Marco (thatdarnoctopus) wrote in zenithrp, @ 2015-09-29 00:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | #day 001, marco, rhett |
This is not rehab
Who: Marco, Rhett
When: Late in the morning
Where: On/around the stairs.
Status: Complete
Marco's tongue felt like sandpaper, and that was his first thought upon waking. It wasn't a new sensation, but it was unpleasant all the same. The idea was there to get up and get some water to fix his dry mouth, but moving was complicated, and the idea was put on hold as he considered spending the rest of the day in bed, and giving up on the idea of food and drink completely. He didn't move for a while, just let himself slowly get used to the idea of moving.
There was still a needle in his arm. Marco could feel it without opening his eyes, and carefully reached to remove it, but his limbs felt like they were filled with cement. Was he still coming down from his high? He'd woken up groggy before, of course, but this morning was rough. He felt like he'd been asleep for days.
Shit. Maybe he'd overdosed again.
Marco forced his eyes open, expecting to find himself in a hospital. Instead, the room looked like he imagined a dorm would look like, if he had ever had the opportunity to have a dorm. Sun was shining on him from two windows. Someone had given him the swanky corner room, then. That would be so much cooler if he had any idea what this place was. Maybe a new rehab place, he thought. With a good decorator. Or is this a psych ward?
He pulled himself up with a groan, trying to ignore the ache that pulsed through him. He slipped the needle out of his arm, frowning as he did. It wasn't just a needle, but an IV. And he was in a hospital gown. "Ah, fuck," he sighed, dragging a hand over his eyes. He blinked a few times as he realized one thing that made him question his location again.
The camera. The camera was watching him.
Marco didn't move, just sat looking at the camera for a few minutes, letting thoughts cycle through his head. Paranoid, unhealthy thoughts. This is an alien abduction, or the government. they probably put something in your blood with that IV.
"Nope," he murmured, sliding out of bed and grabbing the Open Me box, dumping it's contents and trying to toss it up around the camera. He was too tired to jump, though, and too short to reach on his own. Not that it mattered, as he was quickly distracted by what came out of the box.
"Hey, there's my clothes!"
He pulled on his shirt and jeans, checking the pockets as he went. No wallet, no box of cards, no stash. Marco cursed. A lot. He went back to the camera, glaring up at it, and pointing. "You fuckers watching? I want my shit back. Fuck you."
At least his room had a pool view.
He waited until he was sure that the hallway outside his door was empty, before making a break for the stairway, hoping to maybe find his way down to the pool. On the way, one thing was instantly clear to him.
"This is not rehab," he murmured.