Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky (Jensen/Jared RPS) -- 35/? (WIP)
Title: Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky
Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki; Jensen Ackles / Luanne (OFC); Jared Padalecki/Pete (OMC); Jared/Eric Kripke/JDM; stated Jared/Sandy; stated Jared/Rebecca (OFC) and stated Jared/Ryan (OMC)
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
I'm not going to say when or if the next chapter will be posted...
I just now (after twenty-five chapters and nearly 60,000 words) admitted to even writing this. Yes, I am responsible for this epic debacle!
But really, it took on a mind/life of it's own... So... read at your own risk. I would enjoy feedback, but I'll understand if you don't want to start reading a WIP with no end in sight or in the works. I really have no idea what's coming next here.
Summary: Jared’s girl (Sandra) breaks up with him. Jensen tries to help. Things go (rapidly) downhill from there... then fester... then get better?
Come on! Hop in the handbasket! There be room here for everyone!
Spoilers: Overall there’s really nothing to see here… there are a few very vague spoilers for “Bugs” and some minor spoilers for “Faith” and “Bloody Mary”.
-------------------------
Chapter Thirty-Five: Conversations Pt. 5: Aftermath
Rating: R for discussion of violence and aftermath of violence, horror
Pairing: Jensen/Jared… kinda sorta
Word Count: 2,310
Chapter Thirty-Five: Conversations Pt. 5: Aftermath
We lie there for a long time, and I think it’s enough that we’re together. I’d like to think he draws some comfort from me. The way he curls into me, burrows his head into my neck and shoulder, fists wrinkles into the thin cotton of my shirt says he does. The way his lips press soft kisses to the stubble and beard-roughened skin of my chin and throat, the way he whispers that it’s okay when I murmur the name of our God followed by his and gives small thanks says it is also.
“I don’t remember when they finished.” He says finally, and sounds stronger than he did before. “I was unconscious by then…”
My arms found their way around him some time ago. One hand rests on his shoulder, the other still on the long scar left as a permanent physical reminder of the violence and small-mindedness of children.
“The time between then and waking up in the hospital was filled in by the villa employees and school officials who’d found me after I didn’t make it to the last and late shuttle home… reading the police report and appearing in court. All the stories differ in description and such… the general stuff stays the same. They found me at the edge of the woods of the villa’s property, just beyond the far border of the wedding huts and gazebos, near the lake and offshoot ponds and streams… Said I was unconscious, barely recognizable in a pile of flesh and blood and bone, the way I was curled up they swore the human body couldn’t bend that way… They called paramedics, didn’t want to chance moving me themselves.”
He pauses, looks at the clock on the cable box without lifting his head. “It’s late you know… or early, if you prefer.”
“Yeah.” I whisper. I don’t really care.
“We have to be on set at eight.” He says with a laugh, but makes no effort to move from the couch.
“What time is it?” I ask. I’m admittedly tired, but I have been for the last couple days, thanks to nightmares and restless nights. I don’t particularly want to sleep. I’m comfortable where I am, and I’m probably getting more rest here and now with my eyes closed listening to Jared’s gentle cadence even when it’s horror stories of his teenage years in smalltown, backwoods Texas I’m hearing.
“One.” He says softly.
“Do you want to go to bed?” I ask.
He yawns. “Not really… I don’t think we’re filming anything that requires me to think tomorrow… I can stay up for a while longer… You?”
I shake my head, grunt something that means ‘no’, followed by a whisper that we’ll pick up coffee on the way there… maybe go to the Starbucks even though its five or ten minutes out of the way. Stronger coffee.
“I’m gonna want to sleep until seven.” He says.
“Better shower fast, then.”
“I’ll be ready by seven-thirty.” He assures me, blindly reaching for and finding my hand beneath his shirt, tugging at it.
“No.” I whisper, match his strength to keep my hand where it is, and when he lets go, I find the scar again with my fingertips. “I want to see it…” I tell him, not surprised when he murmurs ‘no’, tries again to take my hand from his skin. “It’s a part of you…”
“I wish it wasn’t.” He sighs sadly, but he lets my hand stay. “So…”
“So the paramedics came…”
“Yeah… the paramedics came, and they got me out of there… neck brace, stiff board… strapped me in… whole nine. Raced me off to the local hospital with half the PD in tow and the other half at the scene, poking around, asking questions and taking names, from what I understand. They had statements from a lot of people by the time I woke up.”
“By the time you woke up.” It’s not meant as a question, or a statement said in shock. It’s like I’m trying the words out, seeing what they sound like. They sound like nothing good, but that’s just their context, what they relate to-Jared in a hospital. Unconscious. For a significant amount of time.
“I had broken bones… internal bleeding… heavy bruising… the cuts you know about…” He sounds as though he’s glossing over injuries, and when I don’t ask, he gets a little more specific. “Broken bones in my arm… cracked a couple ribs… it was hard to breathe for a long time… concussion, separated shoulder-that was the least of my worries-“ He laughs weakly at that. “…pain. Everything hurt…” He trails off.
“How long…” I can’t finish the question.
“Was I out for?”
I nod, hoping he’ll feel it and know what the answer is without me having to say it.
He takes a breath. “A couple days…Prom was… Friday night. I came to… I think Thursday? They let me go home Sunday afternoon… kept me for three days observation. They said me being out was a good thing… gave my body time to heal… I think… I think my mom said they might have… kept me either unconscious or comatose…”
At that, I cut him off. “You were in a coma?”
“Kinda.”
“You either are or you’re not, Jare… there’s no… kinda in a coma.” I say tersely, my fingers tightening in his shoulder and pressing harder against his midsection.
“Yes.” He says bluntly. “from Friday until Wednesday, they tell me. I came out of it Wednesday but didn’t wake up-didn’t… open my eyes-until Thursday.”
The thought of Jared… pale, with his eyes closed… for that long, makes me pull him closer, close enough to know he’s alive… close enough to feel him breathe. He’s warm, his shoulders and chest rise and fall evenly with every breath. I can feel the heat of it on my neck, warm, damp air from his mouth, can feel his long fingers moving along my torso. “Hey…” He chuckles. “Hey… hey…”
“What?” I almost snap at him.
He moves fast, sudden and quick so that his hips are aligned with mine, and instead of lying off to one side of me, he’s on top of me, staring down into my eyes. I blink back tears furiously, not wanting him to see, and stare back up at him. I think I get lost in his eyes at some point, and lose track of time, because the next thing I remember is him playing tonsil hockey with me. His hands are on my cheeks and his elbows are pressed into my shoulders almost painfully as his tongue explores my mouth.
I push him away gently, palms splayed flat on his chest. “Jare…”
“Jen, I’m here.” He says with a disarming smile. “I’m here.” It’s meant to be reassuring, but I take no solace from it.
“Yeah… I know.” My voice is rough and scratchy.
His eyes soften, as does his voice. “Jenny… it’s okay. I’m okay.” And in his eyes there’s a question that I’m not sure I can answer. A question of why.
Because I wanted to be there when he woke up.
And I don’t know how to tell him that, and I know it’s a crazy wish, because we didn’t even know each other then, and who’s to say that if we had we’d have even been friends?
“I know.” I sigh, rub my hands up his arms. “I know…”
He smiles, seemingly knowingly, pushes off of me. “We should really get to bed, Jen.” He pats my shoulder and walks away, presumably to brush his teeth, ready himself for bed.
I remain lying on the couch, drift off to that odd place where I’m not quite awake but not quite asleep, either. I hover between semiconsciousness and sleep, drifting off before jerking suddenly awake-or at least into hazy half-sleep-several times before nodding off fully. I’m vaguely aware of my neck hurting, remember thinking that I should move to bed before I wake up unable to move my neck in the morning, wake up to see Jared through blurred eyes standing over me and smiling.
“What’re you laughing at?” I grumble playfully, and when he smiles wider, reach up for the collar of his dress shirt, pull him down for a kiss, pushing my tongue into his mouth.
“You have morning breath.” He says, pushing away from me and making a face. He kisses me anyway, chaste and quick on the lips as I sit up and work my neck around, stretching out stiff muscles, groaning when it cracks painfully.
I turn to look at him over my shoulder, over the back of the couch, raise an eyebrow as I rub my neck. “So now what?” I ask, seeing him with a duffel bag in hand, standing by the door.
He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “We go to work?” He asks in a tone that suggests I don’t answer him.
“Yeah.” I stand up, yawning. My words slur. “Let me grab a shower…”
“I’ll meet you at the set.” He says, and grabs my keys on his way out the front door.
“Hey! Wait! How am I…” He’s already out the door. “…going to get to work…” I finish the question though it’s a moot point. Jared’s already gone.
I shower, call a cab to go to work, find the set with a skeleton crew when I arrive. This day just keeps getting stranger and stranger, I think, shrugging as I head into my trailer to change into appropriate ‘Dean’ clothing-jeans… tee shirt… boots… check… Leather jacket. Leather jacket. Can’t find the leather jacket.
Jared’s. I probably left it in Jared’s trailer when I dragged him off to the hospital some week and a half ago now. I find Jared in his trailer, my jacket in hand.
“So where is everyone?” I step inside his trailer and into my coat. Now I feel like Dean Winchester, feel like I’m in character.
“Around.” Jared says evasively, pulling on a shirt, covering smooth skin.
I reach out suddenly, fingers snaking around his waist, slender hipbones, pulling him close to me and planting a kiss on his mouth. I can’t resist.
“What are you doing?” Jared bats my hands away, angrily and steps back. “Jensen, what’s gotten into you?”
I smile, somewhat nervously. I didn’t think I’d be comfortable with this all so soon, but its’ Jared, and it’s just a turn in our relationship. I’m surprisingly comfortable with it. “Jared, I thought… I thought you’d be happy… that I was taking it so well.”
“What are you talking about?” He asks. “Jensen, I don’t know what you’re thinking… but… this morning? Kissing me? And now? Jensen, I don’t swing that way!”
“What?” I look at him, confused.
“Jensen…” He stops as if to think, then continues. “…if you’re gay… I mean… that’s great… good for you… I mean… I’m happy for you…” He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth and backs up some more. “You do what you want, man. Whatever floats your boat… but I’m with Sandy. You know that!”
And Eric’s there, in Jared’s trailer, laughing at me. So is the man who plays our father-Jeffrey Dean Morgan-Jeff, to us. They’re pointing… laughing… calling me gay… faggot… cocksucker…
“No…” I shake my head, whimpering when Jeff shoves me against the door of the trailer. “No…”
“Jen? Jenny?” Jared’s soft voice, far more caring than it’s been. “Jenny!”
I jerk awake when he shakes me, calls my name, loudly, close my face. There’s a look of deep concern in his blue-green eyes. “Jenny…”
I sit up, pushing back from him, shoving myself against the armrest, staring at him with wide eyes. “Ja…” I’m breathing heavy, stumble over his name. “Jar…. Jared!”
“Jenny…” He’s not wearing a collared shirt-he’s in the same tee shirt he was in last night. I’m on my sofa, not in his trailer. It’s night time… the room is dark. “Jenny, it was a dream… Jenny…”
I squint, raise my hands to rub at my eyes. “Yeah… just a dream…” I manage, coming around enough to realize that’s what it was-just a dream. I must have nodded off on the couch while Jared went to brush his teeth.
I’m shaking-badly.
Jared notices, either sees it or feels it as I shift on the sofa, swing my legs over the side to the floor. I wiggle my toes against the carpet as proof that I’m awake. He sits next to me, slides his left arm gently around my shoulders. “Jenny?”
His voice is so tentative, so softly caring, that it makes my heart twist in my chest. I take a deep breath. I’m still shaking. “Just a dream.” I repeat, sliding my hands through my hair.
“Come on, Jen…” He sighs heavily. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?” His hand rubs my shoulder and he smiles, a small, tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reassure me in the slightest. He looks as tired as I feel. At least he’ll sleep.
I nod, too tired to argue with him, to shake off the quiet help he offers, the arm that supports me, physically and emotionally.
He gets me to the door of my room, where I say goodnight, and make my own way to the bathroom. I wait until I hear the door to the guest room close before falling to my knees near the toilet and throwing up dinner. When I fall into dry heaves, I haul myself to my feet, brush my teeth and rinse my mouth. I stand under a hot shower until the water runs cold, fall into bed naked at nearly three-thirty, and wait for sleep and the expected nightmares to take me.
I’m not disappointed.
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Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki; Jensen Ackles / Luanne (OFC); Jared Padalecki/Pete (OMC); Jared/Eric Kripke/JDM; stated Jared/Sandy; stated Jared/Rebecca (OFC) and stated Jared/Ryan (OMC)
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
I'm not going to say when or if the next chapter will be posted...
I just now (after twenty-five chapters and nearly 60,000 words) admitted to even writing this. Yes, I am responsible for this epic debacle!
But really, it took on a mind/life of it's own... So... read at your own risk. I would enjoy feedback, but I'll understand if you don't want to start reading a WIP with no end in sight or in the works. I really have no idea what's coming next here.
Summary: Jared’s girl (Sandra) breaks up with him. Jensen tries to help. Things go (rapidly) downhill from there... then fester... then get better?
Come on! Hop in the handbasket! There be room here for everyone!
Spoilers: Overall there’s really nothing to see here… there are a few very vague spoilers for “Bugs” and some minor spoilers for “Faith” and “Bloody Mary”.
-------------------------
Chapter Thirty-Five: Conversations Pt. 5: Aftermath
Rating: R for discussion of violence and aftermath of violence, horror
Pairing: Jensen/Jared… kinda sorta
Word Count: 2,310
Chapter Thirty-Five: Conversations Pt. 5: Aftermath
We lie there for a long time, and I think it’s enough that we’re together. I’d like to think he draws some comfort from me. The way he curls into me, burrows his head into my neck and shoulder, fists wrinkles into the thin cotton of my shirt says he does. The way his lips press soft kisses to the stubble and beard-roughened skin of my chin and throat, the way he whispers that it’s okay when I murmur the name of our God followed by his and gives small thanks says it is also.
“I don’t remember when they finished.” He says finally, and sounds stronger than he did before. “I was unconscious by then…”
My arms found their way around him some time ago. One hand rests on his shoulder, the other still on the long scar left as a permanent physical reminder of the violence and small-mindedness of children.
“The time between then and waking up in the hospital was filled in by the villa employees and school officials who’d found me after I didn’t make it to the last and late shuttle home… reading the police report and appearing in court. All the stories differ in description and such… the general stuff stays the same. They found me at the edge of the woods of the villa’s property, just beyond the far border of the wedding huts and gazebos, near the lake and offshoot ponds and streams… Said I was unconscious, barely recognizable in a pile of flesh and blood and bone, the way I was curled up they swore the human body couldn’t bend that way… They called paramedics, didn’t want to chance moving me themselves.”
He pauses, looks at the clock on the cable box without lifting his head. “It’s late you know… or early, if you prefer.”
“Yeah.” I whisper. I don’t really care.
“We have to be on set at eight.” He says with a laugh, but makes no effort to move from the couch.
“What time is it?” I ask. I’m admittedly tired, but I have been for the last couple days, thanks to nightmares and restless nights. I don’t particularly want to sleep. I’m comfortable where I am, and I’m probably getting more rest here and now with my eyes closed listening to Jared’s gentle cadence even when it’s horror stories of his teenage years in smalltown, backwoods Texas I’m hearing.
“One.” He says softly.
“Do you want to go to bed?” I ask.
He yawns. “Not really… I don’t think we’re filming anything that requires me to think tomorrow… I can stay up for a while longer… You?”
I shake my head, grunt something that means ‘no’, followed by a whisper that we’ll pick up coffee on the way there… maybe go to the Starbucks even though its five or ten minutes out of the way. Stronger coffee.
“I’m gonna want to sleep until seven.” He says.
“Better shower fast, then.”
“I’ll be ready by seven-thirty.” He assures me, blindly reaching for and finding my hand beneath his shirt, tugging at it.
“No.” I whisper, match his strength to keep my hand where it is, and when he lets go, I find the scar again with my fingertips. “I want to see it…” I tell him, not surprised when he murmurs ‘no’, tries again to take my hand from his skin. “It’s a part of you…”
“I wish it wasn’t.” He sighs sadly, but he lets my hand stay. “So…”
“So the paramedics came…”
“Yeah… the paramedics came, and they got me out of there… neck brace, stiff board… strapped me in… whole nine. Raced me off to the local hospital with half the PD in tow and the other half at the scene, poking around, asking questions and taking names, from what I understand. They had statements from a lot of people by the time I woke up.”
“By the time you woke up.” It’s not meant as a question, or a statement said in shock. It’s like I’m trying the words out, seeing what they sound like. They sound like nothing good, but that’s just their context, what they relate to-Jared in a hospital. Unconscious. For a significant amount of time.
“I had broken bones… internal bleeding… heavy bruising… the cuts you know about…” He sounds as though he’s glossing over injuries, and when I don’t ask, he gets a little more specific. “Broken bones in my arm… cracked a couple ribs… it was hard to breathe for a long time… concussion, separated shoulder-that was the least of my worries-“ He laughs weakly at that. “…pain. Everything hurt…” He trails off.
“How long…” I can’t finish the question.
“Was I out for?”
I nod, hoping he’ll feel it and know what the answer is without me having to say it.
He takes a breath. “A couple days…Prom was… Friday night. I came to… I think Thursday? They let me go home Sunday afternoon… kept me for three days observation. They said me being out was a good thing… gave my body time to heal… I think… I think my mom said they might have… kept me either unconscious or comatose…”
At that, I cut him off. “You were in a coma?”
“Kinda.”
“You either are or you’re not, Jare… there’s no… kinda in a coma.” I say tersely, my fingers tightening in his shoulder and pressing harder against his midsection.
“Yes.” He says bluntly. “from Friday until Wednesday, they tell me. I came out of it Wednesday but didn’t wake up-didn’t… open my eyes-until Thursday.”
The thought of Jared… pale, with his eyes closed… for that long, makes me pull him closer, close enough to know he’s alive… close enough to feel him breathe. He’s warm, his shoulders and chest rise and fall evenly with every breath. I can feel the heat of it on my neck, warm, damp air from his mouth, can feel his long fingers moving along my torso. “Hey…” He chuckles. “Hey… hey…”
“What?” I almost snap at him.
He moves fast, sudden and quick so that his hips are aligned with mine, and instead of lying off to one side of me, he’s on top of me, staring down into my eyes. I blink back tears furiously, not wanting him to see, and stare back up at him. I think I get lost in his eyes at some point, and lose track of time, because the next thing I remember is him playing tonsil hockey with me. His hands are on my cheeks and his elbows are pressed into my shoulders almost painfully as his tongue explores my mouth.
I push him away gently, palms splayed flat on his chest. “Jare…”
“Jen, I’m here.” He says with a disarming smile. “I’m here.” It’s meant to be reassuring, but I take no solace from it.
“Yeah… I know.” My voice is rough and scratchy.
His eyes soften, as does his voice. “Jenny… it’s okay. I’m okay.” And in his eyes there’s a question that I’m not sure I can answer. A question of why.
Because I wanted to be there when he woke up.
And I don’t know how to tell him that, and I know it’s a crazy wish, because we didn’t even know each other then, and who’s to say that if we had we’d have even been friends?
“I know.” I sigh, rub my hands up his arms. “I know…”
He smiles, seemingly knowingly, pushes off of me. “We should really get to bed, Jen.” He pats my shoulder and walks away, presumably to brush his teeth, ready himself for bed.
I remain lying on the couch, drift off to that odd place where I’m not quite awake but not quite asleep, either. I hover between semiconsciousness and sleep, drifting off before jerking suddenly awake-or at least into hazy half-sleep-several times before nodding off fully. I’m vaguely aware of my neck hurting, remember thinking that I should move to bed before I wake up unable to move my neck in the morning, wake up to see Jared through blurred eyes standing over me and smiling.
“What’re you laughing at?” I grumble playfully, and when he smiles wider, reach up for the collar of his dress shirt, pull him down for a kiss, pushing my tongue into his mouth.
“You have morning breath.” He says, pushing away from me and making a face. He kisses me anyway, chaste and quick on the lips as I sit up and work my neck around, stretching out stiff muscles, groaning when it cracks painfully.
I turn to look at him over my shoulder, over the back of the couch, raise an eyebrow as I rub my neck. “So now what?” I ask, seeing him with a duffel bag in hand, standing by the door.
He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “We go to work?” He asks in a tone that suggests I don’t answer him.
“Yeah.” I stand up, yawning. My words slur. “Let me grab a shower…”
“I’ll meet you at the set.” He says, and grabs my keys on his way out the front door.
“Hey! Wait! How am I…” He’s already out the door. “…going to get to work…” I finish the question though it’s a moot point. Jared’s already gone.
I shower, call a cab to go to work, find the set with a skeleton crew when I arrive. This day just keeps getting stranger and stranger, I think, shrugging as I head into my trailer to change into appropriate ‘Dean’ clothing-jeans… tee shirt… boots… check… Leather jacket. Leather jacket. Can’t find the leather jacket.
Jared’s. I probably left it in Jared’s trailer when I dragged him off to the hospital some week and a half ago now. I find Jared in his trailer, my jacket in hand.
“So where is everyone?” I step inside his trailer and into my coat. Now I feel like Dean Winchester, feel like I’m in character.
“Around.” Jared says evasively, pulling on a shirt, covering smooth skin.
I reach out suddenly, fingers snaking around his waist, slender hipbones, pulling him close to me and planting a kiss on his mouth. I can’t resist.
“What are you doing?” Jared bats my hands away, angrily and steps back. “Jensen, what’s gotten into you?”
I smile, somewhat nervously. I didn’t think I’d be comfortable with this all so soon, but its’ Jared, and it’s just a turn in our relationship. I’m surprisingly comfortable with it. “Jared, I thought… I thought you’d be happy… that I was taking it so well.”
“What are you talking about?” He asks. “Jensen, I don’t know what you’re thinking… but… this morning? Kissing me? And now? Jensen, I don’t swing that way!”
“What?” I look at him, confused.
“Jensen…” He stops as if to think, then continues. “…if you’re gay… I mean… that’s great… good for you… I mean… I’m happy for you…” He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth and backs up some more. “You do what you want, man. Whatever floats your boat… but I’m with Sandy. You know that!”
And Eric’s there, in Jared’s trailer, laughing at me. So is the man who plays our father-Jeffrey Dean Morgan-Jeff, to us. They’re pointing… laughing… calling me gay… faggot… cocksucker…
“No…” I shake my head, whimpering when Jeff shoves me against the door of the trailer. “No…”
“Jen? Jenny?” Jared’s soft voice, far more caring than it’s been. “Jenny!”
I jerk awake when he shakes me, calls my name, loudly, close my face. There’s a look of deep concern in his blue-green eyes. “Jenny…”
I sit up, pushing back from him, shoving myself against the armrest, staring at him with wide eyes. “Ja…” I’m breathing heavy, stumble over his name. “Jar…. Jared!”
“Jenny…” He’s not wearing a collared shirt-he’s in the same tee shirt he was in last night. I’m on my sofa, not in his trailer. It’s night time… the room is dark. “Jenny, it was a dream… Jenny…”
I squint, raise my hands to rub at my eyes. “Yeah… just a dream…” I manage, coming around enough to realize that’s what it was-just a dream. I must have nodded off on the couch while Jared went to brush his teeth.
I’m shaking-badly.
Jared notices, either sees it or feels it as I shift on the sofa, swing my legs over the side to the floor. I wiggle my toes against the carpet as proof that I’m awake. He sits next to me, slides his left arm gently around my shoulders. “Jenny?”
His voice is so tentative, so softly caring, that it makes my heart twist in my chest. I take a deep breath. I’m still shaking. “Just a dream.” I repeat, sliding my hands through my hair.
“Come on, Jen…” He sighs heavily. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?” His hand rubs my shoulder and he smiles, a small, tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reassure me in the slightest. He looks as tired as I feel. At least he’ll sleep.
I nod, too tired to argue with him, to shake off the quiet help he offers, the arm that supports me, physically and emotionally.
He gets me to the door of my room, where I say goodnight, and make my own way to the bathroom. I wait until I hear the door to the guest room close before falling to my knees near the toilet and throwing up dinner. When I fall into dry heaves, I haul myself to my feet, brush my teeth and rinse my mouth. I stand under a hot shower until the water runs cold, fall into bed naked at nearly three-thirty, and wait for sleep and the expected nightmares to take me.
I’m not disappointed.
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