InsaneJournal

A couple of short city blocks away from Lust’s apartment, Much stopped to throw up in a gutter.

He’d known he was going to throw up for a while, but acknowledging the feeling, doing something about the feeling, that was effort, and Sloth had drained the effort right on out of him, so Much just kept plodding on right up to the point where his body retched and he folded to his knees at the side of the road, hand pressed against a parked car. The act of gagging ripping tears out of his eyes, though they were easily ripped, ready to fall.

There wasn’t much in his stomach. A few drinks and a hell of a lot of despair, everything tainted with stomach acid. His body didn’t want to stop retching, and there was something cracked inside him that was desperate to lean his forehead against the side of the car and sob.

A number of people looked at him but no one stopped, another sliver of proof that Sloth was right about the world. She’d ODed and no one cared, so it stood to reason that the sight of a half-sobbing half-vomiting man in a very short silk robe over his pants was just another New York sight, another thing for people to mention when they got to their destination. Ew guess what I saw. Disgusting. From his knees, Much considered crawling under the car and curling into a stupid ball of shame. Considered prying open a manhole cover and slinking down into the sewers.

You’re a mess, and you’ve disappointed me. Should I call your Robin Hood to come and rescue you? Much grimaced at the memory, and pulled his head away from the car door, then let it fall heavily back against it. It wasn’t hard enough to damage anything. It’d take more energy than he had to be able to punish himself the way he wanted.

Two parked cars ahead of him, one woman opened the passenger door for another, and sooner or later someone was going to come out of the nearby bar and move this car, too. With a grimace, he wiped his mouth on the corner of his robe and slowly dragged himself to his feet and carried on.

He considered, again, just walking and walking and walking till he wasn’t in New York any more, but ugh. Ugh he couldn’t bear another block, and the subway was right there, and it felt pretty fucking apt, descending the litter strewn stairs into the dark.

Not really dark; the subway was muggy, hot, trash-scented, but brightly lit with fluorescent tubes. Much leaned against a pole and closed his eyes until a train came, any train, he didn’t give a shit. So long as it was somewhere he could sit, and something that would carry him far, far away.