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Oct. 30th, 2005 11:52 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregChapter 14: Every Swallow Kills
R, 1871 words
Previous Chapter: Chapter 13: No One Knows What They Are Searching For
100% disclaimed.
Chapter 14: Every Swallow Kills
The door had to be slammed against with his shoulder in
order to get it open, there were piles of debris behind it. Even after he
managed to squeeze inside, the mess reverted back, its mass pushing the door
closed. Carefully he picked his way across the mess, finding very few places to
safely step. “Greg?” he called out, balancing one hand against the wall
steadying himself. Long shadows cast across the walls. “Greg? Where are you?”
The complete destruction concerned him; his stomach already in knots from the
confused, panicked phone call. The fear that gripped his stomach reached up his
spine, wrapping tightly around his throat. “Greg? Greg?”
He stepped further into the apartment, glass crunched
underfoot by the counter. The brown flaky edges glared up angrily at him as he
lifted his foot. Carefully he retrieved a piece; it was definitely blood
stained, at least a few days or older judging by the darkness of the colour.
That fear gripped him harder, he swallowed hard. “Greg?” he turned, Greg!
Huddled, curled in fetal position beside the overturned couch; shoulders
shaking and phone clutched in his fingers like it was his only salvation. His
gaze caught on the coffee table, the golden powder there. His jaw tightened.
“What’s that Greg?”
Slowly the mussed haired head rose. “Bring-bring it?” he
said, face mostly hidden in shadows.
“Greg, what’s going on?” He stepped over the couch cushions
strewn across the floor. He had an idea, a suspicion of what that pile of dust
was, years of police training ingrained upon him. It couldn’t be; there was no
way that the golden dust was a narcotic. It just- No! There was no possible
way, they were CSI’s and knew much better than to even touch anything like that
unless collecting it as evidence. Besides it was Greg, he wouldn’t do drugs.
Would he? Surfing, latex, dating models that he would do, but drugs? Never…
Maybe?
“Greg what’s going on here? What happened?” he crouched down
beside the table, wary of the powder. Gently he lifted his chin, his own face
falling into shadow. It was difficult to make out his eyes amongst the darkened
features; they did not sparkle at all. “Greg? What’s wrong?”
“N-need more!” he practically sobbed. A hand came up
grasping his forearm, clutching frantically, nails digging into his flesh.
“-gone, gone away… I need – please! Please…”
He struggled to his feet, succeeding in falling backwards
over the couch cushions. Crawling, he scrambled away. The dead look in his eyes
unnerved him, and the frantic need frightened him. It couldn’t be true! God no!
Not Greg… And yet… he had released his arm, staring at the powder with fingers
twitching unconsciously. He rocked back and forth, rubbing forearms
subconsciously against knees. He was an idiot! The twitching, the rubbing of
skin to assuage the crawling feeling, the dead eyes all hallmarks of a junkie.
Motherfucker!
“Greg I’m going to ask you, and just tell me once and I’ll
believe you. Are you doing drugs? Tell me once and tell me true. Are you taking
drugs?’ He stood, nudging the cushions back with a foot. “Greg? Greg!” His head
jerked towards him, slightly paying him mind. He didn’t need to hear it, but he
knew all his fears in that instant were confirmed. He just wanted to hear some
acknowledgement come from Greg’s mouth, knowing it would silence the little
voice that said what if he’s not? To know that that little hope of being wrong
was well and truly dead. He just wanted something more than words of blatant
need, words that only Greg could provide. Not Greg-the-junkie, but Greg his
friend, Greg the person. Give him some sign that all was not lost.
The twitching fingers reached out, touching the golden dust,
pushing down and manipulating it into some semblance of a line. Greg was gone;
the world was gone to him, except that forming line.
“NO!” he shouted, pushing him away from the coffee table.
“You son of a bitch!” Angrily, he flipped the table, the powder flying,
floating down in a shimmering haze to scatter across the floor.
Greg’s visage morphed from vacant to enraged in an instant.
“NO!” he shrieked lunging across the table trying to catch some of the dust on
his hands. Even in his state he realized his efforts were futile. Pushing
himself off the table, he dove for Nick, arms coming around his calves and the
force of the tackle sending him to the floor. “Fucker!” He yanked him by the
ankle towards him. “Was all there was! You bastard -and it’s gone!” Fists flying,
he struck anywhere he could, screaming like a banshee.
Nick blocked more than a few of the shots, but some would
slip by and connect. He could feel the blood running down his chin where a fist
had connected twice with his jaw and his teeth had cut into his lip. He kept
trying to catch one of his wrists but every time he succeeded it would slip
from his grasp and come flying again. He really didn’t want to hurt him, but
when his hands closed around his throat and started to squeeze… He brought a
knee up, between them and pushed as he scrabbled for purchase on his wrists.
His grip on his throat loosened as he startled, and it gave him enough to
maneuver and flip their positions. He managed to straddle his thighs, trapping
his legs effectively, but struggled against maintaining a grip on his wrists.
“Fucker get off! GET OFF!” Greg screamed. “I’m gonna fucking
KILL you!”
His thin body thrashed beneath him, nearly dislodging him
several times. He would have just lain across him but he didn’t think Greg
would hesitate to bite him or smash his forehead into the bridge of his nose. A
wrist came loose, the attached hand slamming into his chest, causing him to
catch a breath. He reached out to grab the forearm again, catching nails raking
across his cheek instead. Tears stung his eyes. “Fuck Greg stop!” He arched up
beneath him, kicking his legs as best he could, fighting like he was possessed.
He screamed, spitting unintelligible phrases at him. Somehow he had wrested his
wrists from his grasp and hit him for all he was worth. Dazed for a moment, he
used it to his advantage grasping his side, digging his fingers in and pulled
him off. A foot connected with a kneecap sending Nick swearing and scrambling
away as he was starting to aim for other important parts.
Greg scurried backwards, hands slipping on DVD and CD cases.
He flung one, catching him across the cheek with a yelp. He ducked as a book
came flying at his head, blood dripping freely down his face. A picture frame
smashed against the wall behind him raining down a shower of glass shards. He
was becoming too dangerous with an arsenal of things to throw at him. He was
also bleeding as well, the fluid smeared down his forearms like a stain. One of
them was going to be seriously hurt soon. He hissed as a hardbound book glanced
off his bicep, the corner of the spine impacting with him. “Son of a bitch!
Greg stop! Stop!” It only spurred on the air assault, and his aim was improving
by the projectile. Taking a deep breath he launched himself over the couch
cushions, tackling him bodily. He trapped his arms between their bodies,
grabbing his chin with one hand tightly enough that there would be bruises.
“Greg stop.” He said loudly and forcefully. “Look at me!” he commanded of the
body struggling beneath him.
“Fuck you Stokes!” Greg hissed. “Get off me bitch!”
“I’ve had enough of this shit!” he growled. He heaved
himself up, pulling him bodily with him to standing. He shoved him against the
wall, pressing him to it with an arm across his shoulders and throat and
slapped him. The force was enough to turn his head into the wall. “That’s
enough.” He leaned his weight into the restraining arm. Weakly Greg pummeled
his fists against his chest in the close space between them. “Enough bullshit
Greg, what the fuck is going on? I want answers!”
“Piss off!” he snarled, spitting in his face.
Nick wiped the saliva off with his free hand and then
backhanded him. “No. You even think of doing that again and I will really hit
you.” His eyes narrowed. “The heroin Greg, explain.” His features softened for
an instant. “Explain why you’re killing yourself with it.”
“Not killing myself.” He replied breathing heavily. “Could
do it without the H.”
“You’re killing yourself. Fucking hell, you’re as skinny as
all hell. Have you looked in a mirror recently? You didn’t have much extra on
you to start but I can count six ribs on you. Your eyes are sunk and cheeks
hollow. I don’t know how you’re even standing, let alone fighting. You look
like death defrosted in a microwave! You’re killing yourself!” He watched as
his eyes flashed sadly for a moment before he cast his gaze away. “Why Greg?
Why the heroin?”
“I need it.” He replied. “I need it.”
“Bullshit! And you know it!”
“I need it!” He renewed his struggling, fighting to break
from his grasp and get away. “You don’t understand. I need my fairy dust! And
you went and threw it away!”
“You’re right.” He replied, sounding slightly defeated. He
had seen users in need of a fix before but never fighting this bad for one nor
the user being a close friend. “I don’t understand. Help me.”
“I-I just need it. It-”
“It what?”
“I-it fixes things. I need it to take away…”
“What Greg?” He said, relaxing his restraint slightly.
He looked up at him, “It fixes me.” His face crumbled, the
fight completely leaving him. “It fixes me. I’m so broken…” He sagged against
Nick, tears welling up and spilling down his face. “I’m so broken. I can’t take
it anymore… It’s too much, this pain. I-I just wanted to fix me, just for a
li-little bit.”
“Oh Greg,” he sighed pulling him tightly to him. He wrapped
his arms around him, feeling the shaking sobs that ran through him. His anger
slowly left him, there was still some residual but it was mostly replaced with
haunting sadness. Why hadn’t he seen the signs earlier? Recognized his crying
out for help?
“- makes them go away. I don’t have to see them die-see them
dead. Lets me forget.” He dug his fingers into his back, sobbing harder. He
held onto him like a lifeline. “Forget who I am. Forget everything. Shattered
no more, not smashed -smashed in pieces-… ‘m so broken Nick- s-s-so broken, and
I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know what to do…”
Tears were falling down his face as he cradled him to his
body. “It will be okay. We’ll make it…”
“…so broken – too many pieces, can’t save them all… some are
lost-”
“We’ll find them.” He murmured, biting his lip to keep from
completely falling apart.
“Shattered… ruined… splintered… cracked… broken… ‘m broken…”
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Date: 2005-10-31 06:40 am (UTC)Anyway, I say you captured Greg's druggy desperation very well, and the whole fight scene after Nick threw the coffee table over rocked, as well as the parts where Greg finally stopped fighing. Just, loved the whole thing. Yay for update! XD
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Date: 2005-10-31 06:57 am (UTC)I thought I had linked it, but tis fixed now. Please excuse me, I'm an idiot.
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Date: 2005-10-31 07:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-31 08:34 am (UTC)Very powerful stuff.
/A
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Date: 2005-10-31 11:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-31 01:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-31 02:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-31 02:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-31 07:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-31 08:01 pm (UTC)powerful
Date: 2005-10-31 09:36 pm (UTC)Wojo
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Date: 2005-11-01 01:13 am (UTC)Painful
Date: 2005-11-01 03:56 am (UTC)Re: Painful
Date: 2005-11-03 02:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-09 11:11 pm (UTC)