Back again! Sorry, updates are probably going to be pretty irregular. My inspiration just comes and goes these days :/
Now, I feel that this chapter is actually a lot better than the previous one... not exactly action-packed, I know, but better somehow. I don't know. You tell me :)
Part 2
But, surprisingly, it is not fear that rises up to overwhelm Mark, as the floor jolts and judders beneath his feet. Not fear, with its bile-and-blood taste, icy sweat prickling at his hairline and the back of his neck, phantom chills wracking his body, leaving him breathless with his hands and lips tingling.
No, not fear.
Anger.
The force of it is enough to surprise him, leaving him shocked even as his fist drives into the ambulance's door, again and again and again until an EMT can restrain him, but even then his anger doesn't dissipate.
It's enough to leave him trembling, his right hand throbbing with pain and his teeth clenched hard enough to trigger a headache behind his eyes.
Why the fuck did you do it, Roger?
There it is. That question again, the one that neither of them can answer.
Why, why, why? Bouncing around in his mind like a bullet, ricocheting off of every surface, too fast to stop.
And he's angry, he's so unreasonably, impossibly angry, mad enough to scream, to lash out, to break something just for the satisfaction of watching it shatter, but when Roger's breath hitches behind an oxygen mask and his eyes flash open for the merest of seconds Mark is there, gripping his unresponsive hand like a lifeline.
But a lifeline for who?
Nobody talks to him at all, nobody raises their voice to reassure him that everything's going to be all right, and beneath the thunderhead bloom of anger in his chest and gut, there are icy, sinking fingers of dread. Different to and distinct from the fear, the worry… this is the cold hard certainty that it's all gone wrong.
Not why or what if, but simply he's dead, over and over again like a church bell.
Mark isn't sure at this point which is worse.
They hurry Roger away as soon as they reach the hospital, bursting through doors, speeding down slick white corridors until they reach a point where Mark has to stop. He doesn't want to, he wants to stay with his friend no matter what, but they stop him in his tracks.
"You can't go in there," a doctor who has just joined their ranks says, his voice neutral, stripped of everything but sound. "We'll tell you as soon as we know anything." Just that, that single sentence thrown his way, and then they leave him. Roger, the medics, everyone, they leave him.
Alone.
It stops, then. The fear, the rage, the sepulchral dread… all of it stops, leaving him numb.
Mark opens a door, peers into a room with chairs, but there's a child screaming in the corner, cradled tightly by her tearful mother, there are people wracked with every form of pain, talking, shouting, weeping or just sitting in dead-eyed sick silence and Mark can't bear it.
He stumbles away, out into the corridor, but there are so many voices, raised in urgency or speaking in hushed whispers, alarms and telephones ringing, ringing, ringing. He grits his teeth so hard there's a ringing in his head too, but softer somehow, sinks down into a too-low plastic chair and presses his hands to his ears so that's all he can hear. He closes his eyes, folds in on himself, and waits.
Someone brings him a cup of coffee from the machine at the end of the hall. Or he got up to get it himself, he can no longer remember. It's weak, bitter, scalding hot, doing nothing for his throbbing head, but burning his mouth every time he sips. Who knows how much time has passed since he got here? He isn't wearing a watch and the clock on the wall is frozen at twenty to two. Or maybe that's the time. He doesn't know anymore.
His eyes burn, his whole body aches, his knuckles are bloody and split.
This is awful.
Minutes pass, or maybe hours, maybe even seconds who the fuck knows, and a nurse approaches him. She moves slowly, smiling in a way that manages to be genuinely soothing, and for this reason he is able to lift his head and look her in the eye.
"Mark Cohen?" Her voice is similarly soft, it doesn't make him recoil like everything else in the room. He barely remembers to nod before she speaks again. "Mr Davis is stable, for now. We've given him some Naloxone to counteract the drugs in his body, and we've got him on oxygen. It looks like he'll have to stay here for a while, though."
"H—how long?" She shrugs without looking flippant or indifferent.
"It's difficult to say one way or another at this stage. Once the Naloxone does its job, he'll probably go into withdrawal." Mark shivers, knowing this all too well. He's seen Roger without easy access to a hit before; it's not a pretty sight.
"He won't…" His tongue is thick in his mouth, his throat so dry. "He won't want to stay here." The nurse chuckles softly.
"You think any of us are here by choice?" She sighs, smoothes imaginary creases out of her tunic. "You should probably go home. I'd let you stay, but…" He guesses the end of her sentence just from the rueful way the corner of her mouth twists.
You're not family.
There's no point, anyway. What the hell can you do for him out here?
Quietening that mutinous little voice, he nods. Murmurs his thanks. Throws the rest of that terrible coffee away, and leaves without even once glancing back.
It's only once he gets outside, out into the cool, smog-laced night air, that he realises how far away from home he is. That he doesn't have his bike. That he didn't pick up his wallet before leaving, not that it would have been much good to him if he had. Dust bunnies and folded-up receipts do not pay for a bus journey.
So Mark buries his hands in his pockets, resigned and weary, and walks.
Poor Mark. Now, I don't know why, but I'm finding it ridiculously interesting to walk around in Mark's head like this...
Many thanks to my lone guest reviewer last chapter, I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far, and I hope you continue to do so.
And, this story is likely to be pretty long, spanning Roger's entire withdrawal period and its impact on the rest of the group (Collins, Benny and Maureen. Should be fun, seeing as I barely utilize those three mostly.) Anyway, please drop me a review and let me know how I'm doing. And if you have any ideas for how to continue this, I'd love to hear them :)
