Misfit: Just a short little thing I wrote the other day, to me it doesn't really seem like my style of writing but I liked it anyway. Not the best thing I've written but still I hope you like it. Just a short break from "Falling For Cold Hands".
Adam's eyes were barely open; he couldn't really see anything more or less hear everything going on around him. People yelling to each other, the smell of medicine, the taste of bitter sweet blood coating his tongue, everybody feeling his body, the feelings of a million finger tips pressed against his neck, his wrist, and his shoulder. He couldn't see anything but the blinding lights and for a few seconds he thought he was back in the backroom, just opening his eyes for the first time all day, fresh out of water as the lights blinded him again.
First he was in the bathroom, then he was asleep, he hoped he was dying and then he heard a sound, somebody knocking on the door, somebody or something trying to get in, clawing and Adam remembered how he shut his eyes as tight as he could curling back far into the dark corner of the bathroom, his back to the cold wet pipe, waiting for death and begging anybody or anything that could hear him that he wanted to at least die with his dignity and begging himself not to cry no matter what.
Then they saved him, another blinding light, flashlights, a million it seemed, but only five. He shut his eyes, then he heard a sound that seemed like somebody was sawing something, Lawrence's screams and then somebody's evil laughter, something wasn't right. He opened his eyes and saw they were cutting him free of his chains. Who were they? Why were they saving him? What were they doing? They weren't playing by the rules….then he closed his eyes again.
He felt the ride, the bumping, the sheets beneath him, paper thin, every bump sent waves of sharp pain up his arm and stabbing deeper and deeper into his shoulder. The pain was searing hot but the only word that came to his mind was Lawrence….
The ambulance; the needles injected into his arms, the tube in his mouth, the cold, everything was so damn cold. Shoving some kind of thick syrup down his throat, more fingers across his body, he was so damn cold. Couldn't they just give him a friggen blanket? He doesn't even bother to open his eyes, he knows he couldn't focus. Focus on what? Faces? Lights? Jigsaw? Was this another part of the trap? If this was a trap or not it didn't really matter. Either way he wasn't opening his eyes.
Doors opening and closing behind him, being pushed, carted through hallways that smelled like cleanser, like somebody took him and put him in a Tilex factory, medication, the metallic taste in his mouth, the pain… He prayed, only half sincere; please just kill me now.
Now he was in a room, and he dared to look. He slittled his eyes and peered out cautiously, trying to focus but failing, blinding hospital lights surrounded him on all sides so his eyes remained slits as his pupils dilated and retracted trying to look, watch, wait. Nothing was familiar, a room; all white with at least four or five people standing by the end of the bed, two in blue, a few in white, the white all seemed to blur together and form a secondary background. Lawrence. Adam felt dizzy, dizzier than he ever had in his entire life, even more than when he was 3 and drank some of that stupid floor cleaner. He let his eyes slip shut.
Lawrence. His eyes opened, wide, staring, into the darkness. Dark. Was he in the bathroom again? No, there was a bed beneath him, a gown around him, and the steady beep of a heart rate monitor of another person in the room. It was dark, but not that dark; he looked around, his eyes getting used to the darkness. There was a curtain between him and his room mate, "Lawrence?" No answer – Lawrence wasn't here…Lawrence was dead. Lawrence, his enemy, his friend, his cell mate, his savior, was gone. Every feeling was heighted, the needles pumping things through his blood, the metallic taste in his mouth, the medical scent, the burning sensation in his shoulder, but worst of all the prickling behind his eyes. It wasn't pain, it was an overwhelming depression that forced him to bend over in the bed, his stomach writhing and …..
Jigsaw won. Adam broke. He sobbed, as waves of torment worse than any physical pain racked his body he sobbed, heavy droplets falling from his eyes to the paper thin sheets leaving wide round drops. Then he heard something – a voice, thick with sleep, pain, medication, sadness, and joy all at once.
"Adam?" …..The bed next to him, it was Lawrence. Adam stood, his bare feet barely noticing the cold touch of the floor to his already freezing body, he almost tore off the curtain and saw – Lawrence. Yes, there sat the older, blond, amazing man who had saved his life. Throwing his hands around the man's neck he wept onto his shoulder, as sobs escaped his thin body Lawrence held him; not with much strength but he held him close and that was enough. Lawrence held him, and Adam let him.
"This isn't like you Adam." A weak chuckle that made Lawrence shiver.
Adam looked into those deep perfect blue eyes that were no longer clouded with guilt or pain or confusion or hurt. For once, they looked clear and perfect; the way they were meant to be.
"Well…things are going to be different….you only get so many second chances…"