Chapter 6: All Around Me

A/N: Well I finally finished that giant essay, so I am probably going to spend the next couple of days writing some chapters, including this one! Time to take a trip outside of the hospital. :) Also though it isn't explicit there is a little NSFW moment. Enjoy, and please review if you want to!

Clare and Eli's home was fairly modest. Opting to live in a single story home despite being able to afford better with both of their salaries. However, they both agreed they weren't capable of looking after a large home like that. It was just the two of them and their cat Big Bob, both named after the Fight Club character and his immense size, so it was perfect for them. While they had both agreed on the size of the house, the décor was another thing. Eli had wanted to make the whole house look like it was straight out of a Hot Topic catalogue. Clare wanted something a bit more elegant. They had compromised on dark wood furniture and black leather couches. A bit of each of their styles showing through.

Clare had set out no matter what to make their house feel like a home. Her turbulent family life in her earlier years had made sure of that. Walking into the house even now after their shift at work, Clare felt a calming sensation rush over her. This was where she was supposed to be. This feeling was exemplified when Big Bob nuzzled and nudged her calf.

"Hungry big boy, want your dinner?" A meow was the response she got in return, and she followed after Bob who had already turned to go to his food bowl.

Soon she would be having her dinner too, once Eli came home with it. Tonight was Chinese night in their home and she couldn't wait. It was one of their little traditions and routines they had created from the years being together. She remembers eating their Chinese takeout in Eli's cramped dorm room during their final year of university. They had been celebrating a big test that Clare had finished and this was her reward. From then on, Chinese became a weekly meal staple. She couldn't imagine having a week without it. In some ways, it was a metaphor for their own relationship.

Where would she be without it?

Fitz pressed his cheek against the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl. The nausea was back and it wasn't stopping anytime soon. He had vomiting just like anybody would, but that specific feeling of kneeling over a toilet, shins pressed hard against tile, throat stinging, face burning, it reminded him of his youth. It reminded him of all the times he would be unable to not vomit after being punched in his stomach by his step-father. Fitz shuddered at thinking about the past, it wasn't something he liked to think back on.

"You're useless just like your whore mother."

The thought began to swirl in his head, repeating itself over and over again. Usually he would have popped a pill or snorted a line at this point. In here, however, he had nothing and the thought stabbed at his brain over and over again. He smashed his head against the toilet, attempting to shut up the thought. "Why the fuck won't it stop? I don't fucking believe this. What the fuck is wrong with me?" Despite questioning the thought, it continued and Fitz decided it was best to go to bed. If he couldn't get high to shut the thought up, he would go to sleep.

As he soon as lay his head on the pillow he knew sleep would not be coming any time soon. He tried to imagine the one good thing about this godforsaken place, the cute nurse Clare. She had definitely been staring at him when he was shirtless. Maybe if he tried hard enough he could get her in bed with him, not just sat on top of it like when she went over the rules. Maybe that would make the stay a bit more bearable.

"She will never want to spend a night with some waste of space. I bet she hates you. She's probably home with that freak of a therapist. She finds you disgusting. You're disgusting."

More intrusive thoughts started to plague his mind. He didn't know how to get them to stop. He remembered having this issue since he was young. It always scared him, the way the insulted him, the way they told him to bad things, and how he would impulsively follow as if they were what he was actually thinking. He wasn't actually thinking them though, they weren't his thoughts, they were too loud, too constant, and he could shut them up if he was high. His high thoughts were better than his sober thoughts, at least they were actually his.

An old friend once told him to get help for the thoughts, but why would he? He hated therapists, they always seemed so smug, so holier than thou. That's how he felt about Eli, and that old bag. They never wanted to take him seriously. He remembers the first rehab stay he had. He had even attempted to try, maybe, to talk to the therapist assigned to him. That was a complete and utter failure. The dick tried to blame his addiction on himself, so much talk of why he chose to take drugs and at the end it was easier to shut up than try to speak. No one was ever interested in his past, they never wanted to talk about the thoughts. No. They wanted to talk about the drugs, and only the drugs. So why bother?

Eli felt the sheets stick to his hot, sweaty skin as he rolled off of Clare. Her leaving as soon as she was free from his weight to go clean up before they actually went to sleep. He loved the moment she would get up, exposing herself entirely to him. She usually was so embarrassed to show herself off that he revelled in this small moments. Fingers trailing through his snail trail, he was satisfied. This was the moment he enjoyed the most with Clare. It felt to him as if she was really his when he was inside of her. Nothing made him feel more alive than hearing her gasp his name.

She had been reluctant to do this with him when they first got together. Her living up to her nickname Saint Clare for sure. But, eventually she did want to and it was perfect. It was like medicine really. Why bother with the pills he was prescribed when he had Clare? Everything she did. From her smile, to her face in the throes of passion, it made him feel better. Not to mention he could finally sleep having expended some of this energy he was feeling.

He felt so alive at the moment. So energised. It was an amazing feeling and he grasped onto it. Sometimes he could get so down it felt as if the world was suffocating him. As if every step he made was like wading through water with your clothes fully on. But he didn't have to deal with that now. Now he felt good. He felt ecstatic. He felt so happy and nothing would change that. Nothing at all!

Clare came back into the room and snuggled deep into his chest as soon as she entered the sheets, pulling them up close to her, craving their warmth. He kissed the top of her head and whispered in her ear, "you're perfect Clare."