Real Person // Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock // The Things I Keep To Myself
Title: The Things I Keep To Myself
Fandom: Real People
Characters: Keanu Reeves & Sandra Bullock
Prompt: 09. Ill
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 527
Summary: Cymbalta is an antidepressant.
Author's Note: Ah, I don't know them. This is just how I think it should be.
“Where you going?” Sandra asks, watching Keanu’s back retreat down the hall.
Keanu falls back on his bed with a bounce of the mattress. After a few seconds his stomach begins to slide and the urge to vomit glides into his throat. All afternoon the idea has settled, lolling back and forth in his stomach acids. He hoped that the dinner would quiet the beast but it looks to have only encouraged it. Keanu presses his lips together; opening the exit only ushers the guest out quicker.
Without further internal discussion he heads for the bathroom. The bright light he flicks on irritates him, stinging his sensitive eyes. They burn from being exposed to something which isn’t at all extreme. His eyelids beg to close, though he’s fighting the urge to, squinting hard as the objects in the room blur. Tears of pain fill his eyes, unable to stand it much longer, the force so rich a sharp stab hits the middle of his forehead. Finally, he allows his eyes to shut under the intense pressure. Keanu throws a hand at the light switch; opens his eyes after all is dark.
Maybe Sandra is yelling something, maybe she isn’t. He leans over the sink, pretty sure it’s coming. Forces himself to heave to jump start it. When that doesn’t work, he pulls out his toothbrush, douses it with paste and begins. He is brushing for the fourth time, his tongue raw from the rough bristles scratching against it, trying to get rid of the stubborn death taste lingering still from this morning, that it screams violently from the mint toothpaste concocted with spit. His eyes tear once more, nose running with snot. After he purges the mess, he presses his chapped, slimey lips together, wipes an escaped glob off his shirt, and looks in the mirror. He looks like shit, drained and barely pulled together. Slowly, staring at the dark tracks under his eyes, Keanu remembers.
It doesn’t take long to find the bottle tucked in his travel bag. He checks Cymbalta’s label, eyes scanning past his name and the recommended dosage. Running along the side, neatly typed in a rectangle with a yellow highlighted border: Common side effects include nausea, dry mouth, fatigue. So there really is nothing he can do about the fact that he wants to puke up everything he ate since birth. He vaguely recalls his therapist mentioning this.
“Keanu.” he closes his fist over the medicine, nearly cracking the thin orange plastic with pressure.
“Yeah?” he answers not looking up. Sandra falters.
“I … We have to leave soon. The award show?”
“Yeah.” he sets the bottle back in the bag, careful that she doesn’t see the label. “Teen Choice, right?”
“Mm hmm. Are you feeling okay?” her tone means well but it skitters Keanu into irritation nevertheless. He doesn’t respond but instead checks the mirror; wipes lingering spit out of his beard. Sandra doesn’t know about the pills and frankly, he can’t see why she should. “Keanu?” she presses. She knows he heard her and is hurt he won’t respond.
“I’m fine.” he smiles patronizingly. “You look good. Should we go?”
Fandom: Real People
Characters: Keanu Reeves & Sandra Bullock
Prompt: 09. Ill
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 527
Summary: Cymbalta is an antidepressant.
Author's Note: Ah, I don't know them. This is just how I think it should be.
“Where you going?” Sandra asks, watching Keanu’s back retreat down the hall.
Keanu falls back on his bed with a bounce of the mattress. After a few seconds his stomach begins to slide and the urge to vomit glides into his throat. All afternoon the idea has settled, lolling back and forth in his stomach acids. He hoped that the dinner would quiet the beast but it looks to have only encouraged it. Keanu presses his lips together; opening the exit only ushers the guest out quicker.
Without further internal discussion he heads for the bathroom. The bright light he flicks on irritates him, stinging his sensitive eyes. They burn from being exposed to something which isn’t at all extreme. His eyelids beg to close, though he’s fighting the urge to, squinting hard as the objects in the room blur. Tears of pain fill his eyes, unable to stand it much longer, the force so rich a sharp stab hits the middle of his forehead. Finally, he allows his eyes to shut under the intense pressure. Keanu throws a hand at the light switch; opens his eyes after all is dark.
Maybe Sandra is yelling something, maybe she isn’t. He leans over the sink, pretty sure it’s coming. Forces himself to heave to jump start it. When that doesn’t work, he pulls out his toothbrush, douses it with paste and begins. He is brushing for the fourth time, his tongue raw from the rough bristles scratching against it, trying to get rid of the stubborn death taste lingering still from this morning, that it screams violently from the mint toothpaste concocted with spit. His eyes tear once more, nose running with snot. After he purges the mess, he presses his chapped, slimey lips together, wipes an escaped glob off his shirt, and looks in the mirror. He looks like shit, drained and barely pulled together. Slowly, staring at the dark tracks under his eyes, Keanu remembers.
It doesn’t take long to find the bottle tucked in his travel bag. He checks Cymbalta’s label, eyes scanning past his name and the recommended dosage. Running along the side, neatly typed in a rectangle with a yellow highlighted border: Common side effects include nausea, dry mouth, fatigue. So there really is nothing he can do about the fact that he wants to puke up everything he ate since birth. He vaguely recalls his therapist mentioning this.
“Keanu.” he closes his fist over the medicine, nearly cracking the thin orange plastic with pressure.
“Yeah?” he answers not looking up. Sandra falters.
“I … We have to leave soon. The award show?”
“Yeah.” he sets the bottle back in the bag, careful that she doesn’t see the label. “Teen Choice, right?”
“Mm hmm. Are you feeling okay?” her tone means well but it skitters Keanu into irritation nevertheless. He doesn’t respond but instead checks the mirror; wipes lingering spit out of his beard. Sandra doesn’t know about the pills and frankly, he can’t see why she should. “Keanu?” she presses. She knows he heard her and is hurt he won’t respond.
“I’m fine.” he smiles patronizingly. “You look good. Should we go?”