Chapter Three-Hundred and Thirty-Four
Thomas watched as John and Clarissa limped out of the back rooms in the station, stopping them as a camera flash went off. "The media got wind of it. You can't take him out yet." He let his gaze wander to John's still shocked face, his heart aching when he saw that a part of his stubborn spirit was missing. "The boys are handling it."
Clarissa nodded, pulling John close as Thomas combed his hair out of his eyes. "He's still not all here… the flashback just ended a few minutes ago." She brushed her fingers under his eyes, barely touching the bandage over his nose.
He lifted John's chin, taking in the water clinging to his dark lashes, the yellow in his irises, the shaking in his muscles, the pale tone of his skin, and the way he seemed to cling to Clarissa like a life line. "You're okay." He smiled, touching the back of John's neck and pulling his head down so that their foreheads were pressed together like a pair of lions. "You're alright."
John moved away from Clarissa, tripping over his own feet and falling into Thomas's chest. "Dad…" He gasped, clutching as his blazer as his arms wrapped around his shoulders. "I'm sorry…"
Thomas's brow furrowed, moving to sit in a chair with John and Clarissa beside him. "What are you sorry for?" He asked, doing his best to hide the wince of pain when John squeezed his hand with white knuckles.
"I want to use… get high… I, I want meth…"
Clarissa's eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat with those words. She looked up at Thomas, her own fear reflected in him.
Justin forced a path through the media people, barking at them like a wild dog and scaring them off. "Get out of here!" He pushed a reporter back, smiling as the S.W.A.T. team showed up and helped him keep the reporters at bay.
Clarissa rushed John through the chaos, loading him into the bus and back into the bunk room where Claire was waiting for him. "He's still in shock." She whispered, letting Claire take his weight from her. "And we're flying him home tomorrow."
Claire nodded, letting John crawl into their bunk and curl up on his side. She pulled his blanket up around his waist, slowly leaning over him and pulling the curtain to the window back as they rolled through the city. "I've got him." She breathed, laying down beside him and combing his hair back behind his ear.
Thomas paced around the hotel room, pulling at his short hair, with the thought of John's words. "How are we supposed to stop this?" He asked, taking another turn around the room.
Asher watched him pace, knowing damn well what the answer was. "You can't." He stated, standing as Amber fussed in her travel crib. "You can't stop it. It's his body, his choice. All we can do is give him support when he needs it."
Vernon nodded, jumping when a scream reached his ears from the adjoining room. "He's strong enough. He can get through it." He stepped into the room, his heart breaking when he saw that the cut on John's nose had split open, and blood was covering his face. He could see that John had been scratching at his arms and chest, the red marks on his skin occasionally showing raw or bloody spots. "John, Johnny, wake up, it's just a bad dream." He sat down on the bed, gently nudging John's side and waking him. "You're alright." He smiled, holding the boy close when he launched into his chest. "You're safe."
John shook his head, letting Vernon pull him back slightly and leave to wet a washrag under the faucet. "They're getting worse…" He whispered, his skin seeming to crawl with the cravings.
Vernon nodded, gently dabbing the cloth over the bloody spots on John's skin. "How can you tell which drug you're craving?" He asked, hoping that if he could talk about the craving it might help.
John closed his eyes, focusing on his breath, the scent of Vernon's cologne mixing with the clean room and the metallic tang of his blood, he could hear the air conditioner running beside the window, feel the moist cloth against his skin. "The highs are different." He sighed. "With pot it feels like you're senses are being dulled, like they just don't exist anymore. Oxy takes the pain away, but it zaps your energy makes you feel either half-dead or like a zombie because you can't sleep. Meth… that one… it's incredible. I can't even describe it. I guess… the best thing I can compare it to… is like, like the best sex you can ever have but even better."
Vernon pulled an old t-shirt over John's head, and placed a pair of socks on his hands. "And that's how you know?"
John nodded, remembering the different alcohols he'd used to numb different feelings. "Beer is better for forgetting. Whiskey makes you a sloppy fighter but makes you feel like you've got the biggest balls on the planet. Then there's Ouzo, it's a Greek booze. Burns like hell going down, but… it's heaven when you get blackout drunk on it. Because you never know what stupid shit you did but you're so hungover you don't care."
"Why don't you try to sleep. You've got a big day tomorrow." Vernon pushed John into the pillows, pulling the blanket up to his throat. "We're flying most of you home."
John's brow furrowed, confusion plain on his face. "Who'll finish the work?"
Clarissa stepped into the room, sitting on the bed and pushing John's hair out of his eyes and kissing his head. "There are plenty of people to help finish up, but you need to rest and recover. I'm not letting you start with those seizures again." She touched his jaw, noticing that there was a bruise under his chin. "Just try to relax."
He yawned, rolling onto his side as sleep claimed him.