(no subject)
There's a couple of things Cook's learned since his first day on this island. Chief among them is that this place is nails your balls to the wall boring. Yeah, there's miles of beaches. Fucking whatever. There's no nightlife to speak of, a limited and piss-poor selection of drugs and alcohol and without those two things playing the field becomes an effort that Cook doesn't want to put forth.
There's the things Cook won't admit to, too, the reasons why his outlook on the world is so fucking dismal. He misses Freddie with every minute of the day. He cried himself to sleep the first night, hijacking an empty room in the lower levels, smothering himself with pillows. He did the same the next night in a different room, careful of anybody wandering close by. No one has a right to Cook's grief but him, and for the first couple days, after the shock wore off, it consumed him utterly. It's still there, sitting on his chest, weighing down every breath, but the tears aren't so bad.
What's bad is that now he's started to miss everyone else, too. (He doesn't dare think of Effy.) He wants to tell Karen she was right and that he's sorry. He wants to hug JJ and not take his mental little ass for granted anymore. He wants Naoms there, just beside him, and he thinks about how she and Ems would like this place, even if it's not Goa. He can see Katie raiding the clothes box for the tiniest little bikinis and, God help him, he misses that girl's strut. (Don't think of Effy.) Every stupid act of kindness around here makes him think how this place is made for the likes of Thomas and Panda. He'd finally be able to stop complaining about being cold and Panda'd eat cupcakes and dress like a muppet and play games with little kids and people would love her. Paddy could grow up here, with people that actually gave a shit and could teach him how to care, too, like Cook can't.
This is a place for people with hope. For people who appreciate life. Cook though, he's fucking useless and he knows it, not just here but anywhere. There's nothing for it and nothing for him. So he wastes time and wanders about. He takes food and drink because it's offered, leaves a mess when he's done and doesn't say thanks. He pulls books and reels off the shelf and abandons them on tables that he's marked with drawings of genitalia when no one's looking. He doesn't aim in the urinals (or does, just never how he's supposed to) and steals all the loo paper to decorate the orchard. He fills his empty, empty fucking hours with every primary school, retarded gag he can think of because otherwise he might as well just take a flying leap.
That Sophia girl didn't have it right, but when Cook thinks of her he wonders. Did she feel like he does now or is there worse? If Cook's life has taught him one thing, it's that shit can always get worse for him.
(He doesn't think of Effy, except then he does. He thinks of her unreachable to him in a hospital, of her standing in the middle of traffic, of the wild gleam in her eyes and that weight on his chest turns to burning.)
He starts running without a destination in mind. Anywhere. Anywhere that's not where he was a second ago. Maybe if Cook runs fast enough, he'll never catch up with himself.
It's a flash of color in the corner of his eye, something bigger and bolder in all this fucking green than your standard flower. An emergency call box, the Robinson Crusoe edition, bright yellow with a big red button, just begging to be pushed. So Cook obliges. He puts on his best French accent (which is to say an absolute shit one), pitches his voice into a higher octave and complains that a warthog's done a runner with his (her) poodle. The voice on the other end sounds unimpressed once it figures out the joke, so Cook decides he'll do Sheriff Lurch a solid. They can both be entertained.
He runs madly into a new direction, not stopping until he's found another yellow box. This time his fridge has done a runner; it's grown legs like some crazy island magic's got it and split. Next there's been a shark attack on dry land. He drawls out a 'wazzup' that lasts for at least two minutes thirty, but the IPD says they weren't timing, the bastards. He places an order for Chinese food. His accents are getting more appalling and out there, but he's always been a substance over style guy, himself.
"No, really, this is an emergency," Cook frantically tries to explain, his heavy breathing adding to a sense of panic. "I've just run 'cross half the island and I am fucking knackered, mate. I need some water ASA-fucking-P."
Chuckling breathlessly, Cook stumbles away from the box and into a jog before he can hear the response.
[[Find him basically anywhere on the island, in the middle of a run, in the middle of a prank call, or after either. Your choice.]]
There's the things Cook won't admit to, too, the reasons why his outlook on the world is so fucking dismal. He misses Freddie with every minute of the day. He cried himself to sleep the first night, hijacking an empty room in the lower levels, smothering himself with pillows. He did the same the next night in a different room, careful of anybody wandering close by. No one has a right to Cook's grief but him, and for the first couple days, after the shock wore off, it consumed him utterly. It's still there, sitting on his chest, weighing down every breath, but the tears aren't so bad.
What's bad is that now he's started to miss everyone else, too. (He doesn't dare think of Effy.) He wants to tell Karen she was right and that he's sorry. He wants to hug JJ and not take his mental little ass for granted anymore. He wants Naoms there, just beside him, and he thinks about how she and Ems would like this place, even if it's not Goa. He can see Katie raiding the clothes box for the tiniest little bikinis and, God help him, he misses that girl's strut. (Don't think of Effy.) Every stupid act of kindness around here makes him think how this place is made for the likes of Thomas and Panda. He'd finally be able to stop complaining about being cold and Panda'd eat cupcakes and dress like a muppet and play games with little kids and people would love her. Paddy could grow up here, with people that actually gave a shit and could teach him how to care, too, like Cook can't.
This is a place for people with hope. For people who appreciate life. Cook though, he's fucking useless and he knows it, not just here but anywhere. There's nothing for it and nothing for him. So he wastes time and wanders about. He takes food and drink because it's offered, leaves a mess when he's done and doesn't say thanks. He pulls books and reels off the shelf and abandons them on tables that he's marked with drawings of genitalia when no one's looking. He doesn't aim in the urinals (or does, just never how he's supposed to) and steals all the loo paper to decorate the orchard. He fills his empty, empty fucking hours with every primary school, retarded gag he can think of because otherwise he might as well just take a flying leap.
That Sophia girl didn't have it right, but when Cook thinks of her he wonders. Did she feel like he does now or is there worse? If Cook's life has taught him one thing, it's that shit can always get worse for him.
(He doesn't think of Effy, except then he does. He thinks of her unreachable to him in a hospital, of her standing in the middle of traffic, of the wild gleam in her eyes and that weight on his chest turns to burning.)
He starts running without a destination in mind. Anywhere. Anywhere that's not where he was a second ago. Maybe if Cook runs fast enough, he'll never catch up with himself.
It's a flash of color in the corner of his eye, something bigger and bolder in all this fucking green than your standard flower. An emergency call box, the Robinson Crusoe edition, bright yellow with a big red button, just begging to be pushed. So Cook obliges. He puts on his best French accent (which is to say an absolute shit one), pitches his voice into a higher octave and complains that a warthog's done a runner with his (her) poodle. The voice on the other end sounds unimpressed once it figures out the joke, so Cook decides he'll do Sheriff Lurch a solid. They can both be entertained.
He runs madly into a new direction, not stopping until he's found another yellow box. This time his fridge has done a runner; it's grown legs like some crazy island magic's got it and split. Next there's been a shark attack on dry land. He drawls out a 'wazzup' that lasts for at least two minutes thirty, but the IPD says they weren't timing, the bastards. He places an order for Chinese food. His accents are getting more appalling and out there, but he's always been a substance over style guy, himself.
"No, really, this is an emergency," Cook frantically tries to explain, his heavy breathing adding to a sense of panic. "I've just run 'cross half the island and I am fucking knackered, mate. I need some water ASA-fucking-P."
Chuckling breathlessly, Cook stumbles away from the box and into a jog before he can hear the response.
[[Find him basically anywhere on the island, in the middle of a run, in the middle of a prank call, or after either. Your choice.]]