Deciding, Denying, and Drinking (Part 1)
Another more serious fanfic. I know it sounds odd, but they're fun to write. Let's see where this leads, shall we?
It was another typical night at your apartment complex. You sat down, silently watching another rerun of House with Jeff, who was drinking vodka right out of the bottle. He gets up and stumbles over to the kitchen counter. As he slams the container down, you notice that it's actually… empty. The entire 40 ounces.
"Jeff," you breathe in disbelief. "Jeff, how full was that when you got it?" He chuckles stupidly and stares past you with glazed eyes. "I bought that bitch today!" He laughs again. "It's not a fucking competition," you snarl. "Whoa-ho-ho," Jeff exclaims, throwing his hands up. "Bitch alert. Chill."
Tears fill your eyes at this pathetic sight. "You need to go to bed, or lie down." You grab his shoulder and put your arm around his waist for support. "C'mon, I'm fine," he slurs. You know better than to respond, it would just result in arguing.
"Let go of me…" Jeff is pulling away from you with surprising force. However, you keep a firm grip. "Stop! I'm fine! Let… me… go!" He manages one final shove, causing you to tumble backwards and into the corner of the door.
"This is what fucking happens." Jeff makes no effort to help you up. Your shaking hand rubs the back of your head, and blood comes off on your fingertips. Your chest heaves up and down while tears fall freely from your face. "I'm gonna do whatthefuck I want, fuckin' bitch," Jeff growls.
You guys had gotten in physical fights before, but this felt different somehow. You were forced to listen to Jeff's drunken rant. "You always try to fuckin' change me. And you know what? I don't have to deal with this bullshit any longer! I can get with whoever I want, 'cuz girls love me! Guys fucking love me too, and that's alright dude. I—" You stick out your foot and swiftly kick his feet out from under him.
"Ow! The fuck?" Jeff yelled, mimicking your head rubbing motion. "Listen asshole. I'm not going to clean up your path of destruction, so try to get yourself together or sleep this the fuck off." Jeff got a white-knuckled grip on the table and stood up, leaning all his weight on the wall.
You muster up the strength you have left to face him. "Jeffery," your voice quivers. "I'm begging you, please." He just looked god-awful, and you absolutely despised seeing him this bad. His hair was up in every direction, his skin was clammy and not it's usual tan complexion. All of a sudden, his body began to shake uncontrollably.
You take hold of him, a sinking feeling gathering in the pit of your stomach as he continues to twitch. "Baby, talk to me. Say something, anything!" But you have no such luck, he's unresponsive. He then drops hard to the floor and convulses violently; a scream escapes your lips as you dial 911.
It's just like you went over with Maddox on what to say when you're in an emergency situation and need help. But you can't remember your address or how to even form words when asked. "496 Samantha Way, apartment 316," you stutter finally. "The ambulance is on its way," the woman on the line drones.
You throw down your cell and hold Jeff tight, not caring that you were kneeling in his vomit. You didn't want to think that that argument could be the last thing you ever did with him. "Don't leave me," you sob. "God, please…
…don't die."
