Marco (thatdarnoctopus) wrote in zenithrp, @ 2016-03-10 22:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | #day 025, marco |
Who: Marco, a bike, and a hatchet
When: Right around 7, before this
Where: Marco's room, then the pharmacy.
It was supposed to be a good day. Today was supposed to be a good day. The past couple of days had been a mess, after his mental state had started to slip. One day unsure of his actions, maybe having blackouts, the next disassociated and near comatose, and then the next nearly incoherent. He hadn't been doing to well. But today. He'd woken up feeling better than he had in days, and it was all because he knew he could get his fix today. He knew. Today was painkillers. Even if his plan was to go down to the pharmacy to make sure his records weren't there, he also knew that he wouldn't be leaving without fucking pills. It was supposed to be a good fucking day. He was allowed to have one once in a while, wasn't he?
Today was not a good day.
Marco felt his face go hot with anger as he read the daily update, which he hoped would just confirm that everything was in fact in the pharmacy that they already knew about. He knew that other people had destroyed their computers while they'd been here, but this was the first time that he wanted to. He wasn't sure what the worst part was. He couldn't get drugs. He couldn't even get his own pills, which, while it wasn't anything new, was just as infuriating as anything else. It had been listed that he needed medication, for the whole house to make guesses on. And to top it all off, Cecilia. She got to be the one to go in. She got to be the one to make the decisions. And she'd already made her first decision: no one got anything for recreational use.
Well. Fuck that. Fuck all of it. This wasn't the real world. She couldn't make these decisions for everybody, and hadn't she made enough decisions for him already? No. This wasn't fucking okay.
He didn't wake Juno up, like he said he might. She probably needed sleep, and really, he didn't want her there judging him and telling him not to try to get to the meds, anyway. He rushed downstairs, grabbed the first bike, and rode down into town to that fucking pharmacy.
Right off the bat it was creepy, with a collection of weird toys on a shelf at the front of the store that he would have been fine with never seeing again. At least there were over-the-counter drugs, and he didn't hesitate to open up a bottle of Advil and swallow a few dry in an attempt to make his fucking withdrawal pains go away. He shoved the rest of the bottle into his pocket as he found the door to that damn locked room. Not that it was hard. It was the only fucking room with a scanner. Already expecting failure, he held his own bracelet under the scanner.
Nope, nothing. That wasn't a surprise.
He twisted the doorknob, he pushed and pulled, he tried to kick the door in. Nothing. He kicked it a few more times. With the amount of anger he was feeling over all this bullshit, he felt like he should have been able to kick the door down. Why the fuck wasn't the door opening?
Fuck it, the hardware store wasn't that far.
He left the pharmacy and took the bike over to Goose's, hoping to find some sort of power-saw or something that sounded cool and did a lot of damage. He didn't find anything too fancy, and it didn't seem like much of anything there ran on electricity. He almost grabbed a power drill, wondering if he could unscrew the doorknob, but he stopped when something else caught his eye. A hatchet. That could be fun.
A couple minutes later he was back at that fucking pharmacy and that fucking door holding his salvation and his fucking sanity hostage, and he wondered if he was in the right state of mind to be using a hatchet on anything. Probably not, knowing how his head had been the past few days.
Oh well, too late.
He started hacking away at the door.