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[Apr. 3rd, 2010|09:04 pm] |
*by the second night of Doc's stay, has realized how truly fucked he is*
*it's not so much the wide-eyed up-down Doc gives him when he (reluctantly) undresses to get them both into the shower (god, Jackie, I wasn't kidding about the grass diet), or the somewhat confused blink when he (hastily) pulls his clothes on afterward (do you want to watch TV, or...?)*
*it isn't even the new (conscious) recklessness with which he's plowed through his work the past two days, because he can't bear to leave anything undone but he has to get home; hourly check-in calls to Doc just aren't enough (I could have lost him)*
*no, the reality check comes in the form of zombie-exhaustion, faint hand-tremors and a blinding headache, after a restless night sans helpful chill-pill (the first time he's skipped in... two weeks? three?)* *couldn't bring himself to sneak one down (only addicts sneak) with Doc sleeping lightly in the bed next to him, but he does know one thing now: he won't make it another night without*
*is truly, inescapably fucked* |
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drained