Grey White (missnomer) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2015-09-28 20:19:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | grey white |
Who: Grey White and Graham Frost
Where: His hospital room
What: Visiting an unconscious man.
When: Late night 7th Sept
Grey hadn't been having much luck in getting to T. Graham Frost, whether they'd upped security on him for stealing someone's phone or something she had no idea. Or perhaps she just looked shifty, although it was less a case of looking shifty and more of being shifty. So Grey had been keeping a low profile, she didn't want to get kicked out, she wanted to leave on her own terms, in her own time when she was a bit more prepared to see what would happen if she had to go it alone.
Tonight though it seemed quiet, like maybe Graham was no longer the flight risk he had been. And actually she wanted to see him, apologise, whatever. When she entered his room though he was sleeping, or maybe unconscious, she didn't exactly know much about Prax withdrawal, but he was no longer tied up, which was something. It was probably just as well no one seemed to be around because Grey wasn't exactly being as stealthy as she generally tried to be. She wasn't drunk, but she wasn't sober either. She'd worked out years ago sobriety didn't really suit her, especially not when she was on her own, as she seemed to be most of the time now. It was generally the first thing she scavenged for nowadays - alcohol, which she decanted into a plastic bottle because it was better than carrying glass, she had been trying to find things to trade for alcohol lately though, anything to make sure she never had to be completely sober again. And yeah, she'd been thinking about Prax more than she liked lately too, even with Graham's tales of throwing up all over himself and being tied down. Surely they couldn't force you to detox, and really why would anyone bother with her? Especially if she did leave. It was a waste of resources, wasn't it? And fuck if they had to trade for water Grey couldn't see them giving that kind of stuff away for nothing.
She wondered if she should just leave him to it, but she was here now, wasn't she? So she might as well stay, it was kind of like having company after all, only without having to make inane small talk. She slipped into the chair by his bed. pulling her knees up onto the seat and resting her chin on her hands on top of them as she looked down at him. He looked rough, but who didn't these days?
"Graham?" she said quietly, to see if he was actually asleep or not. Then when she didn't get a response she said it more loudly just to make sure.
For all intents and purposes she was alone, only talking to an unconscious man made her less mental than talking to herself, right?
She looked up at the ceiling, laughed bitterly for a moment than she started talking.
"Are you there God, it's me Grey." She laughed again. Fuck she didn't even know what she was talking about. It was just some reference she heard on American TV shows when she'd been back in England, when the world had still existed but she didn't really know what it was about.
"Course you're fucking not," she said. "Jesus if I believed in you this'd be even worse." Or would it? Or would she have just killed herself already in the belief she'd be reunited with Callum in Heaven, although in that case it'd probably be Hell, but she'd never given much of a shit where she was if he was there.
She started humming to herself, then singing under her voice. "Your own personal Jesus" That was what Cal was, some fucked up prophet that had shown her the way.
She closed her eyes. She needed something, something to stop her thinking, to numb her brain better than whatever the fuck was in the bottle she always had on her, a mix of anything she could find, because she'd given up on being fussy years ago. It wasn't enough though, it really wasn't.
"I dream about you every fucking night," she said, her nails digging into her knees as if the physical pain might distract her from the mental. "I keep finding you, and sometimes you're alive and sometimes you're dead, and sometimes-sometimes you fucking change half way through and I'm shagging a fucking zombie." She wasn't crying, how could she be, her eyes were closed.
"Fuck I miss you," she sighed. "Your voice and your sick jokes and your fucking weird smile." She wasn't crying, maybe there was just a leak in the roof or something, and that was why her face felt so wet. She brushed it away, rested her forehead on her knees and started to shake. She was having a bad day, she reminded herself. She'd be all right later, tomorrow, next week. She'd be angry and bitter and cynical and fucking driven again, she'd keep looking, because it was all she had. "I'm gonna find you," she said, raising her head again, wiping at her face once more as she forced herself to open her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down. "Unless you find me first." Because he had to be looking for her too, didn't he? He had to.