Author's note: 2x14-centric, when Chuck's in Thailand hitting rock-bottom and trying to kill brain cells so he doesn't remember he's alone.
2-3am is my hour of predilection for these kinds of in-depth things. And no, I've never tried drugs so I don't know the high feeling, but it's a special hour I guess. So. Who wants to get non-high with me? ;P
SUFFOCATE ME, DRAG ME
Chuck's eyes sting. Since when? Why? He doesn't remember. His lungs feel like cotton and his tongue's so parched he has trouble swallowing for a moment. The rest is unreal. He's been this way before so it's easy to–
Correction: not this hot, not this hazy, not this… sick, like there's something gangrenous that's fit to implode inside of him but just keeps on throbbing dully. And yet he still can't bring himself to care to remember what's led to this. Must be why he's so high-drunk-boneless-spent, after all.
Chuck's eyes burn as he mostly fails to focus on the room around him. Heat presses like slime into his skin but the experience feels like a delusion, an out-of-body experience. The suite glints with saturated sun and gild but all he sees is flares that blind him. More flares as he glances empty bottles and smudged glasses on the nightstand. Smoke unfurls nearby. And then more stinging when something uncoils next to him and he can't see. And on the other side. And another.
They don't speak English.
He vaguely remembers that was his one requirement. Nothing like killing your self so you can't remember the words to tell the story. So he accepts the blunt one of the whores is offering with a hard laugh and closes his eyes to kill memories that seem hell-bent on resurfacing every once in a while.
Who the hell knows if he stays awake.
#
"Jack…?"
It's the first time he's spoken in what feels like years. His voice has gone raw and it chafes his throat. The name feels foreign on his tongue that's gone pasty. Maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him, he decides. Either way, like he cares. There's more maryjane to soothe all that.
"So this is where you holed up. Nice digs and girls but you got places to be. Like a plane."
Plane. Like the Bass jet. Owned by…
Chuck raises the thin stick to his mouth with trembling fingers.
… no one.
"Come on, kid." Male hands grab at him and maybe it is his uncle after all. Fuck, he needs this drag. It's taken away from him when he reaches up again.
"You've had enough to last a month." Jack dresses Chuck.
Maybe. But it hasn't been nearly enough yet.