Gutterflower /1
It winked at him. The light flicked off it, creating reflections on the ceiling, and everything else was still. Letting out a small noise, Jaejoong jerked his head to the side, burring his face into his shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut.
“No, no no no.. no no…” He muttered to himself, rocking slightly so that his head rattled against the tiled wall, the pain anchoring him.
He woke up on the floor, his head aching and his fingers twitching. Crawling forward, he managed to make it to the toilet bowl before throwing up violently. Bile and the horrid unnatural orange of those chips he’d eaten earlier splashed down, leaving him feeling just as queasy, and he heaved again.
Clutching at the ground to stop it spinning out from under him, he slumped, fingers trembling against the white as his body curled into itself. Sweat beaded down his neck, and the light seemed blinding. The wall moved, and then there was pain and silence.
He woke up screaming, the nightmare of the gaping wide mouths and dying, dead faces dancing in his eyes even as the bare bathroom swam into view. He yelled again, coming face to face with the needle, which had rolled off the counter and across the floor, to rest by his eyes.
Scrambling away, he backed into the door, and fell back onto the carpet of the bedroom floor. Staring up at the ceiling, he concentrated on breathing. His shirt was soaked, clinging to his skin horribly. He smelt, he knew he did, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up off the floor.
He had no idea how long he laid there, if he slept or if he was just blanking out for periods of time. He knew that he hurt, that he cried sometimes, that he tried to rip open his arms at one point. He knew he hungered, he needed, but that he had somehow smashed his last hit, the remains of it scattered around one corner of the bathroom. He had small cuts on the lower parts of his legs, and over his fingers, but then, they were just like the tracks up his arms, weren’t they?
Eventually, he managed to crawl into the shower, dousing himself with icy water that seemed to only do half a job of waking him up. After that, he sat shivering in the stall. It took a long time to summon the energy to peel his clothes from himself and tug down the cover from the bed to wrap himself in.
He nested there, shivering and sniffing and dazed, and then fell into another restless sleep from which he woke up screaming.
“No, no no no.. no no…” He muttered to himself, rocking slightly so that his head rattled against the tiled wall, the pain anchoring him.
He woke up on the floor, his head aching and his fingers twitching. Crawling forward, he managed to make it to the toilet bowl before throwing up violently. Bile and the horrid unnatural orange of those chips he’d eaten earlier splashed down, leaving him feeling just as queasy, and he heaved again.
Clutching at the ground to stop it spinning out from under him, he slumped, fingers trembling against the white as his body curled into itself. Sweat beaded down his neck, and the light seemed blinding. The wall moved, and then there was pain and silence.
He woke up screaming, the nightmare of the gaping wide mouths and dying, dead faces dancing in his eyes even as the bare bathroom swam into view. He yelled again, coming face to face with the needle, which had rolled off the counter and across the floor, to rest by his eyes.
Scrambling away, he backed into the door, and fell back onto the carpet of the bedroom floor. Staring up at the ceiling, he concentrated on breathing. His shirt was soaked, clinging to his skin horribly. He smelt, he knew he did, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up off the floor.
He had no idea how long he laid there, if he slept or if he was just blanking out for periods of time. He knew that he hurt, that he cried sometimes, that he tried to rip open his arms at one point. He knew he hungered, he needed, but that he had somehow smashed his last hit, the remains of it scattered around one corner of the bathroom. He had small cuts on the lower parts of his legs, and over his fingers, but then, they were just like the tracks up his arms, weren’t they?
Eventually, he managed to crawl into the shower, dousing himself with icy water that seemed to only do half a job of waking him up. After that, he sat shivering in the stall. It took a long time to summon the energy to peel his clothes from himself and tug down the cover from the bed to wrap himself in.
He nested there, shivering and sniffing and dazed, and then fell into another restless sleep from which he woke up screaming.