Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky (Jensen/Jared RPS) -- 46/51
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.
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”, “Bloody Mary” and "Shadow".
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Chapter Forty-Six: Moving On
Rating: R for adult themes
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Word Count: 3,075
…again… just go with me on the Xanax/medication bits here, okay? I didn’t research anything this time… didn’t feel like it. Willing suspension of disbelief or just smile and nod, mmmkay?
Chapter Forty-Six: Moving On
We split the sandwich and a can of diet coke, that to my chagrin, is caffeine free. Jared’s hell-bent on me cutting caffeine out of my diet completely, at least until Monday morning, when we’re back on set, because he knows if I don’t have my cup of coffee while Eric’s running around shouting directions, I’ll just be a bitch to work with. Until then, however, it seems I’m at his mercy, and if I’m right, I’ll be suffering from caffeine withdrawal headaches by tomorrow morning.
I’m still hungry, but with my stomach being as temperamental as it’s been recently, I don’t try eating more than my half the sandwich. I know the nausea’s been from the panic attacks, but in the interests of saving myself what’s becoming the painful process (I’ve been retching so often of late it’s becoming physically painful, my sides ache and twist and hurt) of vomiting, I’ll err on the side of hunger.
We play cards over the kitchen counter while sitting on bar stools, nursing beers. The snow is falling harder outside, and Jared runs out in the snow to re-stock the pile of firewood in the holder on the porch. He brings a few pieces inside, puts them near the hearth.
I can feel the cold air sweep in when Jared opens the door. It’s a chill that’s almost refreshing, and it gives me a good excuse to cup Jared’s cheeks in my hands and kiss him when he drags up the last of the firewood.
“You’re freezing.” I tell him, kissing the cold-reddened tip of his nose.
“It’s cold outside. What do you expect?” He asks me, but he’s grinning into my mouth, following me as I back up. The backs of my knees curve around the armrest of the sofa, and I tumble backwards, pulling Jared with me.
He props himself up on one hand and one elbow, on opposite sides of my face, looks down at me. His chest rests on mine, and I can feel one of his knees tucked between my thighs. “Jen…” He whispers. “I really think that…”
I slide my hand into his hair, weave my fingers into the long waves. “Hold that thought…” I tug his head down until our lips touch, and I can gain access to his mouth, tasting the beer and remnants of submarine sandwich on him. He hasn’t shaved in the last two days. The stubble on his jaw rubs roughly against my recently-shaved face, irritates my skin, but in a good way.
He lifts up again, puts a finger to my mouth when I move to follow. “No, Jen…”
“I thought you wanted this… wanted me.”
He slides his leg from between mine over the edge of the couch, pushes off and stands up, bringing both hands to his hair. “I do, Jen… more than anything.”
I drag myself into a sitting position on the couch and stare at him. “So… what’s the problem?”
“You.” He says, simply.
“Me?” I’m thoroughly confused now. I’m pretty sure he wants me. I don’t think he’d lie about it just seconds ago, and the way he kisses me says he wants me. I think. It’s not like I have lots of experience in this type of relationship.
He sits next to me on the couch. “Jen,” he starts quietly. He’s thoughtful, speaks slowly and clearly, but with an understanding and a softness that belies his concern. “I want you. You know that. And I trust you. Implicitly. With my life. I hope you know that.”
I nod. “I do.”
He nods. “I also care about you.” And he’s quiet for a minute after he says that, as if he doesn’t know what comes next.
“I know…” I urge him to continue in not so many words.
A light pink flush rises in his cheeks. Not enough to be considered a blush, but just a tinge of color to otherwise lightly tanned skin. It makes him glow. His eyes twinkle and crinkle around the edges as he smiles, a quick, small smile that fades all too quickly as he contemplates his next words.
“Which means…” He breathes. “I’ll wait for you… Jen, I...” His mouth shapes each word carefully. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m pushing you.”
“I don’t.” I tilt my head to one side. It’s the truth. I don’t feel like he’s pushing me. I know he won’t rush me, push me into anything I’m not ready for. I smile. “Really, Jare… I don’t.”
He nods, and I’m not sure if it’s him trying another tactic because he thinks that maybe I will one day feel as though I were pushed or rushed, or if he’s being honest, but he says then, “Jen… for me, too… I haven’t...”
Understanding dawns on me. “You haven’t been with a man since…” I don’t say the name, though it’s on the tip of my tongue. He hasn’t been with a man since Ryan-the college boy he’d been with before the attack.
I accept it as honesty. It makes sense, really, and I didn’t think that he was completely over the events from his prom. I don’t know if he ever will be.
He shakes his head no.
“Jare?” I ask, and continue when he raises his eyes to me and cocks an eyebrow in reply. “Your limp…” I nudge my chin towards his leg. “It’s not from a ranching injury, is it?”
He looks down at his leg, then back up at me. He doesn’t answer me one way or the other, doesn’t even so much as offer a smile or nuance that might hint that it’s more one than the other.
“Jare… I know…”
He cuts me off. “No, Jen. You don’t know. You weren’t there, and it didn’t happen to you. You don’t know.” He’s not angry, and he’s not snapping at me. He doesn’t sound upset. He’s just talking, his tone even and flat, but his words hurt just the same.
I was going to say that I know he’s not over what happened to him. He just proved it.
Each of us fall into an uncomfortable silence that lasts until there’s nothing for either of us to say. Jared eventually gets up, and disappears outside without a jacket. I don’t bother chasing after him though it pokes at the back of my mind that he’s just over pneumonia and all it might take is a stroke of bad luck for him to have a relapse.
He stumbles back in a few moments later, dusted with snow, white in his hair and on his shoulders, quickly melting. He shakes off the more solid flakes on the rug, closes the door and shivers quickly, running his hands up his arms. I watch from my spot on the couch.
He smiles tentatively, and I roll my eyes before getting up and padding over to my luggage, fumbling through it for a book.
I don’t read. I sit on the couch, open to the last page I read, thinking. About me, and about Jared, about the very real possibility of us. I think about what I did today-kissing him. And I think about how it felt and what it might lead to, if I want that-really want that-with him. I should know by now that thinking about this is very, very bad for me.
I don’t even notice when I start panting/wheezing-it takes me the first tightness in my chest to sit up and realize my heart is working overtime-and I don’t notice at first the way my palms are sweating. I put my book down and wipe my palms on my pants.
I take a deep breath and try to calm down, close my eyes and try to imagine myself someplace else. It’s still snowing outside, cold and foreboding. Stranding us here, which was the idea, but even now, on Thursday, I worry if we’ll be able to make it home on Sunday.
Jared coughs-a short thing that probably just means he has something caught in his throat, but the first thing that comes to my mind is an image of him, coughing and sick and us stranded here in the woods, up on the mountain in the cold and snow, unable to get home. It’s a far more likely scenario than the next image that comes-Jared sick and unable to defend himself against invisible attackers. If I close my eyes, the shadowy attackers all look like me.
I’m aware that the images are all just my overactive imagination hard at work, and that they’re all based on my fears-the fears of an irrational mind. I also know I’m not thinking rationally at the moment. My heart rate is too fast and my hands are too shaky. I’m starting to panic.
The instant I realize that, I also realize that Jared’s already noticed. He’s got my medication in one hand, a bottle of water in the other. I don’t want to take the Xanax, and the sight of it’s enough to make me start breathing irregularly.
He puts both bottles behind him on the coffee table so that his body hides them from my sight. “Jenny.”
Focus. I tell myself to focus. It works, combined with the oddly calming rubbing of Jared’s hands, up and down my arms, just enough to make the sharpest waves of panic subside. My hands are still clammy and I’m still shaking. I don’t understand. Every time before this, I could feel it starting. I could identify, at least in part, contributing factors to the panic attack. This one though… it seems it came out of nowhere.
I’d been calm-relatively so-beforehand, just thinking about Jared-us, even. Even now, the thought of us… of Jared… is soothing. The panic just came out of nowhere.
That realization, that they can just happen, with no identifiable trigger, scares me, and it’s as I notice my eyesight’s gone blurry and dark around the edges, that I feel that I’m about to hurl. My heart is thumping to the beat of a techno dance hit in my chest, and everything goes gray.
I’m too far gone to fight, to even be aware of what’s happening, beyond the sensation of being physically moved, my body manipulated like a marionette. It’s a scary feeling. My breath hitches.
I can hear familiar voices, and I almost gag when something is pushed deep into my mouth, to my throat. I swallow instinctively, and then I remember fear and overwhelming panic. It feels like I can’t breathe. And then I don’t remember anything at all.
My senses return to me slowly. Taste comes first, a bitter, powdery substance lodged deep in my throat, centered at the back of my mouth. Touch follows, and I become aware that I’m lying down. There are soft, fuzzy blankets covering me. I’m comfortably warm. I can smell beer and the remnants of the day-old hero sandwich. Nausea comes on strong, but is quickly squelched as my nose adjusts. I can hear Jared’s voice. He’s talking to someone.
“No… it just… just like that. He seemed perfectly fine just… minutes… seconds… before. And then…” There’s a pause. I can’t hear the voice of the person he’s talking to. He must be on the phone. “Yeah…” I can only assume he’s talking about me. “So I shouldn’t worry about it too much?”
I can’t imagine who he might be talking to.
“Okay… Yeah… I got it.” And a second later it sounds like he’s reading back a list, and I get an idea of who he might be talking to. “…Make sure he sleeps… eats regular meals… cut out the caffeine… make sure he takes the Xanax…” A sigh before his next words, spoken softly. “…and if they get worse… or don’t get less frequent… take him to the hospital.”
“They won’t be able to do much.” I comment lightly, lifting an arm from under the covers to throw it over my eyes, and then squinting against the light as I finally let my eyes open.
“Oh… he’s awake...” Jared turns to me, and I see he’s on my cell phone, which all but confirms my suspicions that he was talking to the good doctor. “We’ll call if we need anything. Thanks so much, Doctor.”
That confirms it. He was talking to Eddie McKayne. Surprisingly, that fact bothers me less than I thought it might, and certainly less than it would have if it had been anyone else. “You used my cell phone?” I ask.
“Mine doesn’t get good reception up here.” He sinks to his knees by the side of the couch. I’m still lying down, the only movement I’ve chanced being the lifting of my arm and the opening of my eyes. “And…” He has the decency to blush saying this-“I was looking… to see who I should call.”
“So what did Eddie have to tell you?” I drag my arm from my eyes and try to sit up, only to be stopped by Jared’s hand splayed across my chest. “Jare, I had a panic attack. I’m not an invalid.”
Jared takes his hand from my chest silently.
“And so you know, I’m not happy about you calling Eddie. Or about you sneaking around behind my back, using my cell phone to do it.”
“I had to, Jensen.” He says flatly. “I didn’t know who to call. I didn’t know who your doctor was, and I wanted to talk to someone… so I’d know what to do other than just…” He breaks off.
“Force feed me Xanax?” I ask, taking the bottle of water from the coffee table and downing half of it, washing the bitter dry of the remains of the Xanax down my throat.
He shrugs, then nods. He’s staring at the floor, long fingers picking at the wood disinterestedly. Suddenly he looks back up at me. “Jensen… I have to be able to do something… you’re… I mean… you’re…”
“Freaking out.” I fill in. “I know… I’m… I’m scared, too, Jare… but…” I gnaw at my lower lip a minute. It’s enough to tell him I’m scared. I know it is. I know he is. And I know we’ll get through this, and we’ll do it better together than we will by ourselves. I know I’ll get through it better with Jared than without him. “So what did Eddie tell you?”
“Really want to know?” He raises an eyebrow questioningly, his mouth curling down in a half-frown.
“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
A nod. “He said they can… just come on like that. They’re not always triggered. Especially in your case...” He pauses, and when he sees my expression, saying I’m about to ask ‘my case?’, continues. “…insomnia… caffeine… not eating regularly… been getting them recently… …and you have a history of them, Jen… you’re prone to them. So, add in the contributing factors and… bam.”
“So until I start doing something to get them under control…”
“It won’t matter if you’re upset or worried about something or not.” He confirms, and after a slight pause, adds, “Jen… I don’t want to have to take you to the hospital.”
It’s my turn to lift an eyebrow at him. “They won’t be able to do much… they’ll just drug me up until I’m in a daze… incapacitate me with Xanax and let me stay until it wears off… give me an IV and make me sleep… stay overnight or whatever…”
“That what they did in LA?”
“Mostly. My neighbor took me in in the morning… they doped me up on so much Xanax I couldn’t see straight for a day… Slept most of the day and the next day. They gave me an IV and a sleeping pill… did some sort of CAT scans… don’t know why… They had me meet with a nutritionist who put me on a strict diet… then a psychiatrist… and they let me go after that.”
“I see you’ve done a great job with that diet.”
“I followed it for three weeks.” Okay, so that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I followed it for about two weeks. Only a week strictly… Long enough to get the panic attacks under control.”
“So what’s the diet?”
“No, Jared.” I’m not going back on that grass and sticks diet. I think I lost twenty pounds in those three weeks-ten in the first week alone when I stuck to it completely. I felt like shit. The only thing it did for me was get the panic attacks under control, and I really think I can do that without resorting to the diet of a starved Hollywood diva again.
He sighs, but doesn’t say anything else about it. “He said I should try to get you to sleep… and that you should eat regularly.” He knows that I already know this. “And that you should take the Xanax.”
“If I need to.”
“One a day.” Jared counters.
“When I need to.”
“Which has been once, sometimes even twice a day.”
“Jared.” My voice rises at the end of his name in warning.
“One. A. Day.” Jared states, and at my expression, offers “…at least for a week… to see if it helps…”
“He said when I need them.” I don’t know if he did or not, but I’m willing to try anything. I know they help, but I don’t like taking them. It’s not just Xanax. I just don’t like taking pills in general.
He holds his phone out to me. “You can call him.”
I do, and I can hear the grin in Eddie’s voice when he says “Well I told him to have you take three a day.” And he may be grinning while he’s saying that, but I’m fairly sure he’s not lying or saying it to get a rise out of me.
“I’d be a zombie!” I protest.
“No, you’d just be pretty stoned.” Eddie says seriously. “I lowered your dosage, remember? And besides, you go to the hospital and they’ll pump you full of stuff that’s a lot stronger than Xanax.”
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that.” I grumble, knowing he’s right.
“I hope it doesn’t.” Eddie says before hanging up.
In a show of maturity, I stick my tongue out at my cell phone before putting it on the coffee table.
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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.
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”, “Bloody Mary” and "Shadow".
-------------------------
Chapter Forty-Six: Moving On
Rating: R for adult themes
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Word Count: 3,075
…again… just go with me on the Xanax/medication bits here, okay? I didn’t research anything this time… didn’t feel like it. Willing suspension of disbelief or just smile and nod, mmmkay?
Chapter Forty-Six: Moving On
We split the sandwich and a can of diet coke, that to my chagrin, is caffeine free. Jared’s hell-bent on me cutting caffeine out of my diet completely, at least until Monday morning, when we’re back on set, because he knows if I don’t have my cup of coffee while Eric’s running around shouting directions, I’ll just be a bitch to work with. Until then, however, it seems I’m at his mercy, and if I’m right, I’ll be suffering from caffeine withdrawal headaches by tomorrow morning.
I’m still hungry, but with my stomach being as temperamental as it’s been recently, I don’t try eating more than my half the sandwich. I know the nausea’s been from the panic attacks, but in the interests of saving myself what’s becoming the painful process (I’ve been retching so often of late it’s becoming physically painful, my sides ache and twist and hurt) of vomiting, I’ll err on the side of hunger.
We play cards over the kitchen counter while sitting on bar stools, nursing beers. The snow is falling harder outside, and Jared runs out in the snow to re-stock the pile of firewood in the holder on the porch. He brings a few pieces inside, puts them near the hearth.
I can feel the cold air sweep in when Jared opens the door. It’s a chill that’s almost refreshing, and it gives me a good excuse to cup Jared’s cheeks in my hands and kiss him when he drags up the last of the firewood.
“You’re freezing.” I tell him, kissing the cold-reddened tip of his nose.
“It’s cold outside. What do you expect?” He asks me, but he’s grinning into my mouth, following me as I back up. The backs of my knees curve around the armrest of the sofa, and I tumble backwards, pulling Jared with me.
He props himself up on one hand and one elbow, on opposite sides of my face, looks down at me. His chest rests on mine, and I can feel one of his knees tucked between my thighs. “Jen…” He whispers. “I really think that…”
I slide my hand into his hair, weave my fingers into the long waves. “Hold that thought…” I tug his head down until our lips touch, and I can gain access to his mouth, tasting the beer and remnants of submarine sandwich on him. He hasn’t shaved in the last two days. The stubble on his jaw rubs roughly against my recently-shaved face, irritates my skin, but in a good way.
He lifts up again, puts a finger to my mouth when I move to follow. “No, Jen…”
“I thought you wanted this… wanted me.”
He slides his leg from between mine over the edge of the couch, pushes off and stands up, bringing both hands to his hair. “I do, Jen… more than anything.”
I drag myself into a sitting position on the couch and stare at him. “So… what’s the problem?”
“You.” He says, simply.
“Me?” I’m thoroughly confused now. I’m pretty sure he wants me. I don’t think he’d lie about it just seconds ago, and the way he kisses me says he wants me. I think. It’s not like I have lots of experience in this type of relationship.
He sits next to me on the couch. “Jen,” he starts quietly. He’s thoughtful, speaks slowly and clearly, but with an understanding and a softness that belies his concern. “I want you. You know that. And I trust you. Implicitly. With my life. I hope you know that.”
I nod. “I do.”
He nods. “I also care about you.” And he’s quiet for a minute after he says that, as if he doesn’t know what comes next.
“I know…” I urge him to continue in not so many words.
A light pink flush rises in his cheeks. Not enough to be considered a blush, but just a tinge of color to otherwise lightly tanned skin. It makes him glow. His eyes twinkle and crinkle around the edges as he smiles, a quick, small smile that fades all too quickly as he contemplates his next words.
“Which means…” He breathes. “I’ll wait for you… Jen, I...” His mouth shapes each word carefully. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m pushing you.”
“I don’t.” I tilt my head to one side. It’s the truth. I don’t feel like he’s pushing me. I know he won’t rush me, push me into anything I’m not ready for. I smile. “Really, Jare… I don’t.”
He nods, and I’m not sure if it’s him trying another tactic because he thinks that maybe I will one day feel as though I were pushed or rushed, or if he’s being honest, but he says then, “Jen… for me, too… I haven’t...”
Understanding dawns on me. “You haven’t been with a man since…” I don’t say the name, though it’s on the tip of my tongue. He hasn’t been with a man since Ryan-the college boy he’d been with before the attack.
I accept it as honesty. It makes sense, really, and I didn’t think that he was completely over the events from his prom. I don’t know if he ever will be.
He shakes his head no.
“Jare?” I ask, and continue when he raises his eyes to me and cocks an eyebrow in reply. “Your limp…” I nudge my chin towards his leg. “It’s not from a ranching injury, is it?”
He looks down at his leg, then back up at me. He doesn’t answer me one way or the other, doesn’t even so much as offer a smile or nuance that might hint that it’s more one than the other.
“Jare… I know…”
He cuts me off. “No, Jen. You don’t know. You weren’t there, and it didn’t happen to you. You don’t know.” He’s not angry, and he’s not snapping at me. He doesn’t sound upset. He’s just talking, his tone even and flat, but his words hurt just the same.
I was going to say that I know he’s not over what happened to him. He just proved it.
Each of us fall into an uncomfortable silence that lasts until there’s nothing for either of us to say. Jared eventually gets up, and disappears outside without a jacket. I don’t bother chasing after him though it pokes at the back of my mind that he’s just over pneumonia and all it might take is a stroke of bad luck for him to have a relapse.
He stumbles back in a few moments later, dusted with snow, white in his hair and on his shoulders, quickly melting. He shakes off the more solid flakes on the rug, closes the door and shivers quickly, running his hands up his arms. I watch from my spot on the couch.
He smiles tentatively, and I roll my eyes before getting up and padding over to my luggage, fumbling through it for a book.
I don’t read. I sit on the couch, open to the last page I read, thinking. About me, and about Jared, about the very real possibility of us. I think about what I did today-kissing him. And I think about how it felt and what it might lead to, if I want that-really want that-with him. I should know by now that thinking about this is very, very bad for me.
I don’t even notice when I start panting/wheezing-it takes me the first tightness in my chest to sit up and realize my heart is working overtime-and I don’t notice at first the way my palms are sweating. I put my book down and wipe my palms on my pants.
I take a deep breath and try to calm down, close my eyes and try to imagine myself someplace else. It’s still snowing outside, cold and foreboding. Stranding us here, which was the idea, but even now, on Thursday, I worry if we’ll be able to make it home on Sunday.
Jared coughs-a short thing that probably just means he has something caught in his throat, but the first thing that comes to my mind is an image of him, coughing and sick and us stranded here in the woods, up on the mountain in the cold and snow, unable to get home. It’s a far more likely scenario than the next image that comes-Jared sick and unable to defend himself against invisible attackers. If I close my eyes, the shadowy attackers all look like me.
I’m aware that the images are all just my overactive imagination hard at work, and that they’re all based on my fears-the fears of an irrational mind. I also know I’m not thinking rationally at the moment. My heart rate is too fast and my hands are too shaky. I’m starting to panic.
The instant I realize that, I also realize that Jared’s already noticed. He’s got my medication in one hand, a bottle of water in the other. I don’t want to take the Xanax, and the sight of it’s enough to make me start breathing irregularly.
He puts both bottles behind him on the coffee table so that his body hides them from my sight. “Jenny.”
Focus. I tell myself to focus. It works, combined with the oddly calming rubbing of Jared’s hands, up and down my arms, just enough to make the sharpest waves of panic subside. My hands are still clammy and I’m still shaking. I don’t understand. Every time before this, I could feel it starting. I could identify, at least in part, contributing factors to the panic attack. This one though… it seems it came out of nowhere.
I’d been calm-relatively so-beforehand, just thinking about Jared-us, even. Even now, the thought of us… of Jared… is soothing. The panic just came out of nowhere.
That realization, that they can just happen, with no identifiable trigger, scares me, and it’s as I notice my eyesight’s gone blurry and dark around the edges, that I feel that I’m about to hurl. My heart is thumping to the beat of a techno dance hit in my chest, and everything goes gray.
I’m too far gone to fight, to even be aware of what’s happening, beyond the sensation of being physically moved, my body manipulated like a marionette. It’s a scary feeling. My breath hitches.
I can hear familiar voices, and I almost gag when something is pushed deep into my mouth, to my throat. I swallow instinctively, and then I remember fear and overwhelming panic. It feels like I can’t breathe. And then I don’t remember anything at all.
My senses return to me slowly. Taste comes first, a bitter, powdery substance lodged deep in my throat, centered at the back of my mouth. Touch follows, and I become aware that I’m lying down. There are soft, fuzzy blankets covering me. I’m comfortably warm. I can smell beer and the remnants of the day-old hero sandwich. Nausea comes on strong, but is quickly squelched as my nose adjusts. I can hear Jared’s voice. He’s talking to someone.
“No… it just… just like that. He seemed perfectly fine just… minutes… seconds… before. And then…” There’s a pause. I can’t hear the voice of the person he’s talking to. He must be on the phone. “Yeah…” I can only assume he’s talking about me. “So I shouldn’t worry about it too much?”
I can’t imagine who he might be talking to.
“Okay… Yeah… I got it.” And a second later it sounds like he’s reading back a list, and I get an idea of who he might be talking to. “…Make sure he sleeps… eats regular meals… cut out the caffeine… make sure he takes the Xanax…” A sigh before his next words, spoken softly. “…and if they get worse… or don’t get less frequent… take him to the hospital.”
“They won’t be able to do much.” I comment lightly, lifting an arm from under the covers to throw it over my eyes, and then squinting against the light as I finally let my eyes open.
“Oh… he’s awake...” Jared turns to me, and I see he’s on my cell phone, which all but confirms my suspicions that he was talking to the good doctor. “We’ll call if we need anything. Thanks so much, Doctor.”
That confirms it. He was talking to Eddie McKayne. Surprisingly, that fact bothers me less than I thought it might, and certainly less than it would have if it had been anyone else. “You used my cell phone?” I ask.
“Mine doesn’t get good reception up here.” He sinks to his knees by the side of the couch. I’m still lying down, the only movement I’ve chanced being the lifting of my arm and the opening of my eyes. “And…” He has the decency to blush saying this-“I was looking… to see who I should call.”
“So what did Eddie have to tell you?” I drag my arm from my eyes and try to sit up, only to be stopped by Jared’s hand splayed across my chest. “Jare, I had a panic attack. I’m not an invalid.”
Jared takes his hand from my chest silently.
“And so you know, I’m not happy about you calling Eddie. Or about you sneaking around behind my back, using my cell phone to do it.”
“I had to, Jensen.” He says flatly. “I didn’t know who to call. I didn’t know who your doctor was, and I wanted to talk to someone… so I’d know what to do other than just…” He breaks off.
“Force feed me Xanax?” I ask, taking the bottle of water from the coffee table and downing half of it, washing the bitter dry of the remains of the Xanax down my throat.
He shrugs, then nods. He’s staring at the floor, long fingers picking at the wood disinterestedly. Suddenly he looks back up at me. “Jensen… I have to be able to do something… you’re… I mean… you’re…”
“Freaking out.” I fill in. “I know… I’m… I’m scared, too, Jare… but…” I gnaw at my lower lip a minute. It’s enough to tell him I’m scared. I know it is. I know he is. And I know we’ll get through this, and we’ll do it better together than we will by ourselves. I know I’ll get through it better with Jared than without him. “So what did Eddie tell you?”
“Really want to know?” He raises an eyebrow questioningly, his mouth curling down in a half-frown.
“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
A nod. “He said they can… just come on like that. They’re not always triggered. Especially in your case...” He pauses, and when he sees my expression, saying I’m about to ask ‘my case?’, continues. “…insomnia… caffeine… not eating regularly… been getting them recently… …and you have a history of them, Jen… you’re prone to them. So, add in the contributing factors and… bam.”
“So until I start doing something to get them under control…”
“It won’t matter if you’re upset or worried about something or not.” He confirms, and after a slight pause, adds, “Jen… I don’t want to have to take you to the hospital.”
It’s my turn to lift an eyebrow at him. “They won’t be able to do much… they’ll just drug me up until I’m in a daze… incapacitate me with Xanax and let me stay until it wears off… give me an IV and make me sleep… stay overnight or whatever…”
“That what they did in LA?”
“Mostly. My neighbor took me in in the morning… they doped me up on so much Xanax I couldn’t see straight for a day… Slept most of the day and the next day. They gave me an IV and a sleeping pill… did some sort of CAT scans… don’t know why… They had me meet with a nutritionist who put me on a strict diet… then a psychiatrist… and they let me go after that.”
“I see you’ve done a great job with that diet.”
“I followed it for three weeks.” Okay, so that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I followed it for about two weeks. Only a week strictly… Long enough to get the panic attacks under control.”
“So what’s the diet?”
“No, Jared.” I’m not going back on that grass and sticks diet. I think I lost twenty pounds in those three weeks-ten in the first week alone when I stuck to it completely. I felt like shit. The only thing it did for me was get the panic attacks under control, and I really think I can do that without resorting to the diet of a starved Hollywood diva again.
He sighs, but doesn’t say anything else about it. “He said I should try to get you to sleep… and that you should eat regularly.” He knows that I already know this. “And that you should take the Xanax.”
“If I need to.”
“One a day.” Jared counters.
“When I need to.”
“Which has been once, sometimes even twice a day.”
“Jared.” My voice rises at the end of his name in warning.
“One. A. Day.” Jared states, and at my expression, offers “…at least for a week… to see if it helps…”
“He said when I need them.” I don’t know if he did or not, but I’m willing to try anything. I know they help, but I don’t like taking them. It’s not just Xanax. I just don’t like taking pills in general.
He holds his phone out to me. “You can call him.”
I do, and I can hear the grin in Eddie’s voice when he says “Well I told him to have you take three a day.” And he may be grinning while he’s saying that, but I’m fairly sure he’s not lying or saying it to get a rise out of me.
“I’d be a zombie!” I protest.
“No, you’d just be pretty stoned.” Eddie says seriously. “I lowered your dosage, remember? And besides, you go to the hospital and they’ll pump you full of stuff that’s a lot stronger than Xanax.”
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that.” I grumble, knowing he’s right.
“I hope it doesn’t.” Eddie says before hanging up.
In a show of maturity, I stick my tongue out at my cell phone before putting it on the coffee table.
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