumped on the sofa, unconscious. She quickly dialled in 911 with a shaky hand. "I-I need an ambulance, please. I think my friend just had some sort of fit..."
Word Count | 1,433
There were no cars in the drive when Taylor got home that evening. She knew Jason was in Dillon to visit his folks, and help Coach with some football something or other. At least he wasn't sitting around boozing again. He hadn't seemed to do that since she tore him a new one and dumped the pregnancy news on him. Since then, things had been tense between them, and she hated it it. She wasn't sure if they were just having a rough patch, or if their whole romance since the day she saw him in the supermarket in Dillon over a year ago now was just one big rough patch. As hard as she was trying, she couldn't connect with the baby she was carrying. Whenever she tried to think about it, she could only feel negativity. So, instead of talking about it and trying to fix it, they had just fallen into this slump of monotony, where one day slipped into the next without revisiting any of the issues. The truth was, Taylor was just plain scared that being pregnant again would lead to her losing Jason again. She was burying her head in the sand, and she didn't even know how to fix it.
Now it was just another night coming home after a long and tiring day. Being knocked up and working as a cop could really take it out of you. She was glad no one was home, and she was yearning for taking a hot bath and just going to bed. Jason wouldn't be home until the morning, when she had a day off and they had made plans to spend the day together. Even now, she had no idea what they were going to do. Sleeping all day sounded really appealling. She missed curling up in bed with him, just being with him. She was trying to stifle a yawn when she unlocked the door with her keys. Her shoes were kicked off and jacket hung messily on the coat rack, and she was tugging her out of the elastic that was holding it back and out of her face. The house was blissfully quiet, no shouting, no football on the TV... just easy silence and Taylor actually pause, indulging in it with a sigh of relief. She didn't know where everyone else was or when they were due back, but even this peace for just a couple of moments was glorious.
She went into the living room to put her work bag behind the door there, which had come to be one of the only places it wouldn't get tripped over. She was just wondering if there was anything good on TV that night when she spotted the sofa and realised she wasn't home alone at all. Tim was on the sofa, asleep, but strangely with no beer in easy reach and no TV on. The room had been dark, save for a stream of light coming in from the side of the blinds from the street lamp, and she only saw him when she switched on the lap in the corner. She was met with a small, strained groan, and Tim shifted a little to turn his face into the cushion his head was planted against. "It's a hard life, huh, Riggs?" she asked dryly, frowning in annoyance as she walked over to the sofa. He had promised he would try and find some sort of work, and Taylor had even taken some time to help him out by making a list of local car garages he could talk to about getting a job as a mechanic. It wasn't like he didn't have the experience. But here he was, back slugging around on the sofa. "How ya' legs even still work is beyond me."
Tim's head felt like it was going to explode. The light felt like it had beams stabbing his skull, and even though Taylor was softly spoken, to him, it sounded like she was screaming through a megaphone. "Please... shut up..." he groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. If he had been drinking at all in the last few days, he might buy this was a hangover. But he hadn't. The day before, he had visited some of the places Taylor had given him, but none of those had been hiring. That morning, he had planned to visit the others, but a draining tiredness set in all over, and he didn't even manage to get out of bed until after lunch. He wasn't even sure why he even got out then. As soon as he did, his head was pounding and he felt weak. He had only been going to lie on the sofa for a little while, and then go out. But a fact he didn't even realise was, that was hours and hours ago. Now, he was pretty sure he was dying. Everything hurt, and he just wanted to be left alone.
"Charmin'," Taylor mumbled, scratching her forehead with the tips of her fingers. She was about to leave the room and leave his lazy ass to what it did best, but just before Tim's hand covered his face, Taylor copped sight of just how pale he was. He was almost white, and it immediately rang warning bells with her. The lack of beer and football suddenly didn't seem just a strange phenomenon. "Riggs..." She leaned down, carefully prying his hand away from his eyes so she could press her hand over his forehead. "My god, Riggs... ya' burnin' up."
"Just turn the light off an' stop talkin'... I'll be fine," Tim said with something akin to a whimper of pain. He just wanted to go back to sleep so everything would stop hurting. The small movements had him feeling like he was on a fucked up rollercoaster and he really wanted off. That was the last thought he had before his stomach twisted and the next thing he knew he was throwing up without a chace to stop it. He wasn't foreign to that, but once he started, it felt like he couldn't stop. He didn't even realise at first that he had gotten sick all over Taylor's leg. Why was even throwing up making his head feel like it was being belted with a steel pipe?
Being puked on was always a shock, and Taylor gasped in surprise stilling for a moment. She held his shoulder, making sure he stayed on his side so he wouldn't start choking on his own vomit. The damage was already done, anyway, and it didn't take a genius doctor to deduce that he was quite badly ill. She massaged his shoulder softly with her fingers. He was sweating heavily from the fever, and she could deduce nausea, fever and headache, but did that mean it was serious? It was enough to tell her it wasn't a simple hangover, to say the least. "It's alright, Riggs. I'm just gonna... I have no fuckin' clue. Ya' need to tell me what all hurts, love. I can't be liftin' ya' nowhere. How long ya' felt bad? Tim, ya' need to work with me here."
"Everythin'," was all Tim could manage to come out with. It was hoarse and choked, and why the hell wasn't she just switching off the fucking light? He wasn't burning up, either, he bloody freezing and a shiver wracked his body. Feeling cold was the last thing he acknowledged though. His brain felt like mush and he felt like he was going to pass out. Why couldn't he just die in peace?
Taylor caught the shiver and it threw her, but nowhere near as much as it did when he started to shake, like he was having some sort of seizure. "Tim!" she gasped and tried to hold him still, but all she could do was stand there, knees against the edge of the sofa and her hands on his arm and hip to try and stop him falling off and hurting himself. Something inside her tried to tell her to scream for help, but there was no one home. Thank all the gods to ever exist, Tim's cell phone was on the coffee table by the sofa and grabbed it up, still trying to hold him still through the convulsions. It was a fit of some sort, but as soon as it started, it stopped, and he was slumped on the sofa, unconscious. She quickly dialled in 911 with a shaky hand. "I-I need an ambulance, please. I think my friend just had some sort of fit..."
Word Count | 1,433