musesandlyrics | 10.4. Cynthia Heimel quote
10.4. "When in doubt, make a fool of yourself. There is a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So what the hell, leap."
Cynthia Heimel
[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]
With just a hint of passing guilt, Chris pulled the sleeve of his hoodie down over the hospital ID band still on his wrist, but it wasn’t enough to get the cab driver to turn around and take him back. In fact, not even a heard of wild cranky gorillas with chainsaws would probably even manage that now he had his break for freedom. He knew the fact he was feeling less than well wasn’t enough. He closed his eyes to the passing Miami scenery and rested his head back against the seat of the cab. Even just the simple tasks of removing all the IVs and tubing, getting himself dressed and packing his things into his overnight bag had him exhausted. What had him even more, exhausted, however, was blatantly arguing against Sable & Co’s doctors orders that he not be discharged yet. He didn’t care, and he wasn’t going to listen. In the end, he literally had to resort to growling at them and swearing to just get them to shut up. He was discharging against advice, and he knew they weren’t all thick enough to understand what that meant. The only regret he had in his verbal abuse was when he caught Aimee’s gaze from where she was standing at the back of the bunch looking much like she had just worked through a month of twelve hour shifts. She obviously didn’t approve, and when he insisted he was still going despite all their ‘advice’, she just looked away and was the first to leave his room ahead of the pack.
With Serena at work, and no other visitors, Chris was taking the chance to get the hell out of that place. That sick heaviness of concern and fear that had started churning in his stomach when he overheard Serena’s conversation with his mother wouldn’t let up. Rick had some sort of breakdown... explosion... whatever. It didn’t even matter what it was at that point. All Chris knew was that he was getting home to take care of his brother just like he had promised he would. It was what he became solely focused on, and nothing was going to sway him. If he stopped to let himself think about anything else, it would have eaten him up. He knew that not telling their Mom about Rick’s cancer was bad, and something that would have really upset her, but he hadn’t had any clue of just the extent he and his brother had hurt her. Not until he overheard that conversation. He had nearly thrown up when the guilt surge up inside him, but he had forced it down and pushed it away. He didn’t have the strength to face that right now. He didn’t even know how he could begin to make any of it up to her. Everything she had said had been correct. Only, at the time, he hadn’t really realised there was anything wrong. But of course there would be! How could she not be hurting that their family was estranged? Chris never meant to hurt her. Life had just gotten away from him in the last few years, and it wasn’t even a worthy excuse. He knew, however, that if he stopped to think on this, he would go crazy, and again, he didn’t have the energy to go crazy.
He wished now he had stopped on his way out to collect the offer of painkillers, which he had turned down. Rubbing his hand softly over his stomach and sucking on his lower lip, one thing Chris did think on right now was how much he wanted the driver to quit with taking him the long route home. Cab drivers had a habit of that to get bigger fares, but couldn’t he have just gotten an honest driver this time? “Dude, I don’t need the scenic route, alright? I just gotta get home. I’ll pay double the fare if you take a left here, two rights and then a hard left at the crossroads. You’ll practically be at my doorstep then.” He took his wallet from the front pocket of his hoodie and handed the guy a fifty dollar note. Thankfully it did the friggen trick and Chris soon found himself gratefully standing on curb outside his apartment building, and all he wanted to do was stand there and sob in relief. He resisted the urge to sink to his knees in exhaustion, though, instead forcing his feet to keep moving forward. Only this time, instead of carrying it, he was dragging his alongside the sidewalk behind him when it was too much for him to lift now.
He hadn’t even showered that morning, and he probably had bed hair. He didn’t give a freaking fuck, either. Once he got inside - got home - he would be a lot better. He knew he would be. It was home and his own bed and shower were there. He could sleep for a month if he wanted to, away from Nazi nurses, and urine bottles, and IV lines, and torches in the face at night to check he wasn’t dead. Only, now the ball was 100% in his court, and the weakness was starting to set in. By the time he greeted his doorman, who even managed to give him a questioning, yet concerned, gaze and then rode the elevator up to his floor (leaning slumped against the wall the whole time), Chris was woozy and his stomach was aching. This would teach him for skipping breakfast that morning.
The bag was dragged from the elevator at such a lethargic pace that he wasn’t quick enough and the doors swung closed again and caught it between them. “Fuck- no!” Chris cursed, shoving his hand in between them and putting his whole body weight behind the push to get them open again so he could free his bag. When he finally succeeded, he was breathless and stood for a few moments with his hands on his lips, looking down at the bag. “I really need to hit the gym... to think I actually hoped I could manage sex tonight,” he snorted in a mumble to himself. The thought of sex after all that just made him want to curl up in a ball at the bottom of the bed and never come out.
Finally getting to his door, which he rested his head against in some sort of weird pseudo-hug, Chris realised that he completely forgot where his keys were. In fact, he hadn’t seen then since he was admitted to the hospital and the realisation that they could literally be anywhere, even still back in the hell hole, almost had him sobbing pitifully. Instead, he just exhaled heavily and knocked softly and slowly on the door with repeated monotony. He would stay there doing it until someone answered, even if it killed him. It only took around seven and a half minutes, though, and red sore knuckles before he heard the chain and lock releasing. The door opened, and at the sight of Rick standing there blankly, Chris just blinked woozily. “Hey, dude. Nice shirts,” he greeted his big brother... or two big brothers, right before the exertion of the jailbreak got the better of him and he just flopped backwards in a heavy, exhausted faint.
Word Count | 1,221
Cynthia Heimel
[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]
With just a hint of passing guilt, Chris pulled the sleeve of his hoodie down over the hospital ID band still on his wrist, but it wasn’t enough to get the cab driver to turn around and take him back. In fact, not even a heard of wild cranky gorillas with chainsaws would probably even manage that now he had his break for freedom. He knew the fact he was feeling less than well wasn’t enough. He closed his eyes to the passing Miami scenery and rested his head back against the seat of the cab. Even just the simple tasks of removing all the IVs and tubing, getting himself dressed and packing his things into his overnight bag had him exhausted. What had him even more, exhausted, however, was blatantly arguing against Sable & Co’s doctors orders that he not be discharged yet. He didn’t care, and he wasn’t going to listen. In the end, he literally had to resort to growling at them and swearing to just get them to shut up. He was discharging against advice, and he knew they weren’t all thick enough to understand what that meant. The only regret he had in his verbal abuse was when he caught Aimee’s gaze from where she was standing at the back of the bunch looking much like she had just worked through a month of twelve hour shifts. She obviously didn’t approve, and when he insisted he was still going despite all their ‘advice’, she just looked away and was the first to leave his room ahead of the pack.
With Serena at work, and no other visitors, Chris was taking the chance to get the hell out of that place. That sick heaviness of concern and fear that had started churning in his stomach when he overheard Serena’s conversation with his mother wouldn’t let up. Rick had some sort of breakdown... explosion... whatever. It didn’t even matter what it was at that point. All Chris knew was that he was getting home to take care of his brother just like he had promised he would. It was what he became solely focused on, and nothing was going to sway him. If he stopped to let himself think about anything else, it would have eaten him up. He knew that not telling their Mom about Rick’s cancer was bad, and something that would have really upset her, but he hadn’t had any clue of just the extent he and his brother had hurt her. Not until he overheard that conversation. He had nearly thrown up when the guilt surge up inside him, but he had forced it down and pushed it away. He didn’t have the strength to face that right now. He didn’t even know how he could begin to make any of it up to her. Everything she had said had been correct. Only, at the time, he hadn’t really realised there was anything wrong. But of course there would be! How could she not be hurting that their family was estranged? Chris never meant to hurt her. Life had just gotten away from him in the last few years, and it wasn’t even a worthy excuse. He knew, however, that if he stopped to think on this, he would go crazy, and again, he didn’t have the energy to go crazy.
He wished now he had stopped on his way out to collect the offer of painkillers, which he had turned down. Rubbing his hand softly over his stomach and sucking on his lower lip, one thing Chris did think on right now was how much he wanted the driver to quit with taking him the long route home. Cab drivers had a habit of that to get bigger fares, but couldn’t he have just gotten an honest driver this time? “Dude, I don’t need the scenic route, alright? I just gotta get home. I’ll pay double the fare if you take a left here, two rights and then a hard left at the crossroads. You’ll practically be at my doorstep then.” He took his wallet from the front pocket of his hoodie and handed the guy a fifty dollar note. Thankfully it did the friggen trick and Chris soon found himself gratefully standing on curb outside his apartment building, and all he wanted to do was stand there and sob in relief. He resisted the urge to sink to his knees in exhaustion, though, instead forcing his feet to keep moving forward. Only this time, instead of carrying it, he was dragging his alongside the sidewalk behind him when it was too much for him to lift now.
He hadn’t even showered that morning, and he probably had bed hair. He didn’t give a freaking fuck, either. Once he got inside - got home - he would be a lot better. He knew he would be. It was home and his own bed and shower were there. He could sleep for a month if he wanted to, away from Nazi nurses, and urine bottles, and IV lines, and torches in the face at night to check he wasn’t dead. Only, now the ball was 100% in his court, and the weakness was starting to set in. By the time he greeted his doorman, who even managed to give him a questioning, yet concerned, gaze and then rode the elevator up to his floor (leaning slumped against the wall the whole time), Chris was woozy and his stomach was aching. This would teach him for skipping breakfast that morning.
The bag was dragged from the elevator at such a lethargic pace that he wasn’t quick enough and the doors swung closed again and caught it between them. “Fuck- no!” Chris cursed, shoving his hand in between them and putting his whole body weight behind the push to get them open again so he could free his bag. When he finally succeeded, he was breathless and stood for a few moments with his hands on his lips, looking down at the bag. “I really need to hit the gym... to think I actually hoped I could manage sex tonight,” he snorted in a mumble to himself. The thought of sex after all that just made him want to curl up in a ball at the bottom of the bed and never come out.
Finally getting to his door, which he rested his head against in some sort of weird pseudo-hug, Chris realised that he completely forgot where his keys were. In fact, he hadn’t seen then since he was admitted to the hospital and the realisation that they could literally be anywhere, even still back in the hell hole, almost had him sobbing pitifully. Instead, he just exhaled heavily and knocked softly and slowly on the door with repeated monotony. He would stay there doing it until someone answered, even if it killed him. It only took around seven and a half minutes, though, and red sore knuckles before he heard the chain and lock releasing. The door opened, and at the sight of Rick standing there blankly, Chris just blinked woozily. “Hey, dude. Nice shirts,” he greeted his big brother... or two big brothers, right before the exertion of the jailbreak got the better of him and he just flopped backwards in a heavy, exhausted faint.
Word Count | 1,221