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[just1tearforme.livejournal.com]

Nerd Gone Wild
Chapter 4: Won't Feel a Thing, Won't Recall
PG-13, 2087 words
Previous chapters can be found here: Chapter 1: Never Had Wings     Chapter 2: The Hurt You Sold    Chapter 3: Close Your Eyes

Chapter 4: Won’t Feel a Thing, Won’t Recall

 
Swaying like seaweed in current he moved his body to the music. His partner moved in conjunction with him like twin flames they were. He couldn’t see anything of his dance partner except long legs disappearing beneath a short skirt. Around him others danced in their own little groups, self contained microcosms of swaying people. Suddenly the floor tilted and people slid off into nothingness. He reached for his partner, the moment he touched, a face flickered into focus and then changed into some kind of monster. Black eyes stared back at him and a hideous smile gave way to menacing sharp teeth. Everything turned red and black and he couldn’t tear his gaze from those eyes even as the jaws opened wide… Gasping, he bolted upright. His breath came in unsteady pants as he fumbled, trying to make sense of his situation in the darkness. Slowly it dawned on Greg he was in his own bed. Wiping a hand down his face he winced as he rubbed over a bruise. The ache in his chest made itself very apparent, pain rushing over him in waves. He struggled to slow his breathing, hoping it would help the pain subside. He was bathed in sweat, tangled in the sheets.

 Of all the dreams that was the worst, that he could recall anyways. Leaning back, he rested against the head of the bed. He felt tired, but didn’t want to close his eyes, every time he did a new image sprung to mind. He could feel little tremors in his hands and feet, from the dreams or other wise he wasn’t certain. One thing was for certain, he needed a little calm or he’d never get his head together. Carefully he untangled himself from the sheets, pushing them all the foot of the bed. The moment he stood a rush of dizziness passed over him, he grabbed a bedpost gripping it tightly until the feeling passed and he no longer felt like he was spinning. Blindly he made his way towards the dresser, but tripped, falling, managing to catch himself with his hands on the dresser before he hit the ground. The impact of him against the dresser jostled it, sending a book and various things to the ground with a thump. Fuck, he thought as he brought himself upright. He kicked the offending object, a boot, out of the way. Turning back to the dresser he opened the top drawer, reaching in and found what he was looking for. “Greg you okay?” voice called out. He jumped, clutching the small package to his chest. Nick! He dared to peek towards the door, but to his luck he wasn’t standing there. He managed to croak out a fine as he padded to the bathroom, still clutching his fist to his chest.

 The light was garishly bright in there. Locking the door, he placed the little baggie on the counter. Both hands on either side of the sink, he rested his weight on his arms, head bent low. Looking up, he saw his reflection and shuddered. His torso looked like it had been dyed in grape juice, the edges beginning to turn to a sickly yellow tinged green. But his face looked distorted, like he was looking at someone else. Sure there was a bruise and some stitches but his eyes looked different. There was something missing from them, they looked tired and… some thing else that he just couldn’t define. There was a knock on the door. His eyes flew wide.

“Hey, Greg? I’ve got to go to work but I thought I’d change your bandages for you before I left. I know how much of a bitch it can be trying to do it yourself.”

 Nervously he dropped the baggie behind the toilet, making certain it was fairly hidden before unlocking the door. He blinked owlishly at Nick, trying to remember why exactly he was there. The older man guided him backwards to the toilet, pushing him down to sit. Crouching he took his arm, extending so it rested on his knee and peeled back the bandage. A little trickle of blood appeared, but he dampened a washcloth and dabbed it away. Gently, he covered the wounds with antibacterial ointment and taped a new bandage over them. He repeated the gesture on his head, tenderly brushing an errant lock of hair out of the way. With a smile he rose, “I’m betting you’ll want one of these?” he said, tapping out a pill into his hand. “I’ll grab you a glass of water,” he wandered off towards the kitchen, leaving Greg to stare at the pill resting in his hand.

 He sat a cup of water on the counter next to him. “Someone will probably come around after the shift to see you.” He patted his shoulder affectionately, giving it a little squeeze. “Hope you feel better.”

 The click of the door barely registered with him, he still stared at the pill, images washed in red and phantom faces ghosted unbidden before his eyes. He felt an intense sadness overtake him, and his eyes begin to fill with tears. He closed his eyes and dry swallowed the pain reliever, but he knew it couldn’t relieve the metaphysical pain. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, sighing heavily. Shifting, he reached behind the toilet grasping the little bag. He took a little pinch, placing it on the back of his hand behind his thumb and inhaled the golden brown powder. He leaned back resting his head against the toilet tank, closing his eyes and letting the pain begin to fade away.

 He stood naked in his bedroom, staring into closet. All traces of last night had been washed away; a little mascara here, some glitter there, smudged eyeliner and smeared eye shadow. His mini skirt lay in a corner like a discarded piece of trash. His boots were tossed on top of it, like they were to be some forgotten memory. He pushed the closet door closed, opting for just a pair of jeans instead. He knelt, pulling a pair from underneath the bed, his most comfortable pair of jeans. All his jeans were comfortable but these were his favourite pair. There were rips in the knees, and the hem was tattered and frayed, but they were soft like cashmere from being worn so often and washed many times. And no matter where he wore them, they always smelled clean, pure. Putting them on was like receiving a hug; they were comforting.

 He had managed to sleep a few hours more, but the pain was coming back. It ebbed and flowed with each moment, and sometimes he feared that it threatened to over take him. He wanted to wipe the pain away but it was too close to the end of shift, he could easily be caught. Things were cut a little too close last time; he did not long for a repeat. Regardless though he needed an outlet, some way to assuage the turmoil boiling inside him. Turning off the light he wandered off down the hall and behind a closed door.

 One of the benefits of living on the top floor and having no downstairs neighbor was he could be as loud as he wanted. He lit a few candles and plugged in the holiday lights that ran up the wall and across the ceiling. Acrylic clear stars dangled from the ceiling, twisting and catching in the red, pink, and purple twinkling lights. Settling himself cross legged on the carpet he picked up a marker and began writing on the wall in one of the uncovered spaces. He wanted to get this down before he went further.

 ‘feel the rhythm of my heart pounding,
drumming in my head
left my skin somewhere behind me
my soul's left to shed
feet betray me, the body falling
down beyond my knees
blood on the pavement,
it's the only sign of me

 slice the vein, take all i have
give the pain; it's all that's left
bring on the rain, can't see myself
i'm lost inside
they've drained me dry
there's nothing else to give

hear whispered words echoing loudly,
resounding in this space
lost my faith, it lies with my spirit
outside the human race
heart's been slayed, bloody little tragedy
gaping hole inside
trails of tears stretched out behind me
the sign i haven't died’

 He sat watching the marker dry, joining the words and passages that were scrawled on the wall. Somehow seeing his thoughts permanent eased his mind in some way, made things a bit easier to deal with. He let his focus fade, taking in a few deep breaths, letting his mind settle. Gingerly, he raised himself up off the floor, hissing as he shifted the wrong way sending a painful bolt through his chest from his ribs. He walked over to a corner of the room, reaching out to grasp… but drew his hand back. Instead he went to the keyboard in the center of the room, lowering himself to the stool and turned the keyboard on. His fingers caressed the keys; cool beneath his touch, like old friends. He ran a few scales quietly repeating them as his fingers reacquainted themselves with the movements and resurfacing muscle memory. After several repetitions he turned up the volume, resting his fingers over the keys and closed his eyes. Taking a breath, he lowered his hands pulling forth an opening chord and losing himself in the ones following. He didn’t have to look as his fingers danced across the keys, their touch sure and steady from memory. His body moved unconsciously with the crescendo and decrescendo. He could feel the notes wrapping around his body, ensconcing him in their welcoming tones and let himself fall away with them.

 A pounding noise forced itself through his reverie, pulling him back to reality. Opening his eyes, he let the last chord ring out. The noise was still there and was becoming more insistent. Reluctantly, he turned the keyboard off, and blew out the candles. Grimacing he headed towards the living room, whomever it was had better have a damn good reason he thought. With more force than he intended he pulled the door open catching them in mid-knock. ‘Nick,” he rasped, awkwardly clearing his throat.

 “Hey, I didn’t know if you couldn’t hear me or something had happened to you. Another minute there and I was going break in.” Nick said, genuine concern etching his face for a moment before softening. “Do you mind if I come in? Everybody sent some stuff over for you.” Greg stepped aside, allowing him to pass. “A few of your cd’s are in here, in case you missed some of the obnoxious crap you call music.” He laughed to let him know he was teasing him. “There’s some juice in there, I brought you beer. But no drinking until your throat feels better and you don’t need the painkillers. Mixing the two can be really bad you know? There are other things in there too, but I didn’t look through it all because I figured you would sort it out. Oh, and Grissom wanted to let you know that you have the rest of the week off to recover. He also wanted me to tell you make sure you’re cleared for duty before you return, mentally and physically.” Greg opened his mouth to say something but closed it. His silence registered with Nick, who strode over to him. “Hey,” he said placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know it sucks but its procedure and Gris just wants to make sure you’re alright. You’ll be fine.” He smiled. “Catherine wanted me to tell you she’s glad you’re all right. And give you a hug for her.” Slowly he wrapped his arms around him, tightening his embrace just a bit.

 Greg’s eyes slid closed and he let his head rest on Nick’s shoulder. He let himself be folded into the embrace. He concentrated on his breathing and the dull thump, thump of his heartbeat. And for a moment, the pain began to dim just a bit.

 “What were you listening to?” Nick asked, slowly releasing his hold.

 “Piano Sonata Number Fourteen in C sharp minor, ‘Quasi Una Fantasia’. Also know as Moonlight Sonata: Adagio Sostenuto.” He replied softly.

 Nick shook his head, smiling. “You listen to some weird stuff my friend.”

 “Beethoven’s not weird!”