slightly later on thursday

Jan 29, 2005 01:05

[following immediately from here]

There is a hand on his back, a voice he knows saying something about just needing to collect himself, and he can't help but smile at that. Collect himself. He's so fuckin' scattered, he's like, like the goddamn Flying Monkeys, when they pulled all the straw out of the Scarecrow and threw it all around so he couldn't get up and walk, and it didn't matter what kind of brains he had because he couldn't get to the parts that were important.

And Keira's still talking, he realises, her words are low and soothing and meaningless, that steady hand steering him into the hall, down to the bedroom, toward the master bathroom. He watches her open up the shwoer doors, turn and fiddle the knobs until a cloud of steam starts to rise from the cubicle. It makes sense, yeah, good plan, get in there, get warmed up and scrub his brain out, put the worst of this day behind him.

"Mama always said, if there's gonna be trouble, might as well face it clean." His voice sounds loud and hollow, bouncing off the tile.

She smiles uncertainly, worrying at her lower lip with one sharp eyetooth. "Johnny," she begins, and he cuts her off with a shake of his head.

"I'll be all right from here, don't worry none." He forces his hands to work, to start undoing his buttons. One thing at a time, coming down from this kind of thing is worse than coming down from even the meanest dose, man. Chemicals he knows how to deal with, this is a whole other barrel of shit. He shrugs. "Go on, take care of Bill, I think I mighta busted up his eye pretty bad, uh." Johnny shrugs out of his shirt, and she's staring at him like he's not even speaking English.

"I don't-" she tries again, and stops.

Johnny tries on a smile, and finds he means it. "Go on, girl. 'M fine."

She's halfway out the door before she turns back, hugs him gingerly before he can stop her. It feels good, right and human, and he squeezes her hard, makes her squeak. "Go on." He brushes his lips across the top of her head. "Gimme twenty minutes."

He shuts the door behind her when she goes; shuts it, locks it, and slides to the floor.

The tile is cold, makes the ache in his old bones feel all the more deep; he's done crying, done laughing, nothing left but that hurt, the pain he always carried so deep down seeping out now, leaking into everything and poisoning it like radiation in the groundwater. He fucking hurts. And the pain in his right hand, and the one behind his eyes, that ain't just emotional. Bill and Keira are right, yeah, hot shower, yeah, good for what ails ya. He hauls himself to his feet.

Can do this. Strip off, strip down, leave the baubles and rings in a messy tangle on the sink, all your talismans are powerless. He presses his thumbs above and below his eyesockets, already imagining the sweet hot pound of the water against his back, against his face. Good, good. Clean up, pull yourself together.

Put your face back on before you scare anyone else.
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