Marco (thatdarnoctopus) wrote in zenithrp, @ 2016-01-24 13:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | #day 018, marco |
Who: Marco (Narrative)
When: Shortly after this
Where: the big ol' THE END billboard
Marco had every intention of going down the hill and doing what he was told. Not what Owen told him to do, but the strange voice from the phone. Try to stop them from succeeding, or whatever. Just move a key, and get his drugs. It was simple. Wasn't it simple?
No. It wasn't that simple.
Marco was going to get punished either way. There was no avoiding that. Either he hoped that everyone succeeded and he got whatever reward everyone else got, but no drugs, or he made sure everyone lost, and he got whatever punishment everyone else would get, but also his dope. And fuck, did he want his dope. The idea of being weened off of it, of no longer having control of it, it terrified him. This would be detox attempt number four. Four. And each time it got worse. Cecilia could ween him off with smaller and smaller amounts, but he still didn't have any pain killers. Not even a fucking Advil. It was going to be a long, painful process, and he'd be going through it while doing these stupid fucking challenges. He needed the dope. He needed the dope.
But, fuck, that was so many people he was fucking over. Hell, he was screwing over himself, too. What if his punishment was that they told everyone what he had done? What if that wasn't his punishment now, but next time?
…They'd killed Cecilia's dog last time, hadn't they? What would they do to top that? People here had families. Would They kill people's parents? Or their children?
Marco felt sick. He couldn't be responsible for that. He couldn't.
And what if Cecilia really could ween him off? Cecilia was scary, and angry, but was trying with him. No matter how mad he got at her, he still knew that. It wasn't for his sake anymore, but she also hadn't flushed his drugs down the drain. It was wrong to set her up to be punished, when they'd already been terrible to her the first time. And he'd be setting up Juno, who had been so worried, and so mad, and then had turned around and offered her understanding and support. And Lennon, who had never lectured him, or judged him until he'd broken into Chase's room a second time.
Jesus, he didn't even want Chase to get punished. What would that psycho do to the house once he was punished?
He had support here. He hadn't really had that before. It was something you were supposed to have when you went into detox, but he hadn't. Now, maybe he did. It was weird and comforting and he didn't know what to do with it, because he was still so sure he'd mess it up.
But, shit, he was still considering. It had been hours since his last hit, and he was starting to get the shakes. It was a cold and windy day, and he was starting to sweat. This was just the beginning. He'd have at least two weeks of this, and worse. But what would they do if he was punished? Last time it had been something to mess with his mental state. It had sent him running, questioning the reality of his predicament. Next time, he imagined it would be worse.
No, there was no winning here for Marco.
He looked for a camera, knowing there had to be one around, but not actually finding one. "Please, don't make me do this," he begged. "I can't do this one." His voice was high and thin, fear threatening to make any control over his emotions slip away. "You have to give me another chance. Please! I can't screw over everyone. That's not fair."
There was no answer. He wasn't really expecting one, anyway.
He walked a little bit longer, still weighing his options, until he got to what he figured had to be the point on the map he'd been heading for. A big ol' billboard, the words The End across it. Marco might have laughed if he didn't feel so sick. This wasn't something dilapidated and left over, like the houses. The fucking thing was new, and he imagined someone felt clever for coming up with it. So, a key probably had to be up there, right?
"Assholes," he muttered to himself, then started up the ladder. He made sure to be careful not to hit his injured hand too hard, but focused more on hanging on as he got higher. It was cold, and windy, and he couldn't help but wonder how anyone in handcuffs was supposed to do this.
And then, he wondered what it was that he was really going up there to do.
The climb itself was harder than finding the key, and for a few minutes he just sat, back to the billboard, looking down at the little key in his hand. If he just threw it, he'd be set. He'd get his dope, and he'd just have to wait and see how they chose to punish him otherwise. If he brought it down, and handed it to Tobias and Daphne, he'd never get his drug again. He wondered if they'd remove the drugs already in the house, and make it impossible for Cecilia to ween him off. It would be dangerous, and sitting up on the scaffolding, where two people attached to each other were supposed to get to, he knew that They didn't care if it was dangerous or not.
But fuck, he couldn't make this decision.
He didn't put the key back where he found it. He balanced it on the edge of the scaffolding, where a strong wind or hard vibration could knock it over. Maybe it'd fall into some bushes. Maybe it'd land somewhere they could find it easier. Or maybe it wouldn't budge, and Tobias and Daphne would still need to climb. He'd let fate decide, if there was even such a thing as fate. Or he'd let Them decide, if they controlled the weather like he suspected.
…Was that a normal thought? Whatever.
He made his way back down the ladder, then squinted up to see if he could still see the key, but his vision wasn't good enough to see such a little thing from that far away. He took a deep breath. He didn't feel any better about his decision, and he had a feeling that he never would. Maybe heading into town and actually helping someone would make him feel better. He had to do that, anyway, or else Owen would probably be pissed.
"I hate you fuckers," he muttered, and started towards town.