Walt had left the room to make an urgent to trip to the Safeway a few blocks away to stock supplies that would sustain the pair for several days. About twenty minutes had passed, and Jesse was still lying on top of the bed's comforter shivering. The pain in his left arm had become exquisite, and his right arm ached from clutching the tourniquet. He reasoned he could let it go since the tourniquet was so tight, but he didn't want to. It was comforting to keep holding himself together as his mind was still so noisy and disjointed. He couldn't recall exactly how they got free, but he knew he had killed Todd. Straining through the cavernous sections of his mind, he could see his hands in swathes of blood, and a gun in Jack's mouth, but the pieces just weren't fitting together. How long would Walt be, and what would happen when he returned, were the most pressing thoughts swirling around Jesse's head. He needed him to return as soon as possible, but there was still a minute part of him that would be relieved if Walt never returned. Thus was the paradox of Jesse's life; it was a constant lose-lose situation where Mr. White continually had the upper hand. And Jesse felt he didn't have the strength, or the will, to fight against the man. Before Walt had left for Safeway, things had been too intense between the two, he felt. The only comfort and care he received over last decade, or so, was from romantic partners. His parents were never the affectionate, care-taking types, at least not beyond early grade school, and their interactions had devolved so quickly into animosity in his teenage years that he was sure physical contact had only been in intervals of slaps. And so, Walt had been the only person with whom these strange situations arose. A needy part of himself feasted on the comfort Walt just imparted. Yet, the conflicting feelings of loathing the man's very presence, and needing something from him so desperately, were tearing Jesse's insides apart. At once he wanted to scream at Walt for destroying everything meaningful in his life, and in the same breath beg him for something better. It was a horrible state to inhabit, and so a wave of despair passed through Jesse.
As Jesse blinked his eyes open he noticed static creeping in at the sides. The room seemed to grey a bit, and he knew he'd experienced his before. He shook his head from side to side to try and stay clear-headed. He was so very uncomfortable, and his entire body ached now. The blood on his clothes had dried and made all the fabric stiff and rough. When he looked down at himself his stomach turned to queasiness. His very physical state was yet again disgusting him. He can't go on like this, he thought, there had to be an end to all of this. Trying to keep his eyes open, he suddenly realized he really needed to piss. Letting go of his left arm, he carefully slid himself off of the bed and on to his feet. Dizziness engulfed him but he paid it no mind, and instead shuffled forward toward the bathroom. As he made his way to the bathroom doorway, things felt a bit clearer, and this cheered him, bringing thoughts of recovery. I'm going to survive a gunshot. Unbelievably badass. He'd be a guy with a gunshot scar soon, and that was going to play well with women, he thought smirking to himself. The smirk faded from his face as his mind slid to thoughts of sex. A knot formed in the pit of stomach. On so many days he fantasied about being with a woman again, and many times dreamed of Jane so vividly, but out here in cold, unforgiving reality he dreaded the idea of being with anyone ever again. He pushed these thoughts out of his mind as best he could as he flicked on the bathroom light switch. He was instantly greeted with a ghastly image in the mirror. Stunned, he switched the light off. The grotesque, bloodied face looking back at him with haunted eyes was unrecognizable. The light would need to stay off, he thought as he began to relieve himself. He would need to avoid looking at himself for as long as possible; if forever was a possibility, that would probably be too soon. Coming out of the bathroom, he noticed drops of blood were trailing from his arm. Standing up must have jostled the tourniquet and revived his circulation, and so he sat on the edge of the bed and compressed his upper arm yet again. He would stay like this until Walt returned for he feared laying back down would lull him into unconsciousness. And this surprised him: it seemed he no longer wished to meet the void.
Jesse sat still clasping his arm when suddenly the door opened and Walt bolted in carrying several plastic shopping bags. Walt's expression upon seeing him dripped with worry and fear. He shoved the bags onto the side table inhabiting the space under the window, and started hurriedly unpacking the items he'd purchased. There was a burner phone in a box, antiseptic, a bottle of vodka, some random food, toiletries, and bottles of water along with a chintzy first aid kit. After emptying all the bags, Walt stalked over to Jesse and put his hand to his forehead. Jesse just looked up at his face with big, saucer eyes. A moment later Walt withdrew his hand, and reached for a bottle of water.
"Here, you need to take one of these." Walt handed him a large white pill and the bottle of water.
He didn't want to argue, but he needed to know before he swallowed. "What is this?"
"It's fentanyl. It's one of my palliative medicines," Walt returned.
Jesse didn't know what palliative meant, but he assumed it was related to Walt's cancer. Fentanyl, though, he knew quite well. "I don't think I should take this," Jesse said morosely.
Walt stood in front of him, and Jesse could see him turning over a few thoughts in his mind. "I wouldn't let you just keep taking these. And besides, these are mine, and I'm going to need them." A faint, strange smile crossed Walt's face.
"This stuff is basically heroin, but a trillion times stronger," Jesse said as he felt blood beginning to slip through his fingers again. He looked down and could see it slipping through his fingers.
Irritation visibly crossed Walt as he moved the first aid kit, antiseptic and vodka onto the bed beside Jesse. "It's not heroin, Jesse. It may have a similar mechanism of action, but there are key differences. Not least of all in this case you are swallowing a relatively low dose. It is much less potent when taken orally."
Despite a woozy feeling circling through him, Jesse continued to protest. "I don't want to feel anything like that shit. It's going to fuck me up."
Walt lowered himself to Jesse's level on the bed, and grasped his shoulder as he looked directly into the young man's eyes. "You need something to take the edge off. Just please take one for now. I will be here."
Jesse knew taking the pill was a terrible idea, but he had no energy to argue with Walt. Begrudgingly, he swallowed down the fentanyl while staring at Walt. A slight smile came over Walt's face as he watched Jesse follow the pill with gulps of water. He patted his shoulder reassuringly, saying "Good, good," and instructed Jesse to let go of his left arm so he could begin cleaning the wound. Walt returned to the small table and picked up a pair of scissors before dragging a chair opposite Jesse.
"Scissors?" Jesse asked faintly.
Walt took a seat, and looked back at him rather plainly. "It will be easier, more comfortable this way."
Before Jesse could enquire further, Walt started cutting up the middle of Jesse's t-shirt. He groaned in annoyance at the situation, and Walt worked to distract him. "I'm pretty sure I saw this on E.R."
"E.R.? And when was that, like a decade ago?"
Unamused, Walt grimaced and continued cutting Jesse's t-shirt apart. He reached the collar with the shirt now cut in half and awkwardly angled the scissors inward to cut down toward the injured arm.
"This is weird," Jesse said flatly.
"I'm almost done," Walt returned. He slinked the t-shirt off and then pulled the remaining intact sleeve down Jesse's right arm. Walt threw the t-shirt to the floor, and stepped back seemingly to assess the state of Jesse.
"Drink some more water," Walt said, as he handed the large bottle to Jesse's right hand. He drank dutifully for a minute and then handed the bottle back.
"I'll start shortly," Walt asserted. Jesse was in no state to question his actions now, and tens of minutes were passing by as Walt waited for the analgesic to take full effect. Suddenly, Jesse was hit with a heavy wave that almost knocked him over. It wasn't a rush of euphoria, or the sensation of being enveloped in a beautiful, all-encompassing warmth like with heroin. Instead, a force was pushing him down to the bed, and he felt like someone was about to switch out the light at any moment. As Walt began readying a cloth with antiseptic, Jesse tried to keep himself upright as long as possible. After a few more minutes, the force bearing down on him was too great, and he floated backward to the bed barely feeling the impact as he hit the mattress. Walt leaned over him, and he could feel compression on his arm, but the sensation was extremely dulled. Everything dizzied and lost focus, and the room finally dimmed as he lost his grasp on the present.
Walt cautiously dragged Jesse across the bed so that he was lying with his head on the pillows. He put his hand to the young man's forehead in order to check that there was no spike in temperature in the last few hours. He felt clammy, but not hot, and so Walt was satisfied. He had cleaned and disinfected the wound, and miraculously found both an entry and exit for the bullet. Within a few weeks they would know what permanent damage the shot had done, but Walt felt certain it would be nothing life changing. Walt was now impressed with himself and his ability to wound for effect without killing Jesse. He sat in the bed next to Jesse, who was deeply high, but not completely passed out. His state reminded him rather unpleasantly of those nights at Jesse's duplex when Walt had tried in vain to wake him, how he had smacked him and yelled repeatedly to no effect. And of course, Jane asphyxiating before him. But this, Jesse's current state, was for a reason he kept reminding himself as he looked over at the inert body next to him. He would control Jesse's intake of this narcotic, and he would control all that he could, for as long as he could. Walt knew Jesse hadn't understood what palliative meant, and he wouldn't work to hide the state of his cancer from him, but the less Jesse knew about his prognosis the better the two would fare, Walt thought. His goals were shifting hour by hour now. They were eluding capture and needed to find a clandestine hideout to last a few months, if not the better part of year. Walt wasn't sure how much time he had left, but he guessed a maximum of three months. He had with him another course of chemotherapy packed at the bottom of his bag along with a plethora of palliative medicines to see him through the last days. Sipping on a bottle of water, and eating a sad-looking ready-made ham and cheese sandwich he had grabbed five of from Safeway, Walt pressed on the television from the remote. It was nearing the eleven o'clock news hour, and he was anxious to see what local reports might be saying about the shooting at the compound. He flicked through channels until he found an Albuquerque affiliate. Within a few minutes, a woman's voice boomed through the television's tiny speakers.
Tonight our top story continues to be the mysterious shooting at a rural white nationalist hideout. The police have been investigating multiple homicides at the gated compound of Jack Welker, a known white nationalist who had completed multiple stints in prisons across New Mexico and Nevada. In total, five bodies were found on the premises, including two persons who are said to have suffered brutal stab wounds. The police have been tight lipped on what exactly has been found at the premises, but early reports have suggested that large scale methamphetamine production facilities have been found. It is unclear if the police are still looking for suspects in connection with these homicides, but the chief commissioner has been clear in stating that the public should not be fearful.
Huh, Walt murmured with his arms folded across his chest. He was relieved that neither his name nor Jesse's came up in the report, but he knew that didn't mean the police weren't connecting him to these events. Jesse's fingerprints would be all over the compound, and his might also be found in a few places. He cast his eyes back over Jesse, who hadn't moved an inch from his recumbent position, and then he thought, brutal stab wounds…who had suffered from stab wounds? He remembered Jesse's taunt to Jack before shooting him in the head. What exactly had happened in that pitiful room after Walt had been dragged out, he wondered. He looked down to his swollen thumb now wrapped tightly in a splint, and chuckled to himself. What a pointless exercise, he thought. Another story from the news suddenly caught Walt's attention.
The hunt is still on for New Mexico's most notorious drug kingpin, Walter White, also known as "Heisenberg". He was last spotted in the Albuquerque area approximately two weeks ago. The police have released the following sketch to approximate what the man may look like now. If you have any information on his whereabouts, or if you believe you have seen him, the police urge you to call Crimestoppers on the number showing now on the screen.
Walt stared at the artist's rendering featured on the screen above the Crimestoppers phone number. It was slightly surreal seeing an artless pencil rendering of himself, but it scratched the itch of his ego. He knew the police must be chasing after him, and now he knew the public were on alert. The illustration included his dark, thick-rimmed glasses and a suitably bushy haircut. He would need to alter his appearance in the coming days, and he was annoyed to have to abandon his glasses. For once he felt ever so slightly fashionable, but it wasn't to last. The closest Walmart was nearly an hour away in the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest, and Walt felt this was the best bet. He had spied a few western-themed apparel shops on his jaunt to Safeway, but he didn't feel committed to such a divergence.
Switching off the television, Walt thought it was time to attempt sleep. It would be the first time he slept in a clean bed since his capture at the compound, and he wondered how long it had been for Jesse. A pang of guilt tapped the inside of his stomach. Shoving the thought out of his head, he started to pull the duvet down the bed from under Jesse. Moving his feet so that they rested on his side of the bed, he removed Jesse's shoes. After a moment of deliberation, he cautiously removed Jesse's jeans. Walt didn't like the idea of sleeping under the duvet with any blood-soaked clothing, and felt he could deal with resolving complaints after the fact. After climbing into the bed and switching out the light, Walt stilled for a moment pensively. He then grabbed a pillow and rolled Jesse to his side, propping him against a pillow. An anxiety within him was soothed, and he settled down against a pillow and closed his eyes.
Walt was perched in a seat by the table munching on one of his ham and cheese sandwiches. He intermittently sucked on a little orange juice box making a straining noise through the straw. He had been awake for a few hours, and after a shower and a poor cup of instant coffee, he was hunkered over a newspaper from yesterday with his meal. Jesse hadn't stirred since he awoke and paranoia had him checking the young man's pulse every hour. Finishing his juice, Walt threw the box into the trash bin near the room's door as he approached the bed to take a seat. Jesse was still lying on his right side just as Walt had propped him up so many hours ago. He placed a hand on his side and wobbled him back and forth gently to see if he'd wake. Repeating his name quietly, he swayed him a few more times until he gently rolled to his back. Jesse's eyes fluttered open and shut, and he let out a pained moan. Walt quickly worked to put another pillow behind him and lifted his left arm away from his body. He brought a water bottle from the nightstand near to Jesse's mouth and asked him to drink. Barely opening his eyes Jesse said, "Not thirsty…"
"You've been out for more than twelve hours – you need to drink something before you become severely dehydrated. Now drink some," Walt returned, placing the bottle at his lips. Jesse drank reluctantly for a few moments before he pushed it away with his right hand.
"How do you feel?" Walt asked. His arm was stretched so that he was leaning over him.
"I feel…disgusting and my arm kills." Jesse went to rub his left arm, and let out an aching cry at the slightest touch.
"Why don't you drink some more water, and I'll draw you a bath?" Walt said gently. He was working to keep his energy calming so he could keep Jesse pliant.
Eyes shut, Jesse raised the duvet to his chin and tucked it under. "Where are my clothes?"
"They were covered in blood so we got rid of them. Drink some more water while I start the bath."
"I'm not getting in a bath with you," Jesse replied, monotone.
Walt stood in the doorway, and looked back at him confounded. He wasn't certain if that was a misguided joke, or just Jesse attempting to annoy him. It was plausible it could be both, and so he forgot the comment and started to run the bath. He dumped a small bottle of motel-given shower gel in to add bubbles. He swirled the water with his hand to rustle up more bubbles as hot water rose in the tub. Once it was ready, he called out to Jesse, and when he got no response he walked back out of the bathroom. Jesse was still lying on his back, but was covering his eyes with his right hand. "It's ready for you…once you're ready," Walt stated awkwardly.
"I don't want to do this," Jesse said, strained and full of unease.
Walt stood by the table still confused. He could see the tension wrought through Jesse's body, but he couldn't understand where it was coming from. Perhaps after going so long without being able to wash he was now averse to the idea, he thought. Walt worked to think of something encouraging to say that would get Jesse into the bathroom. "You're going to feel really good after you do this," was the best he could fathom. It was a banal yet necessary task, and it was taking a lot of effort from Walt to remain sensitive. He walked over to the bed, and put a reassuring hand to Jesse's forehead stroking it lightly as he covertly noted the temperature: still lukewarm, nothing to fret about at this point. Immediately, Jesse stiffened.
"Please don't, please don't – I don't want to, please don't make me…" Jesse cobbled out over his breaking voice.
Walt suddenly became aware of Jesse's worry, and he quickly removed his hand, feeling sick. He wasn't expecting this, not again now that they had left the compound. I'm not equipped to deal with this, he thought, and then thoughts of ridding himself of Jesse once he healed were dancing around his head. What was a reasonable length of convalescence, and how much money would I need to give him to leave for good? How could I be sure he wouldn't talk to the police again? The thoughts stopped Walt's mind, and he knew splitting from Jesse was not an option. He didn't want to spend his last months on earth fearing an attack in prison, and soon, he himself would need care in lieu of a palliative doctor. He was going to have to find a solution to this problem. He sat down on the bed, but was careful not to touch the young man.
"Tell me where you are – describe it," Walt said in a hushed voice.
"The bed…the backroom."
"Tell me what's happening…" Walt said, trailing off. In truth, he didn't want to know. He wanted to leave that madness at the compound; everything he witnessed Jesse suffer he wanted to leave miles away as though it never happened.
"You're uh, you just…took…that other's guy's, his money…and I don't want to do this. Oh my god, I'm going to throw up." Jesse rolled to his right side, and curled up with his head down against the mattress. Panicking, Walt hustled for the waste bin and set it by the bed. He imagined the fentanyl could be causing his nausea, not just the gruesome memory.
"If you need to throw up, just – just go ahead, the basket is beside the bed. Just, Jesse – open your eyes. You're not in that room. You're here with…Walt...you're safe." He cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable around his words. When they were locked in the room, he could do nothing to escape the reality of the trauma, and thus the words came easily. But now, all the variables of life were back in play, and Walt would need to work hard to control this aspect of the situation. Just another weight to balance on the scale, he thought to himself.
Jesse was sitting in the bathtub with his right arm curled around his knees hugging them into his chest. Steam was still rising from the bubble-packed water, and the warmth was comforting. His left arm was bandaged up tightly, and he tried to keep it loose to his side. The least he could do was not knock it into anything now that the painkiller had worn off. He'd thrown up only twice since he woke up, and his stomach felt relatively settled. He took a swig of water from the tall bottle sitting just outside the tub, and tried not to let his eyes wonder to the pale green tiles encasing the tub. They were vomit-inducing without the need for hard drugs. Despite it leaving him chilled, he couldn't bear to outstretch his legs. He didn't want to see any more of himself than was necessary. Instead, he squashed down as far as possible into the tub still curled up. Dirt and blood were transferring from his body to the hot water slowly since he was doing nothing to aid the process. The blood stayed pinky-red as it first hit the water, but quickly would dilute until it was barely present. The dirt just contributed to a graying of the water. It should have been foul to witness, but Jesse stared intently as it seemed a year of his life slowly dissolved into the tub. He wished the water could take everything with it: the pain, the memories, his scars, and that new part of him that wasn't there before. It was like there was a stranger inside of him that knew things he never wanted to know, felt things he never imagined, and wanted things that made him feel ill.
Jesse let the time pass over him as he closed his eyes, listening to the faint sounds of the television from the main room. He heard Walt sputter a cough only once, and it was an annoying reminder of his current situation. He was free of an immediate threat to his life, but he was tied to this old man for the foreseeable future. He was injured and borderline incapacitated, he had no money and was sporting the face of a wanted outlaw. All that lay before him was a life on the run with the constant threat of capture. There should have been something exciting about it; it was an inevitability he had planned for off and on since starting his venture with Walt. This portion of his outlaw lifestyle was supposed to take place solo, however, it wasn't supposed to be a journey with him. Jesse groaned audibly and rolled his head around the back of the tub.
"You okay in there? Need some help?" Walt piped in, seemingly hearing his frustration.
"Fine, I'm just fine," Jesse barked back. He tried to remind himself that the past twelve months were so much worse than this present situation. Yet, because he was trying to pack away everything that happened there to make it inaccessible, he couldn't keep any perspective. He was working too hard to deny what had happened, and so trying to tell himself he'd been through worse did nothing but conjure visions of everything worse. An image floated to the fore of his mind and he couldn't shake it. He was lying beside Kenny wrapt in ecstasy as they moved rhythmically together. Trying to force the thought out of his head, Jesse was repeating 'no' over and over until finally he was saying 'get out, get out'.
"What's wrong, Jesse?" He could tell Walt was standing right behind the closed bathroom door.
"Nothing, it's all fine. Just go away will ya," Jesse muttered half-heartedly.
"Okay, well I hope you're scrubbing away in there because if there's even an ounce of dirt left I'm sending you back in," Walt said, attempting to sound light-hearted.
"You are so annoying. Stop making me feel like I'm twelve years old."
"I mean it!" Walt returned. Jesse could feel him grinning like a fool through the door. The guy was relentless in his nerdiness, he thought. The exchange broke a certain tension, and Jesse picked up a wash cloth and dunked it in the bath. He then closed his eyes and did as he was told.
Jesse walked out of the bathroom with a towel tied snuggly around his waist. He went straight for the table with the food, picking up a Snickers bar. He began unwrapping it, and sat in the chair against the bathroom wall looking over to Walt, who was outstretched on top of the bed. As he scarfed down the Snickers, he picked up an orange juice box, and drank the entirety in one gulp.
Walt looked over to him and smiled approvingly, "You look…clean."
Jesse merely nodded in response before saying, "So, where's my new clothes?"
An odd look passed over Walt's face, and then any hint of a smile disappeared. He sat forward on the bed and started, "Right, about that…I don't have any for you, yet. There's a Walmart just under an hour away that is our best bet."
Jesse groaned and cradled his head in his right hand, before looking back at Walt with daggers in his eyes. "You were all like, cutting off my clothes and you didn't bother to buy any new ones? What the shit, man?"
"It's just an oversight, and besides, it's not like we're going anywhere any time soon."
"That's a pretty big oversight, asshole. I'm not lounging here all naked while you decide to get your ass to Walmart."
"I'm not keen on that either but the problem, Jesse, is that my face was all over the news last night. I can't just waltz out there now."
Frustration was taking hold in both of the men, but Jesse dropped the discussion as what little fight was whipped up in him dissipated as quickly as it was stirred. He looked back over the items on the table to see if there was anything else of interest. Razors, baby-wipes, moisturizer…the gun. He nearly gasped as he saw it sitting atop the table. A vision of the bullet entering Jack's skull flashed through him, followed by the sensation of stuffing the gun far into Jack's mouth. He looked over to Walt, and for a split second thought about how satisfying it would be to push that gun into Walt's mouth as far he could. He imagined the relief he'd get from pulling the trigger. Suddenly, Jesse realised where his mind had drifted. Was he really fantasizing about killing Walt? No, he thought to himself, it was just frustration mixing with the pool of murky memories in his mind.
"What is it, Jesse?" Walt said.
Jesse shook the thought from his head. "Nothing," he said looking down. He was shocked by the intensity of that last thought, but he didn't want to linger on it. He rose, and re-entered the bathroom in search of the boxer shorts he previously donned. He'd have no choice but to put them back on. Standing in the doorway, he looked at Walt and said, "Do you think I should take another one of your pills?"
Walt looked back at him. Gently, he asked, "Do you think you need one?"
Jesse knew the answer was no, but he didn't care. He'd rather be nodding out than awake in just his shorts stuck in a bed beside Mr. White. Everything was getting a bit too cloudy and muddled, and he thought that escapism was his best defense regardless of how it left him earlier in the day. "Yeah, I mean…it would help with the pain, which is like, a lot," he said grabbing his arm for effect.
Walt took a small pill box out of his pocket and picked up one pill as Jesse sat on the bed and stretched out his hand. Walt placed the pill in his palm while his glasses slid down his nose a touch. His eyes looked into Jesse's from above the frames and he said, "I'm not a fool, Jesse."
Looking down so Walt couldn't see the guilty look on his face, Jesse murmured, "I know." He quickly swallowed the pill, and settled into the bed. Walt pushed his glasses up on his nose, and Jesse noticed him watching. It was as though Walt was convincing himself he was in complete control.