Rebirth – Chapter 16: These Lonely Walls
-Notes-
Agent182: Yeah, poor Larry. His wife feels all icky to him!! :P Thanks, I hope the wait wasn't too long.
AngelGardian666: Muahaha, you bet you do. Sounds likes it's time for a booty call or something. Oh, he makes house calls alright, wink wink. And he has a very good bedside manner, wink wink. His instruments are top quality. 'Bend over and cough'—Okay! Okay! I'm stopping, I SWEAR!
Anyway, so in reality, I know that no one would heal as fast as Lawrence when their foot's been severed—especially in such a manner. I'm not a medical idiot. But for the sake of the plot, I'm jump starting things. Sorry if that pisses you off.
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"Oh God…" Adam moaned as he rubbed his hands over his face, his voice seeping out into the empty expanse of his home in a dry echo. He gripped his shoulders hard as he steadied himself against his bed, biting his lip that tasted like salt from the trickle of tears he was sure he didn't cry.
So much. So much for trying…he thought groggily through the darkness. He looked down at his bed in dismay, sheets somewhat damp from a cold sweat still lingering on his skin. He hadn't slept practically since the day he'd gotten out of Jigsaw's game, and the stress was wearing on his nerves. By the look of the clock, he'd only been asleep (or trying to be as much) for a little less than two hours this time. Five o'clock. Whether a.m. or p.m. he didn't remember; time was a pointless factor to him now.
He made one tired, unplanned move and quite literally fell out of bed, hitting the floor uncerimoniously with his legs tangled in his sheets. "Fuck…" he growled out in frustration as he struggled to right himself. He had to snap himself out of this somehow. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't stay lucid. His whole body was sore and numb at once. He knew he needed sleep, but the only offering behind his closed eyes were memories. And nightmares. As he pushed himself back to his knees and lifted the sheets back onto his bed, he willed up the rest of his strength to pull his body back onto its feet.
His world spun as he stood, providing him with the very familiar taste of vomit in his throat and the flash of black and color in his eyes. He wanted to leave this apartement. He'd been stuck here since he got out of the hospital and it was beginning to make him a little crazy. Unfortunately, he had nowhere to go.
As he wandered into the kitchen, or what was at least the section of his home devoted to food, he searched around for a while. Longer than what was needed really—he knew he didn't have much of anything. Maybe some canned soup, but he was too tired to make anything at the moment. In his cupboards were stacks of things that had no place there: papers, magazines, and a collection of Playboys that had skipped his memory. That and dust. This place hardly seemed like a house. More like a storage unit. With a bum living out of it. Shrugging off his musings, he fumbled through the drawer for a spoon and pulled out a can of peanut butter from the last shelf, popping it open and lazily scooping an oversized spoonful of it into his mouth.
When he heard the phone ring, it was enough to leave him choking. He certainly didn't expect any callers by this point, and truthfully it worried him as to who it could be. He casually walked to the phone, contemplating whether or not to pick it up. It could be Eric…what would he tell him? Grow up, you little girl. Came a thought. You're a grown fucking man, answer your own God damn phone.
Adam reached for the phone and held it to his ear. "Rhm?" he jerked the spoon out of his mouth, leaving a trail of peanut butter sliding down his chin.
"…Hey, Adam?"
"Lrrnce?" he coughed and swallowed hard, blinking a couple of times in surprise.
"Is that you?"
"Yeah, Lawrence, it's me." He nodded quickly before scolding himself at the impertinance of such an action.
"Hey, how are you?" Lawrence's voice came from the other end of the line, a gracious savior from his current miserable state. He didn't think Lawrence would be calling him so soon—he'd only been released a few days ago.
"Oh…you know." He shrugged, cursing himself again.
"Great. I just wanted to see how you were…Everything's okay over there?"
"Sure. It's fine." No it's not…fuck, Lawrence, I can't take this nightmare anymore… "What about you? Home life treatin' you good?" he fixed the phone up against his shoulder as he jammed the spoon back into the jar and set it down on the table.
"Yeah, yeah. It's, uh, good to be back." There was a static pause and the clearing of a throat on the other end. "Listen Adam, I was thinking…are you up for that drink?"
"Um…oh, what you mean now?" he scratched the back of his head and glanced down at himself. Oh God yes, get me out of here.
"Sorry, are you busy right now?"
"No." Adam insisted. "I um…I mean I was just thinking about going out, you know? Are you sure you can…well that you're up to—"
"Yeah, of course…So can I pick you up?"
Adam thought for a moment and couldn't help a smile from touching his lips. "Okay."
"Good. I'll see you soon." There was a click from the line and Adam slowly set down the telephone. Could it really be safe for Lawrence to be driving…? He rubbed his aching head again and made a languid trudge to his bed, trying to remember where last he left his jacket lying.
