When you're sure you've had enough of this life
Who: Melchior Gabor, John Watson, and Jason McConnell's unconscious body
When: Afternoon of Jason's suicide attempt
Where: Melchior's room, Jason's room, outside Watson's room, etc.
What: Melchior makes an unfortunate revelation.
Melchior wasn't sure how long he slept. It felt like forever.
He woke up and the events of the night before felt far off -- like days had passed.
He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the curtains and listened to the rain, which he hadn't really heard in days, it was such a constant, and let things sink in. He remembered the letter he'd written with a tinge of... he didn't know what. Guilt? Regret? He'd slept but he couldn't sleep those feelings away, that sense of anxiety in his chest that made his heart flutter and woke him up quickly.
Melchior tried to put it out of his mind. He snuck downstairs, managed to avoid everyone, grabbed a roll from the banquet hall which now happily offered itself up, but he couldn't eat it. Damn it, damn it, damn it... Jason.
The walk to Jason's room felt strange this time -- like deja vu even though he remembered the events that spawned the feeling. It was like it didn't happen to him. No, not today. He paced outside the door for a minute or so. What if he knocked and Jason answered -- what the hell would he say?
He'd been in this spot before. He decided he didn't give a damn anymore.
He knocked. No reply.
He knocked again.
He pounded. So did his heart.
The knob turned, still unlocked from when he'd been there last. He walked into the room without feeling his steps, saw Jason on the bed and his heart dropped into his stomach. If he thought he was shaking before he didn't know what shaking was as he ran to the bed, just staring at Jason for a moment, almost not wanting to touch him, like he was fragile, but then he shook him, glanced at the laptop, the vial on the nightstand, he couldn't stop wimpering curses and he didn't even know when his heartbeat had consumed his breathing until he was hyperventilating, maybe? Maybe, not quite, maybe... Something to do, something to do... he felt for Jason's pulse, though it was difficult with his trembling, and yes, it was there, and Jason was breathing, but he was clearly unconscious... Melchior knew nothing about drugs or overdoses... He needed help, he needed...
A doctor. Of course. A doctor.
In his panic he remembered his conversation with Watson -- commenting that Watson's room was right next to his. Right. A little light-headed, a thickness in his chest, he ran down the stairs, almost fell again but didn't miss a beat, and ended at Watson's door. He knew he needed to calm down or he too might pass out, and he leaned against the wall for just a moment, catching his breath, trying to focus, wrestling back tears. He knocked, an uneven fumbling of sound, on Watson's door, praying the doctor was there, determined to search the whole damn hotel for him if he wasn't.
When: Afternoon of Jason's suicide attempt
Where: Melchior's room, Jason's room, outside Watson's room, etc.
What: Melchior makes an unfortunate revelation.
Melchior wasn't sure how long he slept. It felt like forever.
He woke up and the events of the night before felt far off -- like days had passed.
He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the curtains and listened to the rain, which he hadn't really heard in days, it was such a constant, and let things sink in. He remembered the letter he'd written with a tinge of... he didn't know what. Guilt? Regret? He'd slept but he couldn't sleep those feelings away, that sense of anxiety in his chest that made his heart flutter and woke him up quickly.
Melchior tried to put it out of his mind. He snuck downstairs, managed to avoid everyone, grabbed a roll from the banquet hall which now happily offered itself up, but he couldn't eat it. Damn it, damn it, damn it... Jason.
The walk to Jason's room felt strange this time -- like deja vu even though he remembered the events that spawned the feeling. It was like it didn't happen to him. No, not today. He paced outside the door for a minute or so. What if he knocked and Jason answered -- what the hell would he say?
He'd been in this spot before. He decided he didn't give a damn anymore.
He knocked. No reply.
He knocked again.
He pounded. So did his heart.
The knob turned, still unlocked from when he'd been there last. He walked into the room without feeling his steps, saw Jason on the bed and his heart dropped into his stomach. If he thought he was shaking before he didn't know what shaking was as he ran to the bed, just staring at Jason for a moment, almost not wanting to touch him, like he was fragile, but then he shook him, glanced at the laptop, the vial on the nightstand, he couldn't stop wimpering curses and he didn't even know when his heartbeat had consumed his breathing until he was hyperventilating, maybe? Maybe, not quite, maybe... Something to do, something to do... he felt for Jason's pulse, though it was difficult with his trembling, and yes, it was there, and Jason was breathing, but he was clearly unconscious... Melchior knew nothing about drugs or overdoses... He needed help, he needed...
A doctor. Of course. A doctor.
In his panic he remembered his conversation with Watson -- commenting that Watson's room was right next to his. Right. A little light-headed, a thickness in his chest, he ran down the stairs, almost fell again but didn't miss a beat, and ended at Watson's door. He knew he needed to calm down or he too might pass out, and he leaned against the wall for just a moment, catching his breath, trying to focus, wrestling back tears. He knocked, an uneven fumbling of sound, on Watson's door, praying the doctor was there, determined to search the whole damn hotel for him if he wasn't.