Help is Round the Corner Chapter 10 (Part 2 of 2)

[goblover.livejournal.com]

Title: Help is Round the Corner
Author: Goblover
Pairing: Chip/Ryan, Jeff/Ryan, and more!
Rating: R
Warning: possible Character death and a lot of dark themes. And I mean dark.
Note: So this goes from Jeff's POV, to a flashback, and to Ryan's POV present day. Hopefully you follow.

Comments I love and would be awfully awfully nice. :D?

He could feel the tension rippling through his body, rolling across his stomach. He clenched every possible muscle and stood as still as he could, afraid of what would happen were he to look. Oh he could never look. It might make it real.

 

He didn’t want to admit it was back. He didn’t want to have to say that he…he could have disappointed himself and Chip like that. Be so fucking miserable for months and months, it’s no wonder he kept it out of his head. Because he was there again.

 

Again. Again. It was just like Montreal. But worse.

 

He drew out a shaky hand from the waistband of his underwear across him, stopping at his navel. He kept his eyes shut as he started to cup his hand, running it up and down his own body.

 

It still wasn’t real, he could just imagine that-that definite C curve. His thumb hooked inside the deep pocket that was his navel and hid, while the rest of his fingers capitulated around his…his…

 

Could he-Shit it was like regressing. But just gaining?

 

He turned on the light. He didn’t want to but he fucking did it. The bright orange and yellow fluorescent light burned as it hit and blinded his open eyes, but he forced himself to keep them open. As the spots of white blindness died down to nothing, he brought his firm gaze to his mirror image.

 

Yep, that was him. Gently he poked himself in the side. It wasn’t going away.

 

“I don’t want to see you un-“

 

“Un- wait what were you going to say? Unhealthy?”

 

Fucking hell. He got it back tenfold, didn’t he?

 

“Where’s your belt? You don’t have it on. Can you not fit-”

 

“Not now, not now, not now.”

 

He didn’t deserve to live. He didn’t deserve to live like this, it wasn’t living at all.

 

But he’d die knowing he’d look like a fat fuck in a tux, being lowered into the ground.

 

He sort of knew though, what was going on, the entire time. He wasn’t a complete unconscious idiot, though often perceived that way. He’d stopped jumping on Chip’s back in freeze tag a while back, not because he was finally listening to the whole “I’ll hurt my back and so will you, you know?” argument but because he was deathly afraid of one of Chip’s legs buckling out from under him.

 

He could see the shadows of his ribs but he couldn’t feel them.

 

Correspondence with his own body wasn’t something it used to be, he shut that out when it became a fight. Communication lines were cut, along with any attempt for him to quote unquote “Fix that”-Chip’s words, probably. Always Chip’s words that cut right through what he thought was sugarcoated at first, saccharine words from a close friend- but was really the barest most bitter version of the truth Jeff could have gotten. His voice was disarming, but that was really it.

 

There was some cracked notion in his head of one of those old height and weight charts. Like the doctors used to have before they deemed it completely useless. He liked it though, showed him he could fit in boxes with colors. Something inherently childlike to add to his grossly inflamed physique. Too old to be allowed an excuse, too young not to want to focus on it. He had a problem, but a beautiful one if he could get it right. And what he wanted to whisper through the fucking night was that it was Chip’s fault. All Chip’s fault and there was no getting over it.

 

Ryan’s reactions from time to time were his absolute favorite. It didn’t have to be big or noticeable, it was just there. A flicker too bright to be hidden behind the eyes. A snort or a scoff quiet enough not to be heard but sharp enough to be felt on the back of his neck, making his neck hair stand on end. His jabs or complaints were mumbled at best but Jeff got the message clear as crystal.

 

Those nights, those nights on the bus where he’d stand over his bunk for minutes at a time, plugging up his nose and squeezing his eyes shut with his right or left hand trying to breathe-knowing that every single one of them was watching him. Did they mistake it as a ritual instead of a panic attack? Did Chip think he was praying? God no. The bus got hot at night, that was something unavoidable even with air conditioning. He knew he couldn’t sleep with his shirt off but that didn’t stop him from wanting to most nights. And there was everyone else, completely comfortable or used to wearing little to nothing. Jeff wasn’t.

 

Jeff was delicate, he couldn’t handle that kind of thing. Not his own body. Letting people who deemed themselves close to actually be close. Jeff was sure that Ryan was the first to know. And he dealt with it like a pro. Sweep Jeff up with the garbage, that’s where he was.

 

Maybe if he felt better or looked better, he’d have taken off his shirt. But really, it’d just be another thing for them to laugh about. He couldn’t have that happen, ever. So he stayed clothed for as long as he could, while everyone else had their fun. Okay, maybe just Chip.

 

Fuck, Chip would be up each morning practically strutting round the tour bus with his shirt off. For Ryan’s benefit, Greg’s indifference, and Jeff’s implosive dismay, of course. That was Chip, making something intimate out of a crammed and enclosed space. Waiting for Ryan’s soft little half-smile which always appeared too quickly to even qualify as being hidden. Why they kept up that charade of theirs in the company of the two people who knew for a fact what was going on was beyond Jeff. But that was the way they were, fucking private people. Fucking private people who fucked each other inches and feet from where Jeff slept.

 

Jeff would wake up those mornings on that bus, after his little night of horrors shit had finished wreaking messy havoc, and he’d roll out of bed-hitting the floor. He’d stand up and pull at the seams and collar of his sweat drenched shirt, collapsing next to Chip. He’d wipe his brow and his hair would start to stick to his hands. Each day he’d wait for Chip to say something. But Chip was distracted, trying to downplay the smile that came with sneaking into Ryan’s bunk in the middle of the night, as if they all didn’t know they were fucking.

 

It was routine, everything was routine.

 

Pat him on the head, not too roughly now. Send him away, give him a cookie, give him another cookie. Ignore him completely, give him the box. Watch him eat them. Cue laugh.

 

Oh sure, Chip didn’t care about Jeff in the morning (or 12/1pm-ish, Jeff’s “morning”) unless of course Jeff would make a crack about Chip’s whole sit-ups at dawn deal. Then suddenly it was well Jeff- couldn’t he try exercising more than just lifting a cup to his lips? Hard work. Could he try and pick up an actual weight every now and then? Ryan getting into his protective mode or the voice in his head picking up the slack would add on with how he had enough of his own and didn’t need to pick up any more of it.

 

He took showers with the lights off, he’d slouch so he’d feel smaller, he would stop looking in mirrors if it weren’t for the whole shaving thing. How his friends, his goddamn friends could…

 

He remembered being the skinniest kid in shows, the lightest one on the screen. And how much he liked that. God, it amazed him how far back shit went when he was sure, he was damn sure that everything fucking happened in 2004 with Chip. Things weren’t supposed to reach back that far. He was supposed to be a good fucking person until Chip killed him with expectations and kindness and all that fucking stuff that no one was willing to give a damn about.

 

Payback being that Jeff killed Chip for his troubles. In that sour roundabout guilt sort of way, he did do it. No one else could have contributed that much, and he was slightly more proud than he should have been for that. And angry that he could break another person faster than himself. Didn’t seem fair, didn’t seem right, didn’t seem humanely possible.

 

Hints, they’d give him hints to his weight. As if he didn’t know. He put it aside for a reason, not because he didn’t care but he knew that he cared far too much. He let it fade to the back instead of preying on his mind like it fucking wanted to so he could function.

 

He’d almost blocked out the memory of one of their more recent games of freeze tag where Greg tagged in to Chip’s position in their scene only to place his hand on Jeff’s stomach and asked when he was due. Easy audience laugh, moment was over, Jeff’s mouth stayed open. Chip was nice enough to immediately tag Jeff out. He couldn’t recover fast enough to complete the game. What was especially great was that the more he thought about it, the more he realized that there was no physical setup for that joke, no hand placement, nothing. It was just Greg out to get him. The rest of that show he was off. He brought out a drink as soon as he was able to slink offstage and find one. Two, three, four, he kept going. He performed drunk that show. And the next three shows as well.

 

Ambivalence would have been easier. Rather than the catalogue of stares he got from Chip when he was doing something wrong. He didn’t know which stare of his was worse, the “You’re drinking again?” stare that eventually wore off with time or the “You’re eating that?” stare which never went away.

 

He didn’t always have a problem at this level, he swore up and down bystreets and back alleys. It was an easily developed disorder on account of taking harsh comments for what they were when he was struggling. He should have been able to brush them off.

 

But it wasn’t an onstage thing, it wasn’t an “Oh ha ha, we’re great friends making fun of each other,” thing. It was meant for impact, cracking the loose and flabby skin that apparently hung around him.

 

It was too much for anyone really, though he must have hid it well. Always a blazer to back up his life. The uncomfortable shifting he’d do when fans wrapped their arms around him to give him a gigantic hug wasn’t always based off of his own pain. He fed on their reactions, and when they’d make a face, he felt it like he’d been hit hard with a spiked baseball bat. That’s right, they didn’t expect so much…Jeff to go around.

 

Same thing with dogs: the little ones always think they’re big and the big ones are sure they’re little enough to sit on a person’s chest without crushing them. That was him.

 

Jeff was crushing them. And he didn’t even realize it (or want to realize it) until they pointed it out. And then suddenly-because Chip got invested in it far too quickly…it was all he and Jeff could think about.

 

Though Jeff thought more about getting away from them, after he burned himself to smoldering pieces. Like burn victims on the Discovery channel, he didn’t cringe and turn away-he saw what he could be. What he was becoming, a worthless stump of a human being, flesh marked up to high heaven, scattered with hidden messages. Decoration and degradation for them all.

 

Chip was devoted to the cause as soon as he saw the problem at hand. Took too long a glance up and down him and saw something he could fix. And fuck him, he looked excited at the chance to rescue him. Point out something with Jeff that was supposedly changeable. If Chip could keep himself in that condition, then why couldn’t Jeff? Yeah just keep showing him up in any way possible. Did he really think that at any time he was being helpful? He was ripping him to pieces and Jeff was surprised Chip could have that effect on him.

 

Chip, the self appointed hero of them all. Always darting into the fray before it was safe. Never once thinking what actions and schemes could be conceived by his own. Jeff thought more than anyone, he was sure. His thoughts beat down on him, squalor in his sunlight. Everything had separate moves, places to wander off in, secret areas of soft repose and restraint. Chip had to be moving, Jeff wanted to stop completely.

 

So was it really the scarring that had Ryan so put off? Or was it the fact he wasn’t built right for him, because he wasn’t fucking Chip. And he couldn’t have anyone seeing him like that. Ryan had to be embarrassed for the both of them.

 

That noise, that distinctively background noise. He thought he could hear music. The strings of a Paul Simon song hung in the air like wind chimes. He wasn’t sure where the music was coming from, since there was no radio. He assumed it was just in his head. Like everything else.

 

He toyed with the idea he was a sleep eater. It didn’t work. He thought maybe he’d grow out of it, but then he remembered he was thirty-five growing dangerously close to thirty-six and that wasn’t very likely. His usual line was that if he was dying anyway, it didn’t matter what his last meal was. But then of course, he’d be around another year and that went out the window.

 

There he was, on the brink of destruction, teetering closer by the millisecond. Nothing could stop the eventual break of his porcelain shell. He was to be punished for his previous misfortunes. Suicidal ventures, nothing could be as tedious as failure. The wild embers of his youth were fading fast, if they weren’t already gone. A decision had to be made.

 

A splashdown of water far outweighing gentle trickling quickly splattered down the edges of his lower stomach. The feeling snapped his mind back to the present. He stumbled backwards, indifferently realizing that the sink was overflowing, only later adding that he must have closed the drain earlier. As he tripped over his own feet, he grabbed what he could for stability. That of course being the bottle of vodka he had brought with him. Portable stability within instability and fuzziness: Vodka.

 

Jeff continued to walk himself backwards, noting how eerie it truly was to watch himself in the mirror start to fall. If he didn’t know better, it looked like shit was happening before it really did. He went to reach for the shower curtain he knew was behind him, realizing far too late that his free hand wasn’t so free. He fell into the bathtub.

 

His legs splayed out over the front of the tub, the lights giving him a perfect view of the fact that he was now straddling a lone bar of soap. He moved left and right to no avail, looked like that was staying there for the time being.

 

He looked back up at the counter, watching the water quietly overflow from the sink to the side of the counter, gliding over the drawers and handles and raised molded bits until it hit the floor, creating a pool in itself. Those were fancy ass counters, Jeff wondered how they held up to water damage.

 

Probably well, Ryan had kids. Just not around Jeff.

 

“I don’t want you around them.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

Ryan had to be fucking authoritative, make up for the lack of protocol and order in his life. Reminded him of someone. People used to say if Jeff had known his dad beforehand, he would have liked him a lot more. Seen how he’d have made a great friend and all, just not goaded into fatherhood. It didn’t take to him well.

 

Oh but it fit Ryan like a glove. And because Jeff was someone else’s kid, he was allowed to lay down the law. Lay down the law like it was fucking concrete.

 

Sure that was before he fucked him, then all rules were broken and it was fucking chaos in the streets, burning buildings and burning himself. Leaving himself open just so Ryan could growl out in disgust.

 

His feet touched the floor, making him wish for a pair of socks. It always did, he hated the feeling of his bare feet against things- fucking tactile shit and all that. Growing up he didn’t even like touching things. He’d have his socks and shoes on constantly and he would cry when he touched grass or sand. Something his parents tried to work with him on. They were pretty sure it was gone.

 

Jeff lifted his feet up so they wouldn’t touch the floor anymore. Guess not.

 

He opened his hand that couldn’t grab at the shower curtain. So he did take the lighter from the counter after all.

 

He lifted the bottle in the air and knocked it against his chest. Funny, that was supposed to break. He did it again, only much harder.

 

It broke over him, the glass bottom shattering every which way. The vodka seeped out of the broken bottle, running down his chest and wetting his grey underwear, turning it a dark dark black. It was cold as fuck, coming just out of the freezer and it felt damn good.

 

He held the bottle above him, examining it as more vodka poured out of it onto himself, sliding down his neck and shoulders. Perfect for the start of a bar fight, he thought cruelly before grinding the jagged edge of the bottle directly into his chest. He turned it in his hands, gritting his teeth as he tried to push the pieces of glass further into himself.

 

He stopped when the gashes were deep enough for him to feel the least bit satisfied. When he pulled the bottle away, he was pretty sure a good sized piece of glass was stuck in there, along with the pretty shiny bits.

 

The blood mixed with the vodka, the stinging sensation was overwhelming. It seemed to just make its way into the cuts like it was trying to fill trenches. Any other scars that opened up were susceptible to the same treatment.

 

He gave himself a brief once over. Broken, bloodied, and destroyed. The d was a backwards b there, it almost worked. He could do it right now. The lighter was in his hand, after all. Just a little flick and he was up, up in flames. Sky high.

 

Ryan would have loved to have to have scraped him out of the bathtub, burnt to smithereens like his daughter’s attempt at Father’s Day breakfast- he hoped he’d make that connection too.

 

He hoped that he’d burn whatever was left of Ryan along with himself. Bring him down the path of obliteration, just like Chip. He’d like that too, wouldn’t he?

 

He flicked the lighter, it almost slipped through his fingers. But it didn’t go on. He had to try harder.

 

Ryan would see the sight of him. The expected reaction would have been for Ryan to look down, see Jeff, and then move to call someone else to deal with the problem. Because that’s how he operated.

 

But wouldn’t it have been just plain wonderful if Ryan had reacted differently?

 

He pushed down hard on the gears of the lighter, trying to make it go. Nothing…nothing yet. Hard to do with fucking slippery fingers. And yeah, there was some blood there too. Always was.

 

Catastrophic, cataclysmic events…they were all opinion based right?

 

People would have thought that Ryan would be fine, of course that was before they realized Ryan had fucked Jeff. Yes, there was a connection there waiting to make things awkward whether they wanted to acknowledge it or not. Jeff up and dies, Ryan’s forced to deal with a lot more shit than he wants to. Cry maybe, hate the world. Maybe he’d kill himself too. Jeff would laugh too hard then. If he was somewhere where he could laugh.

 

A growling noise ran from the pit of his stomach up to the folds in his mouth and throat. He blinked as he made the attempt at swallowing the sound back. He had that feeling again. Like someone was…fuck. If he didn’t know better…

 

He flicked the lighter on, this time seeing the flame. But it went out, seemingly on its own. Though Jeff knew otherwise. Nothing could ever go-

 

“Jeff.”

 

-right for him. Goddamnit. There was that voice again. It just wouldn’t go the fuck away. Jeff scrunched his eyes shut. He could make it go, he could tell it off.

 

“Go away,” he clenched his jaw. He brought his hand to his face in order to wipe away a tear that might have escaped on its own. He ended up giving himself a face full of vodka. And he liked it.

 

“Jeff…” it tried again.

 

Why couldn’t it leave him alone? Fucking taunting him, like it always had. Was he doomed to hear out those cries forever? It was a good thing he was doing what he was then, or else that was really going to be his future: hearing the voices that weren’t dulled by alcohol. The crazy man in the corner, talking to pictures and coffee cups. (read: his-his…people who he knew before their medication kicked in.) He wasn’t going to let that happen.

 

“I said go the fuck away, Chip!” he screamed.

 

No immediate response came.

 

Jeff waited in silence for a good long time. Focusing on his breathing and that was it. He couldn’t even hear the sound of the water coming from the faucet and trickling down the countertops. Finally Jeff managed to get in minimal control of himself, if that were possible. He cracked an eye open, and looked around. Nothing. Empty room. Thank fucking hell on that one. Chip was there, he was sure of it.

 

And like that, he was gone.

 

“Hah,” a voice sounded. Different voice, oh yes it was. But depressingly close to the familiar.

 

That again. Ah yes Jeff Davis, great imagination or just plain crazy? There were days where he picked and chose his answers.

 

Well, that was going to be worse wasn’t it? Couldn’t get off easily, oh no. Not Jeff Davis. No, Jeff was forced to live his life off the quality of everyone else’s life. None spared for him, too many problems danced upon his skin. He was the verified untouchable.

 

No he had to hear that horrible fucking laugh. He wasn’t going to get anything done. Not without derision. Stuck in a fucking bathtub rut with all the tools he needed to kill himself but with no possible way to. Not like this.

 

Jeff sighed and looked to his right, back towards the toilet. And there he was.

 

“If I were you, I would have appeared in the mirror.” Jeff said to him under his breath, as politely as he could.

 

“I don’t need parlor tricks, boy.” He stood up and sat on the edge of the tub. Like sitting closer to him just showed off that level of pity he had for him.

 

Boy. Boy. Jeff was older than him by some years, he was sure of it.

 

Back down the road of circus tricks and insanity it was then.

 

Jeff looked up at the former image of himself, circa 2000 at least. Oh his psyche just loved to play that trick on him, didn’t it? Not since the whole hospital breakdown did he have to deal with Him.

 

“Always have to just show up-” Jeff started.

 

“When what, you’re the fucking lardass of town? Yeah, I’d imagine so.” He barked out a laugh and scratched at the series of band-aids on his neck.

 

Jeff paused, taking in the image of himself for just a second too long. Then he blinked.

 

“Go away,” he said quietly.

 

“Being fucking part of you, Jeffrey, the smaller part I might add-I will point out that’s quite impossible.”

 

Jeff shuddered at the sound of his name twisting through that made-up man’s mouth. Jeffrey, he couldn’t handle it. Never could.

 

“If you’re going to be here, could you just shut up?” Jeff turned his gaze away from his imaginary self and focused on the lighter.

 

He could flip it, he could do it right now. The lighter wasn’t cooperating, fucking cheap piece of shit. Jesus Christ why wasn’t it working?

 

Was it because a part of him still couldn’t do that to himself? That he still had those last bits of self-preservation lying about in him that banded together in time of need? Was he just that much of a failure? Yes.

 

“I’m still inside your mind. Like the rest.” He growled through his teeth, inching closer to Jeff.

 

Fucking unnerving as shit, it didn’t sound like his own voice right there. It was far too demonic for that.

 

“Ah!” Jeff groaned in frustration, throwing his hand down and leaning back further into the tub. His head rested lightly on a soap dish.

 

“What’s that on your hand, dickwad?” the other Jeff asked him nonchalantly.

 

Didn’t he mean in his hand? Jeff tossed the lighter aside. That took care of that.

 

“What’s what?” Jeff responded, completely uninterested in the answer but looking towards him anyway. He’d be lying if he didn’t say he wasn’t just a little jealous of the guy who should have been himself sitting there before him. Wearing nice ass clothes, hair perfect and naturally black. In a much fucking better place, mentally and definitely fucking physically.

 

He waved his left hand in the air, trying to attract Jeff’s attention.

 

Jeff squinted, slipping his way to sitting up slightly in the bathtub, trying his best to look closely at whatever was on his doppelganger’s finger or hand that required that much notice.

 

A wedding ring, a goddamn wedding ring. He stopped thinking at that. Looked pretty nondescript. What, was he supposed to recognize it or something? Was it one of those fucking signs or something, check it up in a dream book later? They didn’t exactly have books on the meanings of hallucinations, now did they?

 

“That’s not there.” Jeff sat back in the tub, somewhat content.

 

He’d have noticed a ring on his finger, he wasn’t that dense. It was just a trick.

 

“Sure it’s not,” he chuckled.

 

Jeff hissed as he closed his eyes and shook his head clear. The laughter seemed to dissipate with each passing second. As soon as he felt remotely comfortable, he started to open his eyes. He did it cautiously, looking for that fucking torturer just in case.

 

No one was there. Oh yes, no one was there. He was safe. He was safe for now.

 

It felt damn good. He didn’t feel anything but the overwhelming relief to be alone.

 

He sat up in the tub as best he could and ran a hand through his hair. He stopped himself mid-way but really it was too late. He pulled his hand away and looked at it. How he could lose so much fucking hair and still have it on his head was—

 

Oh god it was white. It was white, that wasn’t supposed to-Fuck. Not his hair.

 

No, no oh no that wasn’t right. He ran his thumb along the strands of hair caught in his fingers. He, no he dyed that out-It wasn’t supposed to be…All over his fucking head like that.

 

Hallucination, it was all part of it. He was sure of it. It wouldn’t be there when it was morning, he couldn’t let that happen. The only person who knew about that little problem was Ryan and the sink he’d rinse the dye off in.

 

The way the dye would stain the sink, it would make him fucking paranoid as hell. He’d run the water for far too long, scrubbing the sink with his fingers and mountains of soap. He’d rub down the sink with a washcloth, trying to soak up the extra color. Hah, people always thought when those towels went missing it was because Jeff was jacking off in them. Not at all. Not at fucking all, he’d have laughed were it anyone else but him.

 

He had to redo it often or he scared himself to pieces. Just knowing that it could be there, lurking underneath that fake coloring. And yet, there it was again. In his hands and in his hair. White as fucking snow. Mocking him, almost, of what he tried to be. Telling him he’d be nothing more.

 

He looked over to the far side of the tub as he shook the hair off of his hand. The lighter was far away and he was lazy. He looked down at himself, realizing that he was bleeding badly. He grunted out an attempt at a chuckle as he braced the sides of the tub, trying to get out of it.

 

That didn’t exactly work. He placed his hand on the tiled wall behind him, ready to push himself up instead. And that’s when he saw it.

 

God the day was just full of observational shit wasn’t it? He wasn’t going to make it much longer with the fucking revelations, especially this one.

 

The wedding ring. The one he was telling himself about. It was right there, why didn’t he see it before? It was right fucking there, he was wearing it. He should have felt it. Everyone must have seen it, Patty, Greg, Ryan…but did they notice?

 

Probably not. Only because Jeff wasn’t the one who warranted people’s attention to a stare like that. They weren’t looking at his hands unless they were ruined. He didn’t recognize it until it was an actual physical thing. On his hand, most likely for days.

 

Chip’s wedding ring, oh he knew it well. He had stared at it for hours in his spare time. Held onto it when he latched onto Chip’s ring finger to get him through quiet nights in hotel rooms. Chip would hold him and Jeff would hold his ring. He’d touch it and spend too much time stroking the skin around it, amazed how it stayed on like that-the cool mix of metals that could have been replaced at any time with something grossly more expensive but never was. Sentimental value for the thing he didn’t value.

 

Jeff would sneak his nails under the ring and pry at it slightly, like it could just come off. Chip would sigh and shift uncomfortably, Jeff would notice. It was either because Chip saw it as Jeff pointing out his unfaithfulness or because that was his time with Ryan. Jeff had to go and butt in with that whiny sort of neediness that he became known for.

 

Yes, he knew that like the back of his hand-not the best analogy in the book, but wordplay was too good to pass up. Greg would have been proud, were he still around.

 

He spun the ring around his finger with his thumb. It was freezing cold. Like a reverse way of burning him but at an extreme. Jeff was cold but not that cold, in fact he couldn’t think of a time where that kind of a temperature hit him with that kind of a force.

 

Jeff couldn’t get it off fast enough. He yanked it off his hand, growling frustratingly as it wouldn’t budge. He’d go insane if it stayed on. He had to get it off. Fucking fat fingers, why couldn’t it just-

 

It came off with a hard yank, almost taking off his finger as well. He had to get up and out of there, out of the damn tub. His first thought was something about going to Ryan, to show him- but it never quite formed its way to action.

 

He scrambled his way out of the tub, his hands slipping out from under him. His front teeth clanged hard on the porcelain edge. If he did that any harder, he’d have lost his teeth. Not the great loss it would have been years ago.

 

He weighed the ring in his hand before chucking it across the room, grunting lowly as he did. It banged against the tile floor, making a crude sound as it slid. That’s…that’s all it amounted to, one singular sound. Not good enough for him, not good enough for Chip.

 

Jeff rushed after it, scraping his fingers and nails across the tile floor to try to get at it. He gripped the wrist of his right hand so he could keep his hand steady as he went for the ring. A quick thought crossed his mind about how if he pissed his pants right then and there, no one would have noticed. He let it go as his fingers grasped the ring.

 

He picked it back up, cupping it in his hand as gently as he could. He held it there for a few seconds just whimpering to himself. That’d have been a sight to see, Chip would have loved it.

 

Were he actually there he’d have stepped closer, rubbed Jeff’s back, and eventually walked off murmuring words of how he’d go and find someone to help. There never was anyone like that, of course. No one could fucking help.

 

Jeff gripped it as tight as he could in a fist and began hitting the wall. He kept going, knowing fully well he was breaking his hand to pieces. The skin of his knuckles broke like paper, blood began to stain the white wall.

 

He let go with a cry, falling back against the floor. It wasn’t good enough.

 

He knew better. He had to get rid of it. Toss is out a window, feed it to a dog, throw it down a storm drain, something. He lifted his hand above his head, slowly moving it away from him. Extending his arm out completely. He could feel the rim of the toilet. He reached down, the top of his hand dipping into the water slightly.

 

He unclenched his hand, letting the ring fall into the toilet. He heard it clink against the porcelain. He got up and flushed the toilet before giving it a second thought, sniffing back the tears.

 

He didn’t even breathe.

 

When he looked in the bowl of the toilet and found it empty, he laughed. A gentle release of emotional relief washed over him and he scratched at the circular wound in his chest. He glanced at the mirror only for a second, just to see if it looked like it felt. Like it circled his heart, ready for extraction. Just in case he was wrong and it was still there, beating away with no one’s concern backing it up.

 

Still here, still here, still here. Oh he heard it.

 

He’d go back to bed soon enough. He just needed some time. To decompress and shit. Drink that fucking shit away. He licked his arm.

 

Yeah, some more of that. Just in a bottle. And whatever else he could find.

 

--

 

Chip and Jeff were playing cards on the bus, go fish or blackjack or some easy shit. Greg was watching Ryan pace. Not that he’d admit to it, but Greg was probably as anxious as Ryan to get his hands on some cigarettes.

 

Because there wasn’t a gas station for miles. And they ran out of cigarettes awhile ago. Oh but they wouldn’t be out of gas, wasn’t that great?

 

They were going to be shit out of luck for quite some time.

 

Then Ryan got an idea.

 

“I need cigarettes. And I know you have some secret fucking stash for some reason.” Ryan pulled out Jeff’s overnight bag and unzipped it. “You always carry that fucking lighter around. Since we’re not stopping in Bumfuck-wherever-we-are, me and Greg are confiscating yours.”

 

“Pretty sure you mean ‘Greg and I’ there, big guy.” Greg laughed.

 

“Look grammar police, you want some or not?” Ryan shot him a look.

 

“I defer to your superior judgment, oh gracious lord.” Greg pretended to bow down to him.

 

“What are you doing?” Jeff dropped the cards in his hand and stood up quickly.

 

Chip casually scooped them up.

 

“I swear I just told you this,” Ryan sifted through Jeff’s bag. “Jesus, where do you hide that pack?”

 

“Don’t-Don’t go through my stuff.” Jeff tried to get over as fast as he could, but it was too late.

 

Ryan unfolded one of Jeff’s shirts.

 

There, clear as day was a needle and a rubber tourniquet. Ryan didn’t even want to look for the rest of his shit at that point. The evidence was enough.

 

“What the-” Ryan looked up at Jeff.

 

Jeff’s mouth dropped just a little as his eyes widened.

 

Found out. Guess he couldn’t hide it from them forever. Things like that didn’t exactly go unnoticed. Sure he was acting weird but not that weird. He must have been really good at keeping himself secluded-when he was getting high. Nice.

 

Maybe it wasn’t his, Chip would have been eager to say if he was paying attention. That thread of hope would have been snipped instantly, just looking at Jeff’s expression.

 

Yeah, it was his all right. That needle was probably used too, it wasn’t in a package at all. Though, what did that matter to a fucking junkie-which Ryan assumed Jeff was if it had gotten to “hiding stash on tour bus” levels. Hygienic shoot-up’s weren’t high on the list of importance.

 

“Well?” Ryan asked, voice dry and devoid of emotion.

 

Pressed for time and an answer, Jeff turned his head away. He was trying to find a response. And he was starting to shake. He bit down on his fingernail, refusing to meet his eyes. His left hand slipped into his back pocket.

 

Oh he had to be hiding it there, didn’t he? Keep shit on him so he’d never go without it, hilarious.

 

“You don’t even-How? You’re fucking afraid of needles, what the fuck?” Ryan stood up. “Fuck Jeff, are you on heroin?”

 

“What?” Chip’s voice dropped more than an octave and he almost fell over himself as he moved to walk over.

 

“No, look-I-”Jeff yelled. “I told you not to go through my bag!”

 

“What in the hell?” Greg walked over and saw his bag. “Oh holy shit, Jeff.”

 

“No,” Chip shook his head in astonishment. “No, this isn’t happening. Not now, not with you, Jeff. Not-”

 

Chip went to put his hand on Jeff. Jeff jerked away from him.

 

“Well-Why did you have to-I-I told you not to-You, you just don’t-” Jeff stuttered.

 

He turned to walk away from them.

 

“You can’t leave. Where are you going to go?” Greg called after him.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Jeff waved his arm in the air as a goodbye. Or to block them from coming any closer. “Just shut up, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

 

“Fucking hell, Jeff. We’re talking about it.” Greg held the side of his head. “It’s a big fucking deal.”

 

He walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He quickly locked it.

 

“Jeff!” Chip cried through the door.

 

“Jeffrey Bryan Davis, you get your ass out here!” Greg yelled.

 

“You can’t hide, this is a fucking bus!” Ryan pounded on the door.

 

“He’s not hiding.” Chip muttered to them. “He’s injecting whatever he’s got left into his veins right now.”

 

“He’s not, he wouldn’t do it. Okay?” Greg glanced at Chip. “Stop, just-Don’t think that, it’ll be okay.”

 

“You come out of there this fucking instant.” Ryan hit the door.

 

For some reason it wouldn’t budge. Cheap ass door wouldn’t move an inch.

 

“Shut the fuck up!” Jeff screamed back at them.

 

“He’s trying to kill himself, isn’t he?” Chip cringed, holding a hand over his mouth.

 

“No he’s not.” Ryan looked at him. “He’s trying to get away from you.”

 

“Us,” Greg threw out quickly. “Getting away from us. It’s not your fault.”

 

“Yeah it is.” Chip moved to sit on Jeff’s bunk. He hung his head, all that hope he had built up was dashed yet again. Fucking expectations built on optimism.

 

Eventually Greg and Ryan gave up on getting Jeff out. And Chip had to step up again. Well, he wanted to. Even if it was breaking him. The least Jeff could do was be decent to Chip. He wasn’t going to be though.

 

--

 

He didn’t notice Jeff get up during the night. But Ryan woke to the sensation of the bed sinking down as Jeff got back in it. It was subtle but still noticeable.

 

He leaned over him after his eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness and rubbed his cheek. Jeff was pretending to be asleep now, but Ryan knew better. He could smell the sickly sweet stench of alcohol emanating off of him.

 

He could see him shaking.

 

Yeah, he knew where he had been.

 

Ryan rolled off of the bed and pulled the covers back over Jeff, sighing as he did.

 

Jeff always did forget those little details.

 

Ryan walked out of the bedroom and went to close the door behind him. As soon as it made a creaking sound, he stopped. He left Jeff alone to go check out the damage he had done.

 

He heard the sound of running water and flicked on the light switch. Ryan let out a quiet string of curses as he turned the sink faucet off and unplugged the drain. He threw a towel over the floor, noting the broken glass as he turned and closed the door. He’d clean that later, he supposed. He saw blood but for some reason didn’t process it. Things were just tinted red and he didn’t think much of it.

 

He couldn’t ignore the carefully hidden trail of destruction, both plastic and glass bottles that used to contain liquid were strewn about. It didn’t have to be alcohol, it just had to be there. Carton of orange juice, coke cans, something that once contained Kahlua that was under the sink for fucking years-probably all combined. He stepped around the pool of vomit, nice one Jeff. A cigarette butt was ground out here or there, just like an added bonus to Jeff’s downward spiral.

 

He had never actually seen Jeff smoke, now that he thought about it. Simple casual smoking rules of the inept and downtrodden applied then. The reason Jeff smoked was out of fear or a need to collapse. If Jeff knew it was bad, he was going to do it. That was Jeff after all.

 

Ryan gazed upon the unsightly mess that used to be his kitchen. If there was such a thing as Hurricane Jeff: abuser of all things alcohol (and sometimes other things, when he could get his hands on them) then that would have hit his kitchen not too long ago.

 

In fact he was pretty sure the kid knocked up cupboards and shit to snort cocoa powder. That would have explained the mess, that or he really liked making chocolate milk and cookies.

 

Wait-That fucking innocent-Aw wait, that was actually what it was, wasn’t it? Like a six year old who just realized where the snack cupboard was and how to get to it. It was kind of sad.

 

He froze when he looked down at the kitchen table.

 

 

There, in the chair furthest from him, sat Chip.

 

Comments

[clayangel.livejournal.com]

Holy fucking hell. :o

I should say more than that. Your Jeff fascinates and scares me. I love the wedding ring thing. Like, when the hell did he get his hands on that and how?

The flashback in particular really intrigues me. Why is Ryan blaming Chip for all this? Should I know and I'm just dense or is that information yet to come?

I'm so not going to get anything done today. ^_^