Chapter Summary: Rodney finally gets a hint of relief!
Posted: Sunday June 1, 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,862
Archive of Our Own – http://archiveofourown.org/works/134770
Live Journal – http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/
Dreamwidth – http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/
Tumblr – hobbyhermit.tumblr.com
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)
A/N 1:I thought I'd go ahead and post what I have so far, and this is it. =-/! So enjoy. =-).
A/N 2: Personally I like the song/poem, let me know if you like it too, it popped up in my head while watching X-Files fan videos and it explained this darn fan fiction exactly. I HAD to put it in. =-) So getting an opinion on it, good bad or wonderfully horrible, would really help, thanks ;-D!
XII Twelve XII
Maybe it was his inborn need to fix every damn thing he saw wrong, whatever it was when Mr. Uptight came walking in through the door something in John popped.
He had no idea what it was but when he looked up and saw what he initially thought was a newly homeless man shuffle in he nearly leapt over the counter and hugged the guy up, shoving wads of cash at him. John stopped himself and went to turn away when he noticed it was the man from earlier, the guy who'd watched T.V. with him that one night.
Disgusted outrage that Mr. Uptight would come back warred with his need to keep peace and help the seemingly poor guy out.
For lack of what else to do and his damn curiosity overcoming him John made his way over to the man deciding to do some damage control and properly introduced himself, or tried to.
“Hi, I'm Sheppard, the owner of this establishment how can I help you,” maybe if he managed to cut off the inevitable tantrum he'd be rid of this customer that much faster.
“Hum?” The man seemed to come out of a daze, his eyes were lost in thought and he looked worn to the bone. “do-ah, do you have anything for nausea-an-” he gulped, “and ah.” he faded off for a minute, “cancer-ahh, no.” he bent his head digging around in his pockets, “pain from chemoo-o … or ah, no.”
John gasped, or thought he did, thankfully no one seemed to notice. He'd forgotten what the guy had said so long ago now, no wonder he looked like shit, he took a step back.
Mr. Uptight rubbed his forehead, “vomiting from … ” he waved his hand, “I donno anymore …” he frowned as if his head was hurting him and rubbed his eyes a bit too hard, John winced in sympathy for the poor guys eye balls. Something clearly wasn't right but John couldn't put his finger on what it was. The first time they'd met he was sure the man was high and he'd been terribly wrong, he didn't want to make that mistake again. Though, there was something different about the guy this time, he was kinda … dull?
John looked the man up and down, his form was baggy, as if his skin were an afterthought that now hung on him; a suit that had at one time fit tight and now, like spandex, was wrinkling and folding where it'd been stretched too far.
John wasn't great with figuring out personalities and “social shit” as he'd termed it in his head. Maybe it was just the illness, John had heard that dehydration and starvation could really throw a person off and if anyone was needing food it was this poor guy. Once again the overpowering urge to hug the guy up and try and cure him hit hard, John shoved it away. Just to make sure he tried looking for the usual signs, blown out pupils and whatnot but unfortunately the guys' head was angled downward. More then likely the guy was just sick, John figured that it was the treatments the guy was going through that were throwing him off. Suddenly Mr. Uptight snapped his fingers quick and sharp, like he had just been tired earlier and had gotten his second wind. “Cancer! Do you have anything for cancerous vomiting.” the guy nodded as if he were a five year old having accomplished a great deed of remembering.
“What's you're name by the way,” John felt one of his brow's frown and stood off about to go get what he could for the man. It was clear he wasn't right at the moment, if he was better off then he would have gone down to the Farmacy that was literally with in the very same strip mall as John's place.
“Ahh actually,” the man took out some bits of paper, “if you could just tea, just tea.”
“Yeah, tea. Some of the weakest stuff you've got-and here-here's a list of my allergies.” he shoved some papers into John's hand and put his head down.
Wow. He was sick.
John took a step back, he could feel his own brow arch all the way to his hairline. What to do now …
He decided he might as well help the guy out, make him better or at least ease his suffering as best he could by way of getting some food into the man.
John went into the back and let his day manager know that he'd like her to take over again, she seemed burdened but somewhat relieved all at the same time. The twisted up tense look vanished from her face to be one of more relaxed uptight, 'about to go and do some hard work done' look.
“Than-ah. Alright. You know, you need the rest.” She took a step back and looked him up and down, “Just go and sit yourself down, have a nice long lunch and let me take care of everything alright?”
“Hey-you gonna be manning the store sir?” one of John's good friends came up to him.
“Oh ah, no, no you can-” he stopped and turned to everyone realizing he had been going off the deep end the last few days.
He'd gotten angry and had literally taken over single highhandedly running the shop for a good two weeks or so now. It'd nearly killed him once again, just like it had at the beginning, when he'd first opened up the place. He'd lost near ten pounds and hadn't slept with how busy they suddenly were. Customers had literally been banging away on their front door at five a.m. trying to get in just so they could get their stuff before work. John had never expected this and it had been hell setting John's nerves off every damn time. Once he'd been ripped form sleep still chocking on the dust of the desert and had army crawled to the back kitchen area before his arms touched the tile and he'd realized he wasn't in Afghanistan anymore.
He'd taken to sleeping on the couch once again after that, all the lights on and music up playing loud enough to blend in with the customers demanding. A cacophony of noise instead of the sudden rat-tatt-tatt of knocking or in John's ears, bullets or guns going off; punctuated by silence.
It was the way he'd lived, tried to sleep when he'd initially started the store, tense and watchful, unable to do more then doze. He'd laid there, eyes wide shut, limp, his mind racing, going over every single scenario and what he could do to fix, dissolve, or correct it; even deal with it. That's the way it had been when he'd first gotten the place, this time though he dozed causing the waking night terrors to be that much worse, jarring when he finally came to the realization that he wasn't there.
Instant shame and humiliation would be the second thing that hit, finding out-realizing that he'd just been there, back in Afghanistan which didn't exist anymore-he was here-home; in America not there-lost, dying, sucking in dust for air instead of oxygen.
It was this, the raging banshees screaming out, pulling him under every damn night as of late that caused him to quit trying to sleep at all.
Up until this point John had been proud of the fact that he'd gotten to where he could sleep with a few low lights on and no music playing. He'd pulled off sleeping in a closed, quiet, dark back bedroom, the four walls closing in on him and stuffy. But he'd managed it, not seeing the sky-open air surrounding him.
John blinked … maybe it was best he was homeless at first, after wards; even if he had the money to live indoors he probably couldn't, more then likely he would have ended up saving the money on rent and lived outdoors anyway.
John rocked back on his feet, well, maybe he would have at least rented a campsite-tent-or at least a sleeping bag, something better then being beaten on a sidewalk when he'd tried to curl up and doze for fifteen minutes.
John shook himself coming back to the here and now, it'd been hell and working with out sleep had been John's only way to cope with all the false alarms and cranky demanding public.
It had not worked, at all, only causing him to be that much more cranky and uptight himself and a bit short with his staff.
John had nearly fired someone just that morning, something he swore to himself he'd never do and it was then that he finally realized, he needed a break; immediately. (Or he decided, as soon as he could manage.)
“I'm done-you all can go back to work and I'll just take a few days off here!” John lifted his hands letting everyone know. “I know I've been a bit uptight as of late but I'll try to kick back, smoke some-” he smirked and thankfully a few nervous chuckles popped out of a few people in back, “and relax for a while. From here on out Chyah will be in charge and Elizabeth the head will be in charge till … I donno.” John waved his arms, “three days from now or till further notice, how about that.” John flapped his arms and smiled.
Someone actually hooted, then one person wooed.
Then a clap, and the next thing John knew everyone was clapping, someone yelled “Thank you sir!”
“I'm not that bad am I?”
The room suddenly kind of quieted, “Yes you are Mr. Sheppard!”
John just smiled and shook his head.
“Well You'll all get some time off from me, and on me! You all can take three days off-” everyone went into an uproar, “as-As Long As-” John curled his hands around his mouth, “AS LONG AS YOU CAN GET SOMEONE TO COVER FOR YOU!”
“Woo!” and laughter ensued.
John was glad and was a bit more then humiliated since he'd never known he'd been that bad to deal with when he was uptight.
“Mu”*snort!* Rodney lifted his head it being bumped by someone or thing. He'd dozed off again and how he got down here-oh yeah, he'd just dumped his one last hope of living and been being fired. Great.
He held his head moaning, worried and relieved all at once, he was supposed to go through at least two to three more treatments. Rodney wondered if he'd get better because he was off the whole mess or if he'd get worse, his body being over taken kind of like strep throat, how if you didn't take all the anti-biotic it'd come back raging and take you out in one fell swoop, no word at all.
Rodney stared off into the distance visions of death in all manner and how he'd be taken care of swimming before his eyes. He just hoped it wasn't like that one horror show he watched as a kid, “Crypt Keeper” with that darn skeleton. On the episode he had caught this one guy had sat down and started talking into the camera which was apparently the “dead” man. The guy said how he knew the camera or “dead” guy was still alive and that he'd noticed that the camera/dead guy was an organ donor, he then began to speak in great detail about how having your organs removed really hurt …
“Hey you okay?” Something waved in front of his eyes but it seemed translucent, ethereal even. Rodney just hoped he'd be truly and entirely dead before he was cremated, one of his biggest worries was to be either embalmed or cremated while still alive.
Rodney looked up, “oh!” he sat back dragging himself into the here and now.
“You okay there?” the guy from who knows, slid into the seat across from him. He was dressed a bit differently, didn't have an apron, hat, gloves, or anything on like usual it seemed. His tacky company pants were replaced with nice form fitting jeans, an old broken in pair that fit the guys body perfectly. His blouse was replaced with a sweatshirt, when Rodney looked up it was the glasses that caught him. The guys skin was beautiful golden, a pale almost tan fading away to laugh-lines at the corners of his eyes the golden rimmed glasses perfectly accenting his features.
Rodney licked his lips and nearly wept.
The guys face contorted as if hurt and he nodded at Rodney, licking his own lips, “you got your tea.” Rodney looked down to see a cup being shoved towards him.
“Oh, oh thank God,” Rodney reached forward and nearly wept, again.
He pulled the stuff near him and prayed his guts out, which really was better then barfing them out, Rodney figured if their gonna be removed at least have them go with the chance of something good or worthwhile being done with them. Rodney begged anyone listening to just be allowed the dignity of keeping his stomach down while he sat here.
He tried to pick the cup up but his hands shook too badly, his arms nearly giving out, “Damn!” He had no idea why this was happening, there as no reason for it! Maybe it was because of the darn shit hole of a day he'd had, his resources depleted past empty.
He felt the weight of a stare then the darn guys voice was back, “her-here.” Rodney reached for the cup again, “here.”
Rodney looked up to see the guy slide the cup away from him, taking it; Rodney leaned forward nearly following the damn thing.
The blue jeans guy-what was his name? Did he ever say it? Rodney couldn't recall but the guy stood up cup in hand, “here. Come'ere. Follow me.” he walked away and Rodney blinked, not sure what to do … follow or … was he in trouble? Or about to be in trouble? …
Rodney shook his head, why not just go after the damn cup of tea, he was dying anyway, if the guy did anything it didn't really matter did it? Of course the idea of being beaten or what have you then dumped out back as trash didn't appeal to him. The image of his blindingly pale skin peeking out from under his clothes catching someone's eye as they wandered by the dumpster danced before his eyes.
Despite himself Rodney got up trying to find where his darn cup of tea had gotten to. He walked into the back of the store past the kitchen area-oh yeah! Rodney recalled seeing it before, now it was starting to come back to him, damn his mind was really a mess; these darn pills were really taking it out of him. He found the guy who had his tea and went to walk up to him but the guy just slipped further into the back, past the cooking and prep area and into a whole other section. He crossed through a door way that was built onto a thick outside-or sound proofing wall it seemed. When he entered he noticed the whole place was kind of cramped and well, kind of had a feeling and look of a home.
The sound from the store faded away and his ears had an urge to pop, as if he were stepping into a recording studio, from what Rodney had been taught.
It was kind of odd to have the kitchen an noise, a cacophony of the store-muzack; people, pots, pans clanging and all, fade away and be just beside him as if the sound itself was obeying some kind of thick glass wall.
Rodney gulped and then he noticed it, a slight faint noise, it was … Rodney jumped, some guy was talking! He listened hard tilting his head to the side.
To broken to touch
to broken to feel
to broken to breath
take in what's real
He looked for the source of the noise but couldn't find it.
From what Rodney could make out it was literally the back of the store, the entire length of it had been extended at least ten feet or more and made into a sort of trailer type apartment. Rodney didn't want to even ask or know what kind of building, business and residential cods were being broken having this place attached to the fairly new store. He knew it was more then likely totally illegal though, in far to many obvious and various ways.
to hollow to care
to hollow to feel
to hollow to know
( I'm numb)
and this is-
can't be real
“Here,” the guy put the cup of tea down on what was clearly his kitchen table. Rodney looked to the side and noticed that the other half of the, living room was it? The area attached to the kitchen/dining area was split in half one part being made up to be an office space, a desk sat cluttered with papers and electronic devices, the main one being what seemed to be a wimpy attempt to pimp out a laptop.
Everywhere Rodney looked everything was made specifically for space saving, almost like some boat or yacht. Every single surface was of the highest quality and polished to shine but it was also packed into some of the smallest space possible. Infact (as Rodney literally turned in a circle he heard a chuckle) it looked like most of the cupboards, furniture and everything here was literally made from or more then likely taken from a Yacht,“Huh.”
A Venetian blind was pulled over a large plate glass window, it's slats open to let in light. The size of the darn thing took up half the opposite wall. On either side there were rectangular sections able to be opened to let air in. There was a glint and Rodney noticed that the whole of the window had a kind of dark sun-glasses tinting to it, the sort that would be reflective on the other side and have a mirror like silver to it; a one way mirror of sorts.
“Did you steal all this?” Rodney looked down not sure he wanted to sit, he didn't want to be incriminated simply by being here.
Suddenly a booming chorus ignited and it made itself known.
I know this isn't-can't be real
to frigid to love
to broken to breath
can't take in what you give me!
Rodney covered his ears, “What is that!?” He turned again trying to catch where the damn sound was coming from, it seemed that the whole place was vibrating like those darn cars he hated, the ones that came booming along with an earth shattering bass tone.
“Oh sorry,” the skinny hot guy scrambled digging, he bent over a few things and Rodney noticed how nicely curved the man's ass was.
The guy picked up what looked like a remote and pushed a button. Silence engulfed like some kind of sucking void. Rodney blinked and noticed the whole place suddenly felt starkly different, like the damn noise had never been off from the day it had been built.
“Sorry I ah,” the store manager-owner who ever he was tossed the remote aside. “It helps me. It's a local group. Olson's.”
“Ah!” Rodney nodded feigning knowledge of what the heck the guy was saying then looked at the table where his tea had been placed. He wavered not wanting to sit down. He swayed turning in a circle again, he still felt that if he made himself comfortable he'd be arrested instantly or in the future-either way he didn't want to die in prison that was for sure.
“Are you ahh … ” he waved his hand over everything, “ah-ah,” he finally stopped turning and then started in on the detailed visual search of each and every single item, “you're a drug dealer aren't you?”
“What!?” the guy crossed his arms.
“Well, this all came from a yacht and I've never seen it put into a land locked-heck anything that wasn't
associated with water before-how'd you get it?”
“From a friend.”
“Yeah, uh huh.”
“Listen this was a bad idea,” the guy lifted his arm, moving to usher him out, “how about we go back out front.”
“Yeah I'd like that but ah, can I get that to go.”
“So how did you get into this business anyway.”
“Well,” at this, to Rodney's great dismay, the guy stopped seeming to think hard as if it were some long drawn out difficult thing. He set the cup back down, “here why don't you sit.”
Rodney glanced down, all he wanted was a yes or no, a quick answer.
“It won't bite'ch'yeah,” the guy smirked and did this thing with his shoulders all casual looking like he was leaning backwards.
“If you want we can go out front but you look like you're about to keel over where you stand.”
“Actually I think I'm about to puke, you got ahh” Rodney pointed and thankfully the guy showed him back into the far reaches of the place. He opened a door and once again it looked far to tight and claustrophobic, like some yacht.
It was a good half an hour before he was able to even show his face again. While losing what he didn't have Rodney realized he was probably going to die and if he was this close to death he might as well feel good for a short amount of time.
He wasn't sure if the pill had come up, it seemed that half of it had but not all of it, whether that was a good or bad thing Rodney wasn't sure.
He wanted to say Chemo and pain pills sucked ass but that's be an insult to ass sucking and really Chemo wasn't anywhere near that nice, or even pleasurable for any party.
Maybe the damn hospitals wallet though, that sure seemed to be pleased.
Rodney heaved again and spat.
He eventually crawled out of the bathroom to find the guy sitting on the now cleaned up couch reading a magazine. The damn music was back on but now it was what the store had playing, tacky and relaxing. Rodney looked around and found that the whole place had been cleaned up. It actually looked nice now that there weren't clothes, papers, junk food, to go cartons and trash laying all over. Rodney sniffed the air and his stomach roiled, the guy had even sprayed one of those darn mist scents. God Rodney hated those!
He sneezed despite himself.
“You okay?” the guys eyes were wide with hope and … almost happiness? … or something, Rodney couldn't tell what.
“Yeah I-” he waved his hand wishing he had a Kleenex, “I just have allergies.”
The guy's face went worried, “Oh crap, I didn't-” he jumped up opening windows.
Rodney plopped himself down on the couch, “sorry about ah-all...” he waved his hand and then got chocked up. It hit him then that he was about to be forced to apologize to a stranger he'd just met for vomiting in his bathroom. He was so damn sick and now was getting emotional about it, in the worst possible place, at the worst possible time!
He held his face, hiding from it all. Here he was, about to die in the back of a drug dealers wanna be pimped out trailer in the back of a pot store! What a way to go!
How had his life, so damn promising, his mind; been wasted and come to this!
“Hey you okay?”
“Do, do ah,”
Rodney heard the guy scrambling around, “do you need me to ah, call a doc. Or, or somethin'?” Rodney caught a glimpse of him wiping his hands on his jeans.
It took a few minutes but after a while he was able to breath again, “no no. I'm, I'm ahh,” he gulped wiping his eyes, “allergies. Just allergies. Here.” he made gimme motions towards his tea.
The guy picked it up and brought it over to him.
“Probably cold by now.”
“I don't care I need this stuff right now,” Rodney went to hold it then, “this has pot in it right?” he looked up at the guy.
“Yeah,yeah.” the skinny dealer sat down next to him.
“Thanks,” he went to take the drink but he was still too weak his hands shaking, actually he'd been vibrating at some level the whole day.
“Here.” The guy gingerly thread an arm behind Rodney and held the cup in his other hand. He brought it to Rodney's mouth and tilted it just enough so Rodney could sip out of it.
Ohh … ahh … the liquid was soothing and down right wonderful.
Rodney soaked it in, savoring …
“Ohh yeah,” he sighed when the guy finally drew the cup away.
He noticed he was leaning up against the man and for the first time in … well, his whole life, he felt warm and wrapped in soft fuzziness.
“Oh God that was good.”
“Good?” the guy smiled at him, then shifted looking forwards out the large plate glass window. “Thanks.”
“Huh?” Rodney turned to him.
“I made it,” the guy lifted the cup, showing it off.
“Oh,” Rodney turned away, nodding.
He thought for a bit, his mind wandering off.
He wondered for a minute if the pot would interact with the Chemo and other meds he was already taking, but once again he dismissed it. Granted he'd caved and taken one of the pain meds that morning but it hadn't done one damn bit of good. It was why he was here now.
“Hey?” Rodney said.
“What's your name?” Rodney said.
“What,” John said.
“Oh like John Dough?” Rodney said.
Rodney got what looked like a frown, “No. Like John Sheppard. Why.”
Rodney thought on that, rolling it around in his mind like candy on his tongue, smooth and buttery.
“I think I like you John Sheppard. I like Sheppard.” he nodded matter of factly.
“Well,” the guy grunted slipping out from underneath him, “thanks.”
Rodney was laid on his side the world going wonderfully soft and puppy like.
Puppies … puppies were so soft, so soft, like kitties … so soft-awesome.
Rodney looked up to see the guy smiling down at him,“what.”
“What?” Rodney said, the guy-John guy wasn't making sense.
“Just go to sleep.”
The guy-John stopped.
“What to know my name!?”
“Sure,” the guy smirked down at him, as if he'd said something really funny.
“It's Rodney,” he nodded, “Meredith, Rodney McKay.”
“Yeah. If you wanna befriends-I've never had friends before.”
“Oh you haven't have you.”
“No. I need a friend. Mom-Mom says-she said before she died...” Rodney rubbed his eyes, he was crying again, “She died John! Mom died!”
“I'm sorry buddy,” John petted his head.
“She died and I couldn't save her! And she hated me! And my sister” he sniffed, “My sister she left! She hated me! She was my only friend and she said she never wanted to see me again! Said I was a terrible brother! I couldn't save her! I couldn't I couldn't save her from the bullies! And she said-” he gasped, “she said I was bad and terrible and Mom said too! And she lef-”
“Shh … Shhh....” Rodney felt a weight stroking him, it ran lightly over his head and down his shoulder.
“She left me-turned her back and never looked back!”
Rodney snuffled and snorkeled, “I need a Kleenex.”
John looked around, worried. “Ahh...” he jumped up and before he came back darkness faded in then over took.
Rodney felt something, pressure wiping-rough on his nose. It hurt, burning sharp and terrible-then nothing.
Rodney was gone.
John stared down at the heap on his couch.
He clutched at the cup in his hand.
It didn't even look like a person was there just a pile of blankets the poor man, Rodney Meredith McKay, was so damn skinny.
“Shit dude,” John tossed the paper towel he had across the room almost hitting the waste basket.
So close but so far, John tried for a smirk but just couldn't bring himself to it.
He looked down at the guy again and inhaled long and tense then let it go. He looked around and not knowing what else to do with himself he decided why not get some of the financial stuff done.
There was nothing else he could do.
- Current Location:Indoors - Kitchen Table
- Current Mood:annoyed, irritated,
- Current Music:The air conditioner and Dad 's Snooring =-D
Chapter Summary: Accidentally high, dazed and confused, this is Rodney.
Posted: Sunday June 1, 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Archive of Our Own -- http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/c
Live Journal -- http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/
Dreamwidth -- http://glassesg33k.dreamwidth.org/
Tumblr -- hobbyhermit.tumblr.com
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/hobby.hermit
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)
A/N: This was the chapter that nearly didn't happen.
Life changes on a dime and mine did thankfully temporarily here. By now you all probably know that I have been using Tactless Truths computer to post on here. It's an old 2007 HP model and is still coughing and sputtering along. Several times in the past it has been a close miss when starting it back from scratch. It nearly couldn't connect to the internet and the battery died on me. Reformatting, De-Fragging and doing other such things are a NO GO for this old model if I want to stay connected to the internet, it's sadly on it's last legs.
The battery just died and well, the both of us being unemployed (Tactless being to ill to work, and me being far to badly injured, bad back and all; which incidentally has been the reason I have had the “free time” to write and post so proficiently as of late.) Initially after the battery died I was able to use Tactless' family computer, which was so incredibly KIND and LOVING of her mother. It has been a hard thing for her to share it, that has been clear. She has been so gracious and wonderful about the whole thing, I am truly grateful to her for her help. =-)
I was able to purchase a new battery that is spectacular compared to the old one and at a great rate too.
I got it from AtBatt.com so a shout out to them if you need anything cheap in the line of power.
But all this aside to say this has set me back on writing is a bit of an understatement.
So far I had about three chapters written that still needed piecing together before the initial FAST Edit and post I usually do. (On this note please pray for niffer, she was going to be my BETA Reader then was robbed. Everything was stolen from her family. She could truly use any kind of encouragement and help you have to offer at this time.)
But until I can get my hands on a new laptop in some way it looks like the chapters, if I manage to post them at all … well, I don't know when or if I'll be able to post any more.
It looks like this'll be the last post and the last chapter for a while.
I'm truly sorry for this and well, if anyone has an old computer that functions well enough then message me, it might just help. =-)
But I thought I'd let you all know that until further notice I don't know when or if I'll be able to post anymore to this story and many others I have in the works here, on the old laptop. They really were fascinating me and I really wanted to see how they were gonna end.
And I just wanted to say THANK YOU ALL for all of your support and I truly WISH I could have finished this story on a timely basis.
I'm sorry to flunk out like this, but well, Real Life rears it's hideous head and once again has stopped my endeavors to further myself. =-(!
I'm not sure what else to say so I'll just leave it at this.
P.S. – But just in-case check back periodically to see if I've managed to post more. I'm thinking if I am going to post it'll be in GLUTS, MAYBE.
Rodney wandered out to his car …
The one friend he had, had told him that God himself had caused him to be ill and that he should tough it out. Rodney rubbed his face, hard … what did Carson think he'd been doing for the past, oh decade or so now huh!? Laying down and dying!?
Why the hell else would he have been in here today begging for pain pills! Begging for some kind of alternative medicine that didn't kill him off-didn't exact such a high price! …
Rodney's mind whirled off revving like an engine stuck in some odd gear.
He went on and on to himself, smacking the damn steering wheel and punching the dashboard, not like it did much his fist bounced right off his whole damn arm to thin and weak to do more then injure himself. Rodney turned his arm and looked, a bruise already was forming and that was truly bad, it'd swell great, just great.
Rodney held his head and that's when he broke …
He'd heard the terms before, whispered in relation to other patients, people he'd never met but knew their condition was worthless; worm food what they were.
His case, his life-he'd been talked about like that now; gotten stared at, the sidelong glances, the pitying mumbles as he passed nurses and others in the medical office; treated with sugary sweet cooing and kid gloves by all the nurses who had to get near him …
His mind whirled again and he started gasping the air growing tight, thick. He'd heard it all, stage four or five, whatever, Rodney didn't know and didn't care-it didn't matter, dead was dead and he was worm food now. One of the patients talked about in hushed whispers and mumbles, stared at by everyone-the other patients and all. The voo-doo practitioners-hell the fact that the doc had even mentioned God showed it all, showed how far behind the medical profession was-that it was not a science-barely an art. “Shouldn't even be paid! I paid! With my life-blood-body! My damn account!” Rodney smacked what he could again bouncing in his seat.
What little he'd managed to scrape together, whittle out of his meager paychecks when he wasn't having to shell out for college and student supplies that the school should have been paying for. What he had left or managed to scrape together with his bare fingertips, the damn things bleeding along with his wallet for twisting it so darn tight in an attempt to juggle everything-it'd bottomed out, his bank account. The tiny smattering of money he'd managed to scrape together had been wiped away from the damn medical-cancer treatments and whatnot. He'd been in debt for far to long now and his last ditch attempt at living …
Rodney turned to the side …
His own damn friend had taken his money and not cured him.
Had robbed him blind then blamed his illness and the fact that he had not gotten better on his own body's unwillingness to heal and a mythical deity.
Rodney face palmed and breathed … just breathed.
It's what he got for letting someone-anyone in.
He held his face, oddly feeling ashamed for the fact that he'd never had any friends. He'd been taught from day one not to trust anyone then gone and screwed up at the last bit – the last step of his life.
“God of all things!”
After a while Rodney stared out the windshield, his mind bereft of thought, his soul just … empty … no feeling at all. He looked down at his arm and hands, it was like he was hollow and the non-feeling-the void, the, for lack of a better way to describe it, numbness, was so overcoming it had seeped out into his physical body.
He looked at the areas of his hands and arms, bruises, deep ones, forming; his blood no longer able to clot like it could. … from what the damn quack had told him it was going to swell-or could, ballooning up like some kind of goose egg if he wasn't lucky. All cause of the damn … whatever it was called.
“Shit.” Rodney pinched his brow and winced, the pain from earlier suddenly re-presenting itself,“great. Just great.” He looked over at the passenger seat beside him then dug out the damn samples he'd been given. It was the same old crap the secretaries and nurses always shoved at him and everyone else he suspected, who might walk in through the door. Rodney always threw it all out, never even glancing at it.
It was more like he'd been going to an upscale pusher then a real doctors office. No solutions were to be found, no cures, healing fixes, merely drugs, pills, medications and more drugs, it was terrible.
Rodney noticed he was shaking, his whole body one quivering mass of pain, a dungeon master couldn't have gotten better results. He looked out the windshield again and noticed his vision was jittery … he looked over to the various trial prescriptions on the seat beside him.
Giving in and giving up he dug around till he found something that at least tried for reasonable. It was a relatively small dosage (he hoped) and it didn't say anything about side effects, on the small packaging at least. It said it was something great and would cure all his ills, Rodney scoffed, “yeah right.” he looked for interactions and anything that said he couldn't operate heavy machinery etc. etc. etc.
It said nothing, or nothing that he could tell.
Despite this he decided to not take one, at least not until he got home.
Driving though, driving changed his mind. He was no further then the second stop light, not fifteen minutes later and he was so wracked, so blind, his eyes were watering, vision going dark and blurry from the torturous pain! He looked at the pill on the seat next to him then ripped open the packaging and popped the damn thing bereft of what else to do. He swug as much water as he could knowing that he would need it, then dug around for something to barf in, if it was going to come right back up. He manged to get his hands on the waste basket in the back seat, something he'd learned many years ago to carry with him. He'd had many a day when he'd used it before even getting to work. Driving while vomiting was not fun but by this time he was used to it.
Rodney was on his way home when he decided to see where the car would take him.
“Interesting,” it took him to the one area he'd spent most of his life as of late trying to ignore or get away from. “Maybe Freud was right,” Rodney snorted to himself, “what a pile of crap.” He'd been told once by a more then dull person, that if you wanted someone to think about something or notice an item then tell said person to not think about it, or look at it, listen to it, etc. etc.
Maybe it was because of this fact alone that Rodney's car seemed drawn to the one place he wished didn't exist, pot alley; or that's what he called it.
It was a good sized area right around the college where students could come to get things cheap or have a job while they were in school. Basically it was like any other place around a university, many half run down shops shoved in-between the pompous and plush ones; each and every area either newly built or lovingly fixed up and remodeled. Each store offered either the most out of style or the latest and greatest in whatever was in at the time. Every store was stuck up or in reaction to the surrounding environment and all the snotty nosed rich brats just plain didn't care.
One constant though was the good deals to be found along with cozy out the the way corners to read and study. There were more then enough hidey holes as Rodney had heard it once called, places where you could sleep between jobs or classes or even daydream. How he had loved those times in his youth. It had been the only good time in his life.
He rolled down the window and a waft of smells hit him, good food was another constant in these areas it seemed. Everywhere Rodney turned all he could see were homey nooks and crannies, places to study and eat, all nestled away in these corners. Rodney wondered if this would be a good area to think and if this was why his car was taking him to this area. A good place to straighten out what was going on in his life and ponder over what had already happened.
He drove till he was near the one street he'd done his best to pretend didn't exist. The next thing Rodney knew he was parked and out of his car, staring at it like he'd just been beamed down to Earth and didn't know what to do with himself now. He blinked and then turned, letting his feet take him to … wherever …
Rodney walked, not noticing people or things, except for the few stares and glares he got. He'd changed before going into the voo-doo practitioners office, “mud hut is more like it,” Rodney mumbled and someone bugged their eyes out at him as they passed, pressing themselves into the crowd to give him a wide berth.
He waltzed along not knowing where his feet were taking him or where he had been. He found himself at the shop he'd come to a few nights before. He floated in and plopped himself down hard, as if he were a marionette and his strings had just been cut. He sat, dejected, holding his head; lost.
His mind was blank, there were no answers or solutions as far as he could see, and now his stomach was getting upset again, great.
- Current Location:Indoors - Kitchen Table
- Current Mood:Upset!
- Current Music:T.V. quietly playing, THANKFULLY
Posted: Sat. May 24, 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Chapter Rating: PG-13 (Swearing … I think. Can't recall anymore, sorry.)
Word Count: 4,607
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)
A/N: I just want to say there is such a thing as being allergic to Aspirin and Tylenol. I am and my Dad is. Sadly, I'm also highly allergic to Cannabis /Marijuana, Pot, you know.
Yeah. Genes are great.
So really this has some facts in it, interesting huh. :-)
By the way, there are two websites that I gleamed parts of this chapter from, if you read them you'll see how I incorporated them into this bit of the story.
One is something vitally important and I WISH people had had the curtsey to well, not say the stuff to me that they have. *Steams!* =-(!
Also the formatting is messed up, can't fix it *FUMES!* Sorry. =-(!
Don't Say This to a Cancer Patient
“Info.” I based this chapter on
X Ten X
Rodney sat, staring at the little piece of paper in his hand. …
“Now you're sure about this.” A Scottish accent cut through his mind.
For the past three days each and every single muscle in his body, even ones he didn't know existed had been rigid and hard as bone with terrible sharp aching. Yes he knew better then to try and actually haul such big, heavy and cumbersome pieces of equipment around, but he never expected to be struck down with immobility. Today had been the first day he'd been able to move at all so he'd taken the opportunity to actually get out of bed and try to get some relief. When he'd gone in to see Carson the one man he could talk to about anything the damn quack had merely suggested pain pills, which would loop him beyond all get out. The son-of-a-bitch knew he was allergic to all pain medications since everything out there had a base of either Aspirin or Tylenol. The only options were items that were literally just an excuse to be high. What Rodney wanted was a solution, hell at this point he'd take acupuncture if it would make the pain ease off just a little.
Rodney blinked, his sight going wavy; he rubbed his itchy stinging eyes. To say the day had not gone well was an understatement. Instead of being able to get an appointment immediately he'd been forced to take any cancellations that might open up. So instead of going straight to the quack's office he'd decided to go ahead and try doing something useful with his day, which meant going to work.
The second he'd gotten in he'd been called to his bosses office and more or less fired. Apparently it was irresponsible of him to order a large amount of expensive items then bugger off and not even answer his phone, as if Rodney didn't know that.
“I along with everyone in the department tried contacting you,” the man glared and tapped his pen on his desk. He went off, explaining how Rodney wasn't even reachable through E-Mail and how that wasn't acceptable. How the school expected their professors to be able to be contacted at any and all times of the day or evening.
“And your department especially...” he eyed Rodney getting the message across. He'd given Rodney more then enough room, granted him exceptions and items no one else was privileged to.
“I believe Zelinka even tried-went over to your place.” He leaned back in his chair seeming to have the upper hand now.
“Yeah well.” Rodney looked off to the side, his mind racing to come up with an appropriate answer.
Granted not going in to work for whole two days had been a mistake but Rodney couldn't help it, his body was just not going to function and he had no real warning.
It had been a tricky and mind bending fight, it was finally at the point where Rodney knew he'd lost that he popped.
“YOU KNOW WHAT!?” Rodney jumped to his feet, “you wanna fire me for having cancer FINE!” he poked his chest.
His boss feigned surprise and shock.
“YOU KNOW IT! EVERYNE KOWS IT!” Rodney ripped his hand through the air to encompass the whole of the school, “DON'T SIT THERE LYING!”
“Lying I'm not-”
“YOU KNEW IT ALL ALONG! YOU'D NEVER APPROVE OF MY SCHEDULE IF YOU WERE IGNORANT! THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE-THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE-YOU CAN'T EVEN LIE! And If You Wanna Fire Me Cause I'm A CORPSE!” he shook livid, “Then go ahead! I'll drag this whole damn institution to hell! And speaking of hell...” he'd gone off there, letting the shit hole know what was wrong with the place and all the items the boss was falling down on the job on.
Of course the guy denied it, blamed most of it on him and who ever else he could, then called security or must have, who knows.
All Rodney knew or cared was that when he was done he turned to leave and there were two campus security guards at the door to escort him off the premises.
Rodney huffed out a half sob and curled in on himself, he now sat in his oncologists office being told to continue with a treatment that was killing him and not even allowed the relief of effective pain killers.
Interesting how it all ends.
The ex-professor winced, he hated it when people used that term, he knew by now though that it was used when someone was getting annoyed and was wanting to be rid of him. He heard the wheels of the doctors chair along the rug, the quac-doctors khaki clad knees came into his peripheral vision. Carson was a man who'd he become fast friends with and found that for the first time in his life, maybe because he was truly at the end of his life, and therefore rope, he trusted the damn guy.
“I know that you're concerned with the mix of chemicals and prolonged effects but-”
“Am I getting better,” Rodney uncurled lifting his head. He sat up and crossed his arms despite how much it nearly killed him. His world whited out but he fought on, not caring that even touching his own skin was like frigid fire, his very pores igniting in searing pain. And this was on top of the overall full body ache he had from the stiff and unmoving muscles, a gift from two days before.
His skin was tender and he could feel the layers underneath the peritoneum or whatever it was 'Carson the Quack' as Rodney was now starting to think of him in his mind, had called it. Apparently the overall membrane that held his skin onto his muscles was slightly inflamed and would get a bit worse before it got better. Rodney had been told to watch it closely and that it was going to take on a bit of fluid. He'd been ordered to come back if anything changed, right now at this point he was wondering if it had all been worth it, the chemo and passing out from weakness and pain.
“I know this is hard to hear but-”
“Carson do you know what it's like to rupture your esophagus from vomiting? Do you know what it's like to puke up blood and heave so damn hard you can feel your stomach move within you? It damn Jumps up your throat!? You don't! You don't know what pain I'm in!”
Rodney broke at this point, he held his head shaking, trying to get himself under control.
The room went eerily silent, as if he'd just trespassed committing a social taboo, something Rodney constantly did but never knew why or how he misspoke when he did such things.
For whatever reason he became angry about the idea of not being allowed the room to screw up.
“Rodney, I know you've been through a lot but you're a fighter an'”
“Carson ...” Today had been terrible the last thing he needed was to be told shit from his own doctor. Someone who was able to insult and harm him in the most personal, private and intimate ways, and with out anyone else knowing.
“Don't. … Just Don't.”
Rodney could feel Carson lean back and stare as if he were mental, it bit right through him.
“Rodney you march in here, demand to see me. My poor secretary goes and makes room which mind you wasn't easy.” Carson shook his finger admonishing, “you demand me to give you pain pills that you can take and then tell me your cutting off your treatment. Now what in the world.”
“I have no money Carson-”
“You do too. Your insurance-” “not anymore.” Rodney mumbled. “-may be givin' ye' trouble but I can fix that.” Carson said.
“Not anymore.” Rodney said.
“Carson I'm not getting better-”
“Yes ye' are. Incrementally.” Carson said.
Rodney scoffed and wiped his face; then rolled his eyes and looked to the ceiling.
“It's gradual but there's clear indication that you're getting better,” Carson looked over the charts in his lap.
“So I'm getting better.”
“Aye. An' stopping treatment now would only cause ye' to relapse. The disease would grow exponentially-you wouldn't have six months if ye' stop treatment now.” Carson lifted and dropped his shoulders, he was begging as if he were at the end of his rope.
Rodney looked down at him, if he was going to ask this then now would be the time. “Carson … I'm wondering-*ahem!*” he cleared his throat and sat up, “I'm wondering what you're thoughts on Medical Marijuana are, do you have any kind of medi-scientifically tested knowledge about it.”
“Yes I do.” Carson rolled backwards so he could lean against the far wall. He crossed his arms and glared at Rodney for a good long beat …/, or three. The answer was clear.
“Listen! I'm just wondering what you think of Cannabis for ah” Rodney looked off to the side, cleared his throat again.
“Cannabis for what Rodney,” Carson clicked his pen. Rodney could feel the man's eyes boring into him.
“For ...” Rodney waved his hand. “Well since I can't!” He noticed that he was starting to shake, the whole damn day had been far to long, far to hard on him. That was why he was such a mess right now, running on below empty, no meat on his bones to even keep himself upright any longer. His physical condition was why he was shaking right now, he told himself, that was all. “I can't take regular pain medications, you know that! So I was wondering if the medical community has any kind of knowledge yet in the area of-”
“Rodney.” Carson sighed and slapped the files down on the counter next to him, he rubbed his brow … then rolled close. “I've known you for a good two years now and I can tell somethin' buggin' ye'.”
“Yes! I'm in pain!” Rodney waved his hands.
“If you're saying what I think ye' are then please, please my friend.” Carson looked up, into his eyes, “
Alternative medicine's are deceptive!”
Rodney looked away, he hated that deep searching stare of Carson's, it gave him the shivers!
“You'll feel better then you are now undergoing the chemo, but this'll only last for a while. And yes, the cancer might shrink,”
Rodney looked into Carson's eyes.
“This can happen.”
“But with mine-my cancer -” Rodney said.
“It more then likely will, but once the chemotherapy course is done,” Carson rolled back his voice going into what Rodney knew all to well, rote recitation of learned facts, teacher mode as he called it. “the patient does feel better because the cancer is no longer causing secondary symptoms and like dominoes the other symptoms being caused by the secondary symptoms are also relieved.”
Rodney hated teacher mode, there was no true learning, no true imagination, no brain power involved. Carson hadn't figured out how or why any of it worked or seemed to care, he was too busy reacting, not thinking and planning a … Rodney searched for the word but couldn't find it, the closest he got was a power plan.
“It's true that more chemo-treatments will make you feel lousy again for a short time. Unfortunately, the additional therapy is necessary to maximize the chance of cure. Disease frequently relapses without additional courses of treatment. Science and clinical trials have told us that.”
Rodney shook his head.
Carson caught his eye and looked right into him, Rodney had the great need to punch the son-of-a-bitch …
Rodney looked away.
“Many now dead patients are proof, an anecdote that is consistent with what science tells us.”
That was a low blow, he knew Rodney was science itself, Carson knew that he breathed, lived, drank science; hell it was the only damn thing that had kept him alive these past … God, was it a full decade now, Shit! Rodney went to grab his head then thought better of it, the pain wasn't worth it.
“Rodney, cancer doesn’t give up. It can’t be bargained or reasoned with. If it's not treated, it'll not stop until you're dead. And it rarely will be a pretty end.”
“Don't patronize me Carson-”
“I'm telling you what you seem to have forgotten about your own health Rodney!” Carson now waved his hands, “I'm trying to give you accurate knowledge of the risks and benefits, which I as a science-based physician-” Rodney scoffed. “-must provide you. If you choose palliation over true scientifically tested cures you'll be condemning yourself to an end far more brutal than's necessary-”
“So vomiting up my own esophagus is less brutal!”Rodney popped, he pocked his chest.
“Your not yet terminal-”
“But I'm getting there!”
Carson threw up his hands, looking skyward, “I donno what to tell ye', you're on the teetering edge right now-if you were te' give it all up then ye'd be giving up on your one best shot!-”
Carson leveled his gaze at Rodney, yes it was a cheap shot and petty Rodney had to admit, not to mention childish.
Rodney shifted looking off to the side, unable to say sorry just yet.
“Rodney propaganda paints chemotherapy as “poison,” radiation as “burning,” and surgery as “slashing”, but these are the best treatments we have thus far!”
“Yeah well, maybe there's better out there-”
“How do you know that!?”
“Because I've been schooled-”
“Oh yes tell me about that. Tell me about how the institutions of today-their meat market stamp punch outs- I work in the education system Carson! I work there! Don't shove me shit and tell me it's roses! And medicine is a business! It doesn't search for cures anymore, it searches for alleviating symptoms, Not fixing the underlying problem! You know that!”
“Rodney! Without treatment you're dooming yourself to a terrible death!”
Rodney glared hard, “such as passing out in my own feces-having tile marks on my face because I spent a day-a day Carson, on the bathroom floor!?” Rodney shook livid. His one deeply close and trusted friend, the one person he'd allowed get into his very heart was now betraying him when he needed the damn support, the emotional help the most.
It seemed that today no matter what direction Rodney turned a door-hell a wall was slammed in his face. He'd been denied a job or even compensation for all the hard work and years he'd put into that damn facility and now he was being denied his very rights to his own private body.
His say over his very life and the direction it was taking was being cut off in quick order and he didn't like it.
“Rodney you'll have the sort of end untreated cancer patients suffered hundreds of years ago, before there was effective therapy.” Carson whined, actually whined begging, all his fight ebbing away as if he'd given up.
“I couldn't get up! I couldn't move!” Rodney pointed at himself, “I laid there for the rest of the day then had to slither back to bed! I wasn't even able to wash it off Carson!”
Carson patted the air, as if trying to calm a wild animal, “Rodney, the seductive promise of a cure without pain and hair falling out, without nausea lures people, like you,” Carson flapped his hand at Rodney, “to havens of quackery and that's the road I see you going down now.” this time he kept his voice level, quiet; soft. “Rodney if you do this, if you stop treatment, go down this road-
“I have no choice Carson.”
“Yes you do.”
“No I don't.” Rodney said.
“I lost my insurance-job-Zelinka-my only reason-hell Carson I lost my apartment by now probably!” Rodney didn't know that for sure but by the end of next month if he didn't figure out how to pay rent he'd be out, gone, homeless... and what would it matter, he'd die on the street from cancer eating him alive with nothing but a concrete side walk for his pillow; if he was lucky and wasn't beaten to death first by a band of punk teens. Rodney shook his fist, head bowed, glaring at it.
“Rodney I didn't know that.”
Silence descended, heavy and un-breathable, he heard the sound of the chair wheels on the carpet, felt Carson draw near.
“I know we are close, do ye' feel that same way?”
Rodney squirmed, unable and unsure how to respond.
“Let me pay for ye' treatment-”
“Rodney it's only a few more left an' I think you have a chance-”
“Yeah but that won't keep me housed, it won't-”
“I don't know what to do about tha' but ye' need te' finish this.”
Rodney saw a hand appear next to himself, he looked over to see that Carson had put his head on the exam table next to him, his arms crossed pillowing.
“Rodney dying from untreated cancer is terrible and I don't want you to endure tha.”
Carson looked up into his eyes and clicked his pen.
He actually seemed serious, and suddenly distant now. … Rodney frowned, it was odd, like some wall had come down.
“Rodney, Untreated cancer can mean a bowel obstruction. It can mean having a nasogastric tube to drain your digestive juices to prevent you from throwing up.”
“I wish I had a tube to keep me from puking.” Rodney said.
“It can mean bleeding because you don’t have enough platelets to clot. Ye' can bleed inte' the brain-a hemorrhagic stroke.”
Rodney crossed his arms, this was sounding far to astronomical to be real and Carson's attitude only enforced that. His disbelieving haughtiness, as if he knew better.
“It can mean bleeding from the rectum incessantly not just your throat or stomach Rodney. And, because it's necessary to have many transfusions, immune reactions can chew up new platelets as fast as they’re infused. Rodney, it can mean horrific cachexia-your cheeks-you being so sunken that your face looks like the skull underlying it.”
“I already look like-I am that! You're telling me to continue with a treatment that put me in that state!”
“Yes but worse then this Rodney! To the point where you're unable to get outta bed!”
“I already barely get out of bed! I can't move Carson! This isn't new to me!”
“Rodney, your lungs will progressively fill with fluid! You'll chock on your own secretions. You'll have shortness of breath-an unrelenting feeling of suffocation with no possibility of relief. Your belly will fill with ascites fluid due to a liver chock full of tumor. There will be a progressive decline in mental function due to brain metastases. Rodney dying from cancer can mean so many horrific things that they're to numerous to include. Modern medicine can alleviate these symptoms-”
“Yeah but they can't reverse the disease process.”
“Yes it can Rodney and I'm trying to give you the best possible outcome-choice … Rodney …” Carson rolled away putting more then just emotional distance between them. It was as if Carson had suddenly cut himself off, as if he'd been told that Rodney was dead already and he was now speaking to a … an android, a corpse; a ghost even! It was terrible and odd. “Alright, I know ye'r depressed an' a bit upset-”
“I'm upset! Lookit yourself!” Rodney waved his hand over Carson.
Carson leaned forward exhaling in one long slow shaky breath, he put his elbows on his knees holding his thick, envying head of hair. He stared at the ground for a few minutes then tapped his foot.
Rodney didn't like it, it felt like being manhandled.
“Rodney I'm ye' friend and … I ...” he clasped his hands and looked off to the side, “I feel very close te' ye' … and since I do I'm going te' be blunt. Ye' need-I think ye' need counseling right now-”
Rodney grabbed at his head, once again realized there wasn't hair there so he wrung what little skin he had and breathed … just breathed for the life of him-and did his damnedest not to scream.
“Ye' in denial-”
Rodney made a noise, couldn't help it, thankfully Carson ignored it.
“-and depressed. But the worst part is, that I think you don't want to face the truth that in order for you to get better-to have a chance at living the rest of your life then you need to go through this yes, very painful-wearing-and trying procedures-along with the chemo.”
“I'm going to write a contract for pain medication and I want ye' te' sign it.”
Rodney liked Carson because he was so darn straight forward, he'd liked the guy for that, maybe it was something about being Scottish, he didn't know. But right now the damn quack was really pissing him off.
“Rodney if you're going to be relieved of the symptoms you're suffering from then that requires you to actually accept treatment.”
“Carson … “ the fight left him, Rodney had had enough, “Carson I can't. … I just can't.”
“Rodney I know what ye've been through and I know how horrible it is,-”
“Oh really? Have you had cancer Carson?”
Carson's mouth snapped shut and he froze, he leaned back then rolled away, near the wall. He looked right at Rodney. “God doesn't give you a cross you can't bear.”
Rodney pressed his mouth tight, he shook his fist. He'd heard this one, one to many times.
One to many, and to have it coming from Carson of all people now. Someone who was able to insult and harm him in the most personal, private and intimate ways this one really took the cake.
“Carson.” He kept his voice as level as possible.
Waited till Carson actually responded.
It was pissing him off that Carson was waiting as well, on what.
Rodney looked up, his sight pinning Carson to the damn wall. The fucker wasn't giving, just sat there his gaze level, brow in that dead pan neolithic stare.
Rodney had to remind himself that only the most simple flunkies were allowed a Medical degree, and really at this point why was he wasting his time arguing with someone who was too simple to even comprehend his argument much less his side of the conversation. This whole thing was a practice in insanity, repeating an action that turned up the same result, over and over and over again.
“Did you ever think-just hear me out Rodney,” Carson patted the air with one hand.
Rodney was instantly reminded of a show he'd passed while flipping the channels. It was one of the programs he stayed far away from, the jokes being political and just nuts, but the image he caught was shocking, and he thought at the time, had explained the show and it's opinions well. The picture was of a small bat with a tin-foil hat on. The image was introducing a segment called “Bat Shit Serious” or “Insane”, either way the coined term was clear, what Rodney saw at this point mirrored that exactly. Carson's words matched what that little voice over for the small animal said, “Now just hear me out” before it took a dump on the words.
Rodney smelled a dump of biblical proportions coming on.
“Could this be that this might be part of God's bigger plan for ye'? Maybe it's a test, a learning lesson.”
Rodney clamped down on his explosion … he breathed in
“What?” Carson rocked forward his arms crossed tight around himself, as if he was the one needing protection.
“Have you been ill.”
“Yes Rodney I hav-”
“Have you been Cancerous.”
Carson merely pressed his lips tight together.
“Rodney … I've been an oncologist for 25 years now-”
“Yes. Well. Have you ever had Cancer.”
Rodney waited. … he drummed his fingers on his leg feeling the bone there, no muscle, just his fingers-bone tips hitting his femur.
“No. I haven't.” Carson mumbled, he leaned back shifting uncomfortably, messing with the flaps of his coat. “but I don't want ye' te' give up on me. I've been wrokin'-fightin' hard right along side ye' with-in this-”
“Oh have you. Have you been vomiting blood with me. Have you been up all night as I've lost weight from sweating pain alone?”
Carson didn't answer.
“I think that the reason you're trying to convince me to keep on this damn regimen is because you're in cahoots-” “Cahhots?”Carson said. “-with a drug company or the hospital itself-”
“No.” Carson partially stood, adjusted his white coat and sat down.
“-and it would hurt your reputation,” Rodney said.
“No I'm not Rodney.” Carson stilled and went silent. He licked his lips wincing and blinking his eyes he seemed frustrated. “I know ye' hurtin' and I know,” he leaned forward elbows on knees but held Rodney's gaze, he clasped his own hands, wringing them “I know how horrible it is but ye' nee 'te live. For me if no one else. Please Rodney.”
“I'm trying to live! I'm trying to live healthy-or die more healthy then I would-”
“Rodney there's no such thing as dying healthy, that's a lie-” Carson mumbled so quiet Rodney couldn't catch it.
Carson huffed out a defeated sigh instead, “Rodney I know you're feelin' ill and the Chemo will take your energy and strength away but-”
“My condition may be better but I'm feelin' worse Carson.”
“Right now you're a bit depressed-”
“A lot worse-What!?”
Carson stopped, thankfully, Rodney really didn't need this right now.
Rodney shifted and looked at the worthless prescription in his hand, “right,” he glared at Carson, “here,” and shoved the damn worthless piece of paper at the quack.
“Rodney you need-”
“I need help. You can't give me that.” he slid off the table and went for his jacket, he was cold despite the fact that it was a good 70 Degrees Fahrenheit out, even more indoors.
“Rodney what's gotten into you.”
“What!?” Carson gasped, as if exasperated and unable to believe what he'd just heard, as if Rodney was suddenly a mad man.
“You heard me.” Rodney shoved his arms into his jacket and opened the door. “Oh and there is such a thing as a cross bigger then you can bear, it's called death, that's a cross bigger then you can bear! And illness that kills you! Anything that kills you is something bigger then you can bear!”
He left with out a glance back.
A/N 2: I fought with this and fought with this and FOUGHT with this. Reading it over after some time now I see that it really is bad and in NEED of a good overhaul of an edit. The chapter goes no where and says nothing. Ah! *throws hands up!* well, I'll do it later, no time now. >X-P! =-D!A/N 3: This was difficult to write, not only did I actually look stuff up but I couldn't find one damn bit of info. I needed. >X-P! Sadly there is just NO info out there for, “refusing chemo” or “when a patient decides to stop treatment” etc. etc. >X-P! So this is the BEST I could do with the ONE article I found, which terribly and sadly was ALL opinion. >X-P! Lots of help there. >X-P!.
- Current Location:Thankfully it's raining
- Current Mood:Suicidal ...
- Current Music:Exit Wounds - The Script
Comment on Oil
niffer on Chapter 9 Tue 20 May 2014 02:33AM EDT
"You asked what made your story seem different:
I don't think I've read such a realistic and painful experience as Rodney is having with the cancer. Some good stories out there with him dealing with cancer, but its been, "oh he had chemo today and had the barfs, and he's really bald now", but there's not the depth of feeling, the utter shitty-ness and horror of someone dealing with cancer like you've portrayed. John's PTSD is pretty spot on also. I have a son who has PTSD from serving 2 tours in Iraq, so this is something I'm familiar with."
There's a reason for this, it's because it's all gleamed in one way or another from my real life. I've given a FULL and LONG response to your message (wow you really make me NEED to write! *chuckle!* =-D!) and have posted it here and will on the other sites I have.
I'm also thinking of breaking FanFic.nets rules ( if it really is that good) and going ahead and posting it/this story there … maybe it's worth it, what do you think? =-)!
I'm also thinking of titling Chapter Two, Bureaucracy … I donno, what do you think about this also?
I'll be waiting for your response =-D
P.S. – Message me! I totally want you to be my BETA Reader! =-D! *Love love Hug hug Grovel Grovel! =-D!*
I started responding and it became so LONG decided to post this here, I hope it helps those out there still (or newly, old hat, etc.) suffering and at the very least lets you know you are not alone, I am just like you and many are also.
If there was something better and far more deep and profound that I could say then THANK YOU SO MUCH I would; for the moment though I am at a loss of words and the only thing I have is THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR RESPONSE. (Sorry for being so repetitive, I just can't think of what else to say at the moment, I'll try to get better at that ;-D )
I have been through some very terrible things in my life and was diagnosed with PTSD so I know what it's like. I had a TERRIBLE case of it here in 2007 or so and it lasted for a good five years. It DOES FADE, but it takes time, healing and for me a loss of memory, sadly. At this point in my life I'm thinking the fading away it's biological, the body grows older and is just not capable of reacting to things like it used to, or that's at least what has happened with me.
And I also know, from the household I'm from, what it's like to deal with sick people. My niece, while I was going through some really tough stuff (my poor sister too) was born and was EXTREMELY ILL, she was for two years on her death bead from birth. I had to care for her the first two years of her life and during that time at least the first year year and a half my poor sister was trying not to die as well. I took care of her child while my poor parents (my Mom basically) took care of my sister, so I know what it's like to not sleep ( be allowed to or able to out of terror for someone dying) for an extended period of time. I had to basically "been on watch" you could say, making sure my poor niece was still breathing and alive. She couldn't even cry properly, her "wails" were entirely silent (and she's mute as now thankfully a pre-teen) so I was required to stay awake, constantly checking and keeping my ears SHARP and OPEN 24/7 just to make sure she didn't choke and whatnot.
Also I've been EXTREMELY ILL my whole life with gut troubles, sadly no doctor has taken this seriously and I have nearly died MANY times over =-(!.
So this is where I'm getting the knowledge of the illness from and also John's PTSD.
I have read on a few websites about soldiers PTSD and I'm shocked and a bit surprised to find how similar it is. The sleepless-ness, the inability to calm down/ constantly living off adrenaline, the being awake and alert at all hours. Things just "tipping you off" as I call it, "Triggers" I guess you could call them also. The literal, being "There" instead of here. Literally seeing, feeling, smelling even the other place or time that you were in. Having to GROUND yourself by tactile sensation in the here and now in order to just get your mind to realize your HERE, N O T THERE, and that what you're experiencing is not happening. I've even had one TERRIBLE episode where I was literally "Seeing ghosts" as I called them, where I saw and FELT the people and places from before. They were white as ghosts, pale in color and obviously translucent, playing over the reality, the here and now. Like … have you seen these videos or Wall papers where one image is transposed over another, the tow playing simultaneously?
Yeah, that's what I saw and FELT. At the time I had this happen it was raining out and I had to literally get outside and get down and FEEL the ROUGH concrete beneath my hands and go out into the rain and FEEL the rain on my skin, then sit there like that out in the damn rain for a good 45 minutes before it started to fade away. My Mom and brother found me and my brother started in, saying I was lying, faking it, messed up and what not. My Mom THANKFULLY (was worried, didn't want me to get sick etc. ) but “understood” to the best of her abilities and let me be for a good 30 minutes before she tried to talk to me and get me to come in. I still couldn't and had to wait till I was ready.
Sadly my younger brother watched me go through all this and didn't understand, he really picked on me HARD and he along with my sister told me to quit acting so damn strange and weird, quit being a mental case. They both ended up deciding I was bat shit NUTS =-(! and still don't understand (Thankfully though my brother is a bit better understanding, if still not giving and still HARSH, but at least he's not like he was >X-P! It's all thanks to this article: The R Word http://www.escapistmagazine.com/articles/v
(This is where I got the neighbors and strangers not understanding John and judging him harshly. And also how and why he didn't want to tell them anything, for telling, talking about it literally causes the mind to relive the experiences. I had flashbacks at first when I started trying to write about it and found that for me this was NOT the way to deal with it. BUT I've come to find that I can deal with it through escapism, and “Other means” meaning, I can and NEED to talk about it whether it be through writing or what have you but the ONLY way I have been able to face it and deal with it has been through FICTION and the most fictional for me has been Sci-Fi, and Alien stuff. My Dad is going through that now with his going head first into Alien Abductions, for he himself went through some TERRIBLE things while he was in the navy. =-(! )
I've finally come to learn telling someone, anyone to “get over it” or “just be happy”, “Quit being so depressed” etc. etc. is like telling a mentally handicapped person to “Quit being retarded” it's just flat out … well, DUMB ( and INSULTS your own mental capacities. Basically anyone who says this is straight out stating that they are to unintelligent or ignorant, even ill-educated to understand what is going on or is wrong. So it's more HUMILIATING to the poor person saying this then you, if you've been “Insulted” in this manner or anything like it, like I have FAR to many times over now, and from my own family members. Even well meaning people and close friends can slip up like this. =-(! Especially if you become wearing on them. =-/! ) to tell someone this, and it's impossible for the other person to quit being who and what they are and how they are. ( On a side note, my poor Mom has a mentally handicapped sister and her family, school teachers etc. and even total STRANGERS would look at my Mom and tell HER to make her sister quit acting so “wrong” and to quit being retarded, “stupid” etc. . This was back in the 60's and 70's when using such language was, well it was the only words they had and they were used with all the cutting terrible-ness they imply today, so yeah. Not a great childhood for anyone involved there. =-(! )
But it DOES GET BETTER, slowly, ever so slowly and at times terribly, but it does get better. I've found even though it's not much of a consolation that all those “Ghosts” I was seeing, the flashing back, the feelings and the tactile feelings of being there instead of here; the night terrors and even night mares is all your mind trying it's BEST to figure it all out and make sense of it, put it behind and even initially at least incorporate it into your life; or figure out how it is part of your life and make sense of it in the reality you live in today, which CAN be starkly DIFFERENT, putting entirely different demands on you. This is what happened to me, I was suddenly expected to do and BE ENTIRELY DIFFERENT then the person I was before. Even to this day I am not the same person I was, but slowly ever so slowly over the years I have been getting back to who I was and the way I originally thought. The Adrenaline, tension, inability to sleep etc. has worn off and been replaced EXTREMELY SLOWLY by
softness, relaxation and ease, just wanting quiet and peace (unlike before when I NEEDED the EXACT OPPOSITE).
I've found for myself that it's your mind trying to figure out how to tie it to the here and now which you are experiencing. It seems to me that it's a survival mechanism and that it's almost as though those who are more intelligent, their minds just HAVE to make sense of the senseless, therefore the nightmares and all.
But that's just what I have figured out for myself at least.
I may have a broken mind and it's failing me now but it's still functioning as best it can and this story has been one of the many ways I have tried to make sense of my life experiences and what I've been through. Figure it out and put some purpose to it.
In the end I'm sorry for what you have been through and are going through, you're not alone and if you
OR ANYONE ELSE NEEDS TO TALK THEN CONTACT ME =-) As Red Green Said, “Were all in this together.” ;-)
P.S. – IF YOU FIND THIS HELPFUL AT ALL THEN C O P Y T H I S!!! AND SPREAD IT AROUND! Put it n every website you know, link back to it, what have you!
I WANT-heck NEED this to be spread far and wide to help as many people as possible, whoever they are where ever they are.
I know some of it may be hurtful and I don't mean for it to be, I only mean to HELP and do my best to explain what I've been through and where I'm coming from, and through this SOOTHE HEAL and possibly do my best to get the word out, THAT OUR SOLDIERS AND OTHERS DEALING WITH PTSD and UNDIAGNOSED HEALTH AILMENTS ETC. NEED TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY, NOT CONSIDERED NUTS ( cause their NOT) and HELPED.
THANK YOU ALL =-)
(Also, if this story might help then spread it around, Oil http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/c
I hope it will do far more then just being stuck in the realms of Fan Fiction and read by only the few and far between, and then only those who are into that particular kind and type of Genre-Fan Stuff/SGA And if ANYONE AT ALL is willing I'd VERY MUCH like to turn this into an INDEPENDENT PUBLISHABLE STORY that I can get out there to help even more. =-) !
Heck I'd like to raise money and make it FREE for anyone wanting to read it, right now the only way that is possible is through this Fan Fiction site. =-) )
Love you all and go in peace G.G. =-)
- Current Location:Hot Hot ...
- Current Mood:Constipated X-P!
- Current Music:NASA on the T.V.
Posted: Sun. May 18th, 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 7,050
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)
A/N: Warning you may get hungry reading this!
By the way (BTW) I've made all the food stuff here, just as stated and it really tastes GOOD, I suggest trying it. Ask me for my recipes if you want ;D!
Omg! Some of my chapters now have titles in them! Wow! ;D!
Degrees of Discrimination
IX Nine IX
“Alright alright alright,” Ford hung up he was over scheduled already. The day had not started well, he'd gotten up late and by the time he'd gotten to work for his first order it was already 5:30 a.m.
Kinsey the main co-worker Ford dealt with and the person who doled out his orders for him to deliver had screwed up, or that's what he'd thought. Entering the Farmacy there had been three orders on the counter, usually he'd have five to deliver for the whole day. He had one client for his morning run before his classes started, or that was before the whole local news thing had aired.
When Ford had come into the shop he found that it was well liked, the whole place being packed, customers getting their daily rations before work. He hadn't been in early since his last run which was a good week ago so he was surprised to find that it was so full this early in the day. At the moment though he was in too much of a hurry to care, he needed to get his one pre-dawn order before heading out. When he'd found the three deliveries waiting for him he'd gone in search of Kinsey; that was when he learned that the shop, being under such strain, had hired quite a number of new people, one of them being his new “dole-girl” as the title was named. She was the one in charge of doling out his “run” or “outside” orders he had to deliver. Ford had argued with her and found out that ever since the whole Late Night News with the local anchor had aired all Friendly shops had become so over run that they were having to send clients to competitors.
The new girl had also warned him that he was well known now and had supposedly become somewhat of a “celebrity”.
Either way, instead of having the one, hour long drive to the old man's house he was now stocked with two other orders that would take a good thirty to forty-five minutes a piece just to get it out to the waiting customers.
By the time Ford got back to the shop to check in before he headed out to his classes he was shoved one last order and it was also a half hour long drive. He nearly shrugged off his classes for the day but managed to get in to the beginning of his second class at the last minute.
By four o'clock when he was finally heading back to the Farmacy after a long day in school he was wiped out and just wanted to crash for the evening.
The day had not gone well and being recognized by a few of his clients and a couple of kids at school didn't help his mood any. It was nice but weird to have total strangers point and call out to you, a few even ran up smelling of pot, wanting an autograph. Far worse was the numerous people who walked up talking and using his name as if they knew him well and were old friends.
That one really creeped him out.
Then there were the ones who thought that merely through talking to him they could get some kid of a “good deal” on god knows what. He tried to dissuade them, let them know that he was no one special and he couldn't help them, or didn't know them at all; it didn't seem to make a difference though, they all wanted something from him.
He'd also gotten plenty of new hate and slurs thrown at him, now with the added benefit of “pot head” or “druggie” thrown in.
The only upswing that day had been his new GoogleGlass equipment. He had signed up hopeful and had thankfully been chosen to be a first line BETA tester. Ford liked new technology and was always trying to get his hands on the most cutting edge items being released to the public. Before he decided to go into law he had been studying to go into the field of computer programming and animatronics/robotics. He'd only managed to get a double bachelors in that though. It was because of this and his love for technology that his older clients had nick named him “gadget guy”. To Ford though all the new technology and knowledge was just normal everyday life. Yes it made certain things far easier but overall it was just the way the world worked.
It was kinda fun to try out the new “toys” and see if they were worthwhile; work out the kinks before anyone else dealt with them. This helped when his friends would complain about some item not working or were having a hard time assimilating the new technology. Ford could let them know how to deal with certain issues and what the new stuff was capable and not capable of. He could let them know how things were set up and functioned with the new equipment since he'd already had to deal with it or fix or figure out whatever problem it was.
When it came to the older generations, usually the clients that he served, they would be lonely and would always be wanting to talk, and since Ford was a bit shy it was a good place to start a conversation, everyone wanting to know about the stuff he had on him. The older people were always curious about what new phone he had or what “new finagled kind of techno-thingy” he was sporting. He'd usually come in and hang out for a few minutes giving them updates on his life or on what he was messing with or had discovered. He'd even had fairly long talks introducing his clients to all the “neat new things” and how to use the equipment.
When signing up to test GoogleGlass he let the company know this and told them that many of his customers, after talking to him, would eventually end up buying many of the new items he had shown off. He'd even introduced old Mr. Phil, his ancient 6 a.m. client he delivered to before the work day started, to many new things. It was a shock when one morning the old guy had excitedly ushered Ford into his house and shown him his new Apple I-Pad. They'd talked for a good hour then and Ford had shown him all kinds of things the item could do, mostly all basic stuff. He'd helped the poor old guy out on necessary items even telling him about how to connect to something “new and extraordinary called the internet”, Ford had to really work to suppress his chuckling smile on that one. He was taken aback when the old guy told him that he was having a business come over later on that week to install “a new in-teerr-net or ... whatever,” the old guy had waved his hand sighing tiredly as if it were some great burden learning this new stuff. Ford had to hold back the all out laugh at that point and offered to, after classes, come back around for a few days and help the old guy out. Phil was more then grateful and granted it wasn't that much fun but the old guy was so much like a grandfather Ford was glad to spend a bit of extra time with him.
After class Ford had raced home, he'd gotten a text telling him the new equipment had arrived and that Google had someone waiting for him. He let the Google-Guy know that he had to get to work and was in a hurry. Despite this he ended up having to spend the better part of an hour and a half finding out all the new stuff, how it all worked and how to do basically everything. By the time he got to work he was yelled at by the new girl who'd just started then the lower manager reamed him out. On top of this he had ten orders, ten; each and every one taking 25 to 30 minutes just to get the item out to the customer which meant that every order would take a good 45 minutes to an hour or close to it, without traffic. Ford shook his head and after the gryping he got he took his first order and went straight over to John's place.
John plopped down gasping and wincing from the terrible pain. His hips and legs were bugging him again, his lower back screaming out in agony. He'd had a long hard three days and things weren't getting any easier.
After far to long the pain subsided enough for him to have his brains back. He looked over the mess of paperwork and other items on his desk and started to seriously calculate upping his prices just to get some of the customers to go away.
John's place had been so damn over run no one had, had enough time for so much as a bathroom break. First thing yesterday the doors were being pounded on a good two hours before the shop was scheduled to open. Once again John had freaked going for his gun, this time positive that a mob was after his shop, that public opinion had suddenly turned and his place was one of the first few to be torn down.
It was only now, thinking back on it that he suddenly realized, he kept waiting for everything to turn and become like Afghanistan.
John leaned back putting his arms behind his head, he looked up at the ceiling, why would he be thinking like that!?
It was because the atmosphere was feeling like that.
Tense to the point of popping.
Everyone was against each other pointing fingers of blame at the very people next to them, refusing to let by goens be by gones, forgive or just plain walk away. Everyone was taking issue with the smallest most mundane things, refusing to admit that everything was either created by or run by humans and people as a whole and individually make mistakes, screw up; sometimes in small ways and areas, sometimes in huge ways and areas.
And the whole justice system was beyond gone, run by criminals for criminals, innocent victims and bystanders were being arrested, blamed for the very crimes committed against them. Their side of the story was not being told and if they were allowed a voice at all their side was spoken against and made out to be a lie or at best questionable. Even people who stopped to try and help those who were being hurt, burglarized and the like were arrested or turned into a “criminal” in the police departments eyes. Someone who stopped by to help would be taken in simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, blamed for something they had noting to do with. Their acts of good punished and their lives, names, reputations ruined simply because they saw a victim and could not stand by and let them be hurt, robbed or what have you.
It was these two things right there that made the very air vibrate with nearly igniting rage, just like over in the Arab countries.
It was terrible truly terrible …
John shifted testing his hip and legs, not yet; couldn't move just yet.
And with the legal arrest system now being a business, where cops had to arrest more on this day then they did on the exact same day the year before, and more then they did the year before that; a whole system made to up the number of arrests while causing the true-real criminals to go free. The situation was so skewed that when say, a real criminal turned themselves in, which is the point it had gotten too, the cereal murderer or what have you was not touted as “we got our man!” but hidden away; slipped quietly into the prison system, under far lesser charges. Instead of being put away for life he's in for say, bad parking tickets, or some other rot. And instead of having no parole he's let out after a good say five to seven years. While someone else who merely tried to stop and help a poor old African American lady who'd been mugged was put away in jail for life, without parole; simply because he was being a good Samaritan.
John shook his head, it was terrifying, truly horrendous and unbearable!
“Ahhhooff!” John wiped his face tilting his chair back to stare at the ceiling.
… Poverty was increasing, hopelessness was increasing, and everyone had such differing beliefs, attitudes, ideas.
And in this vacuum, this division being created was a hole that allowed extremists to pop up and flourish like weeds, and not just any old weeds. It was just like over in the dessert countries, where everyone was nuts … maybe it was the heat, maybe the heat made everyone go absolutely insane.
John looked over at his on the wall electronic thermometer that gave the inside and outside, temperatures, humidity and air pressures. The weather had been doing oddball things and that was another argument, it was clearly getting hotter but anything that could be done would merely slow down the heating process now, not stop it. John stared, dead tired having not slept for a good three days really. He'd gotten cat naps and snippets of snoozes here and there but he'd been having to work straight day and night since that damn T.V. show had aired.
God damn those darn reporters and the local news station! He plopped his chair down and sighed. It was barely 3:00 p.m. and he really needed to eat something, yeah it'd been bad to slink off home after being overrun, letting his employees deal with it all but it soon became too much.
John got up gasping and wincing, he limped over to his fridge seeing what he could do in the line of food for himself; not much, he looked at one pitiful bit of Ramen …
It was a still sealed uncooked plastic rectangle of “Chicken Flavor Yakisoba with Japanese Noodles”, why he had it in his fridge he didn't really care at the moment he was just glad it was there. He managed to find some chicken bullion and fairly good celery and green onions. He set to work scrubbing and chopping everything up. He put the veggies, bullion and all in the microwaveable container and filled it to the line with water from a water-bottle, then stuck it all in to nuke. While waiting he looked around and managed to find some possibly not too old Spring Rolls in the freezer that he'd gotten a while ago, finger food for one of his last meetings here. One of the perks to having your office in your home was that if anyone needed anything they could just get it easy and the leftovers were his to eat. John warmed up three spring rolls in his toaster oven and held the dipping sauce packet between his hands, trying to thaw it while he waited for his stuff to finish.
John leaned against the counter his mind instantly going back to what he'd been concentrating on.
One of the problems was that the side that had the most power was fighting the hardest and the loudest, saying they were morally upright and were of God and religious and, or family values. Just like the extremists over in the other countries where women couldn't drive and had to wear burkas. Their countries had become so morally upright that it wasn't even safe for women to walk the streets alone any longer, much less go anywhere without the aid of a man.
These groups in the U.S. were much like the ones over there, promising through many and various means, even the magical act of, “being right with God” that the whole of the nation would be well again, but what did they mean by well?
They always left it hanging and never answered it, they just kept harping on the same stuff and never once said anything like everyone having the money and the means to support themselves-their families. They just kept saying that the whole nation needed to “turn back to God again” and magically if everyone did this these politicians, public speakers, groups, etc. said, “everything would be good again, like it was …” but, like it was when?
John had always wondered about that, what all these people; senators, representatives, preachers and the like meant by that, it had never made sense.
Did they truly mean when slavery was alive and well, when the KKK and prohibition was all the rage, like John had been told once. Or was it something else, harking back to a time that had never existed, it was far to easy to take things from the past or even future and create them to be what you want. If no one or very few are alive from back in the day then it's easy to make the past into something it wasn't, paint it as an entirely different thing or animal. It was one of the reasons John had never liked history, as one of his friends had put it, it was written by the victors and therefore innately skewed, told from the perspective of “his” “story.” The current historians only had the old records to go upon, they couldn't decipher what really happened or what it was truly like because they hadn't been there, hadn't been alive during those times.
John figured to say that things were good back in the day was to look at the past with a tainted eye and not admit to all the greatly controlling, large to minute problems that had existed back then. Even looking to the future is a form of escapism and yes it's nice to imagine but really it does no good, unless Oprah was right and imagining your future really did cause it to become reality.
John really doubted that though.
John decided to go over and dig for some kind of a snack, his food was still burning hot, one of the problems with these dishes he'd found. Since he didn't want another burn blister on his tongue or in his mouth he went ahead and started searching for some kind of … just something.
The whole point had become to en-mass as much money as possible and the hell with everyone else, either let the other guy suffer, hurt them or even prevent the opposition from also succeeding. And that was the other problem right there, everyone was pitted against each other, no one was helping each other out. No one was coming together even in small groups to protect and defend each other, the only ones coming even close to that were the terrifying groups, neo-natzis, KKK, and others.
John found some marshmallows and butter, his cereal cabinet had Rice Krispies … Nutella.
Maybe that was why these groups were gaining so much ground now, it was he only place, like street gangs where you could actually manage some kind of protection, a slight hint of clearly false safety, even if it was tentative.
Of course the once well organized groups seem far more, well, “safe” then something as wild and nutty as a street gang; but John had never been a part of either so really he had no idea, and he didn't want to have any idea either.
John managed to hop over to his stove and took out a large pot and a nice large pan. He greased the pan then took the rest of the butter and put it in the pot turning the stove on low. He took out a spoon watching, hypnotized as the butter melted …
There was no upward mobility anymore, anywhere; heck John had to add on the Cannabis and open a Friendly shop just in order to hawk his goods, there was no way anyone would have come by-heck he'd been told not to waste his money on a sub-shop or even a soup and sub shop. You could no longer work for a business anymore and expect loyalty, in any way shape of form. You couldn't work for a company your whole life any longer, it was not only unheard of it was seen as downright wrong, almost illegal. Yet the whole of the U.S. was set up so that you were forced to open your own business instead of work for someone else. And for little shops like John's if you tried starting a small business more likely then not you were going to fail, your very investments, retirement even house and car being ripped away in order to pay for your companies debts, and there were no laws against this, protecting one or even more time business owners from such things. If the business did survive it couldn't grow, even now John was fighting, cutting prices close to the line just to get products off the shelf and sold in time. He was doing his best just to make ends meet and not close shop.
John rubbed his face, “Blah!” and shook himself trying to wake up, the butter was nearly burning and he grabbed the mini-marshmallows, quickly dumping in the whole bag, no measuring, into the pot. He stared nearly drifting off again, he really needed to change the way things were run around here. John stirred going through the steps of making Rice Krispies treats, it was methodical and helped in some way John couldn't put his finger on, like walking. Just moving and doing something that took little to no thought helped, as if his body needed to work out the problems for him, it also helped keep himself awake. After a bit John was able to pour and spread the gooey substance, he licked and ate up the scraps enjoying every bit of it.
When he was done he cleaned everything up even going so far as washing and drying it all, there was no real reason to put anything in the dishwasher. John looked down at the thing, so far he'd barely used it, the appliance only being run when he had guests over the night or day before. He barely ever got the ability to be in his own house he was so busy with his job-his shop.
Thinking about that brought him back to what he'd been contemplating earlier.
Those in power now no matter what party they represented were willing to pass any laws and do whatever it took to get a larger pay check and en-mass as much money as they could, causing poverty to increase. And because of their evil, their conscious being riddled with guilt they were seeing everyone and thing as enemies, seeing any kind of dissent as a threat to their word, authority, power or their money, etc. And their way of thinking, like mold on food or a blood disease was spreading and quickly, eating up the rest of the nation; it was terrible.
John sat down to his now late lunch it being four o'clock.
“Ahh,” he inhaled the fumes; fast, easy and so cheap it's crappy food, where would he be without it. John smiled to himself and pulled the top off his noodles the darn things still steaming hot, he folded them over, stirring to make sure everything was incorporated well. John dug into his spring rolls first and was glad that they weren't as terribly hot. As he ate he kept thinking and realized that really the current problem was that the side that had all the say wasn't letting the other side be heard much less have their ideas be done. They weren't even allowing pockets of dissenting opinions and life styles to exist. They were out to, “tear down the opposition” as they themselves had said. They were radical, refusing to give or compromise at all; even giving up any pretense of playing fair with any kind of opposition. (Heck they'd just taken out one of their own with a bridge debacle since he wasn't a radical like them and had a chance of being voted into office by the very opposite party.) In the 80's and even 90's lip service, which was just as bad, would have been applied liberally like a slave to help an especially nasty jagged pill go down smoothly, and compromise was big but now, now everyone and thing was in absolutes, there was no compromise especially with the side that thought God was on their side.
It was just like Afghanistan, the parties in power were spouting religious or moral absolutes, saying they were in the right, and the peoples rights were being ripped away. Everywhere John looked he saw people being oppressed and on the verge of doing something, anything, to relieve their pain, their daily-weekly-monthly torture.
The worst part was that the religious, the “morally upright”, the ones who were shouting the loudest and making the most fuss were also the ones inciting and igniting upset and chaos; they were poking, tilting, pushing everyone and thing to the edge of rioting, it was terrible.
John pulled at his chin itching the stubble there, he would have to shave when he was done with dinner, or lunch whatever he as having now. It didn't take too long and John was done, he took care of the recyclables and trash then sat down to have one last treat, a Rice Krispies Treat, yumm! He took the Nutella and cut the gooey stuff into skinny perfect finger food type bars. He popped the jar open and dipped the sugary bar into the Nutella, savoring the pick me up.
“Mmmmuugh!” God it was good!
When he was done he got up going to shave. Thankfully his office was also his house so scrubbing up was no big deal. It felt great to be able to have meetings right in his living room, the atmosphere calming him down and letting him know if any clients were a good match. So far it had helped him get some pretty close friends, most would come over to do work and would end up staying for a long time enjoying his company.
Granted it was a cheap shot, doing what he could through business to get friends and companions, or at least people to hold a few light conversations with.
When John got in the bathroom he decided what the hell and took a shower shaving himself to squeaky clean, “Ahh!” it felt great!
When he got out he dried off and collected his old clothes then got sucked into straightening out his place.
John pulled at his chin then winced at the sting, he went and slathered chap stick on … God what a relief! Afterwards he looked down and almost tried to do his whole body but then thought better of it. He went in search of his lotion, scrounging around but wasn't able to fin any, he wondered if he ever had any to begin with. John righted himself his back giving out a sharp pain, “Gaw!” He winced and started shuffling back over to his kitchen chairs when his back door, or was it technically his front door he could never really figure that out, was knocked on.
John made his way over and was surprised to see Ford there, it was a bit early but it was also odd for John to not be in the shop at this time of day. John opened the door after stepping back from the pep hole, Ford had probably been out front asking for him.
“Hey.” John smiled at the kid-guy, he had to remind himself that Ford was a young man and not a little brother or kid sibling. The youth had always struck John as his responsibility and therefore his closest friend. He was one of the first few people John had taken into his heart, as much as he denied it. … John had learned the value of keeping everyone at arms length and not letting anyone in or close. If people got close they died, or hurt you in one way or another, either way it was best to stay away even if you were in close physical proximity.
John looked Ford over, “What's that on your-”
“Oh! It's GoogleGlass! Here!” the kid-man, young man, John remained himself again, popped the glasses off his face and started to shove them onto his head.
“Here-wait!” John took them and put them on.
“Okay see the...” Ford went through everything showing off his neat new toy. John was thrown off but it kinda impressed him. At the moment it seemed more gimmicky then anything else but he could definitely see how wiring up his shop and passing these out to all his employees could really make things faster and easier for everyone. Heck, they wouldn't even have to text each other they could just send a video or audio feed and ask directly, even if they were on the other side of the state.
“Yeah! Isn't it great man! Here-gimmeit.” Ford wiggled his fingers getting John to disengage.
John chuckled and handed it back.
“So is this what you been doing lately?”
“Yeah-well, this just came today,” Ford deflated and he looked down.
“What's wrong ?”
“Dude...” Ford bit his lips together and looked up, he wasn't sure how to ask this one … wow must be pretty heavy.
“Here sit.” John pulled out a chair but Ford hesitated, “have you been getting more customers then usual lately?” Ford lifted his head and the glasses in his hand as if reaching out to John.
“Here, sit down,” John patted the table top, “sit down.” he winced at his own voice, he sounded like his mother, God. He couldn't help it, Ford, despite his age; he just brought out something in John, he couldn't help himself. No matter when or where if Ford needed him or wanted help John would drop what he was doing and try to fix whatever problem the poor kid had. He got very protective and parental around the young man and … well, it was just darn weird, John leaned back frowning at himself, at a loss. He'd never felt like a parent before and had never wanted kids, he didn't have the patience for them and was too darn selfish to spend all his now extremely precious energy, time and strength on caring for a kid; but Ford, Ford … it was odd, his very mind and, it was like body-his biology made an exception for him. He didn't know why, there as just no reason for it; unless he was longing for that which he had never had, what his brother did have; a happy family. John had the joy of witnessing his brother's home, his three kids and wife interacting-loving eachother and each others company; how they hadn't fought and hated-despising each other like John and his siblings had when they were growing up.
No it seemed that John's brother had a very healthy, happy family life and John had terribly been on the outside of it. The whole time John had been living with his brother, which was only a few months, he'd not been allowed to be a part of his brother's family, to truly get close, interact; to be a part of it. It'd been terrible, like being on the outside of a glass wall, his face pressed tightly against the impenetrable division as if he could, through osmosis or some chemical or other means, inhale; imbue the acceptance and caring he saw there and was not allowed to be a apart of; to have.
It was like John was trying to draw in, through the very invisible wall the love he needed so badly and just wasn't allowed to imbue.
John shook himself, trying to come back to the here and now; at least he had figured out the reason that he was doting on his friend so much, he was trying to create a family in whatever means and ways possible. John shook his head again coming back to the conversation at hand.
Ford looked at him, “I donno what to do.”
“You said ten orders?”
“Yeah, on top of the five I had this morning.”
“Crap.” John pulled at his chin. It was against Federal law to have more then one ounce of marijuana in your possession so the carriers or “delivery boys” could only process one order at a time, if they were pulled over carrying even a millionth of an ounce more then they'd be in federal prison for life, no parole. John wagged his head, the laws were just plain ridiculous, they needed to be overturned, wiped away, it was impeding business. Heck it was the main reason he'd decided to not allow deliveries, carry out or even a dive through window, which would have been an option if he'd chosen the store on the end of the strip mall. The whole thing was literally prohibition all over again and it was just plain wrong, ruining lives for no reason, creating gangs and danger-deaths everywhere. Heck prohibition was the reason gangs had taken a hold so well and thoroughly in America at the turn of the century and it was the same now, with the pot and drug wars. It was literally creating and fueling the problem, the cops, judges and whole system created the problem and then cleaned it up, they got you coming and going it was terrible.
If things were going to really get cleaned up then instead of making drugs illegal it should be legalized and strongly taxed and regulated, with in and inch of it's life. John knew that if you truly wanted to kill something then just tax the hell out of it, the taxes made the item unsavory for businesses and the customers, causing everyone to go elsewhere, or just do without. And in the mean time the local and surrounding economies got rich off the tax money, overall it was a win situation, there was so lose. Money would be coming in, people wouldn't be overdosing from “hot hits”, or items that killed being mixed into something that should be safe and mundane. Gangs would be instantly eliminated, no more killings over something as small and worthless as a “dime of …” well anything.
And best of all anyone who had a problem with drugs, addiction, all the money could go to much needed rehab centers and shrinks, along with helping people reconstruct their lives and get on their feet. A boom of jobs would be created and the states would have a surplus of money, which could go to the poor and jobless, even homeless.
More then likely though all the money and tax revenue would only end up lining those in power's pockets, representatives, senators, governors and everyone else with a big title or on the take in the state capitols. … Really there could be a lot said for keeping money out of their hands and pockets. Heck they were already being paid far to much, voting in easily and smoothly their own pay hikes, raises and vacations; while they cut everyone else's pay and eliminated vacation time. The state lottery that had just recently been instituted not five years ago now, instead of it going to the schools like it was supposed to, or even the winners, it was going to legislators pockets, not even one child had been helped by that money.
John shook his head.
“Hey man.” Fords voice broke in.
“Huh?” John looked over at his young friend.
“You've been really distant tonight, what's wrong?”
“Oh!” John stretched popping his shoulders and shifted, “ohhh...” he scratched, “I guess … I'm just too darn tired. Sorry man.” he rubbed his face.
“No what's goin' on.”
John looked up, Ford's face was full of concern. A chuckle popped out, John couldn't help it, he was shocked to find his own concern, his own words thrown back at him, Ford was mirroring him exactly, it was so darn odd! He smiled large and wide despite himself, “it's okay, it's okay. I'm just tired and my minds running,” he motioned with his hand, “you know how it is when you get tired, trying to solve all the worlds problems in one night.” He looked at Ford, smirking wide.
“Ahh...” Ford nodded, frowning and clearly lost.
“My own shop has been over run, everyone's coming in at once. Hell!” John sat up, “I was just thinking how I could up the prices just enough to convince a few customers to go elsewhere,” he smirked.
“Yeah I had no idea-you know it was cause of that damn New Local News thing?”
“Yeah that's what I heard-” John said.
“Everyone was calling my name when I got to school,” Ford said.
“Yeah! Hell one of my teachers even called me out, said that 'Mr. Celebrity was here-too important to get to class on time.' ”
“Shit-head,” John said.
“I'll say,” Ford said.
They got into it then, having a very in depth chat with time slipping away. it was something John didn't even realize he'd been needing, for a long time now he'd been needing a good chat, like stretching his legs with a long walk after being cramped up for a full week, it'd been too long, far to long.
Ford got to the shop and swung by John's place to see if there was anything he could do for him. He usually stopped by to try and lend a hand but today things had been so bad and rushed that instead of helping he ended up getting help. He was glad for it and talked for a bit with John Sheppard the shop owner, letting the guy know about his troubles and getting some good advice, it really soothed his nerves and upped his spirits a lot.
“I donno I had no idea.” Adrian Ford ran his fingers over his hair, he sat hugging the back of a turned around chair tilting it as John sat opposite him and leaned back in his own hard wooden seat.
“Yeah I'm kinda surprised, here I thought yesterday was a fluke-my new creation actually was that good. I had no idea.”
“Yeah well, I just found out about it today.”
“From who,” John said.
“Amy,” Ford said.
“She's helping out Kinsey, just got hired, they measure out the items and set stuff up to be sent out,”Ford said.
“Oh. Huh. How many orders-”
“Yeah! I had four this morning and then I came in tonight and they had ten waiting for me and-”his pocket buzzed. Ford picked it up looking at the text and typing. “I got five more-what the crap.”
“Yeah I'll say.” Ford finished his response and huffed shoving the phone back into his pocket. “I told them I'm in college-I took the job cause it would allow me to study.”
“Yeah I know...” John pinched his lips together biting and twisting them. “Have you asked them to hire on more-”
“No an' I don' dare-”
“Why not.” John nonchalantly shrugged, he leaned back playing it cool.
“Cause...” Ford gave him a look.
“How about I try talking to 'em,” John shrugged again as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
“I was actually wondering if I could come work for you-I need ta' sleep.” Ford stood up and turned the chair around sliding it so that it was put away.
“Actually!” John stood himself stretching, “I'd like that.” John walked around his kitchen table and patted Ford on the shoulder, “If it gets to be too much you can come work for me okay?” He squeezed and smiled big and genuine at Ford.
Ford smiled back, “alright man, thanks.” He nodded and grabbed John the both giving each other big manly back pats.
“I gotta go man.”
“You really gonna open another store?”
John paused and leaned back, “I donno.”
Ford waited a beat.
“I donno... I'll think about it.” John stepped back patting Ford's back.
“Well, we could really use it around here.”
“Well,” John chuckled, “if you come to work for me then you'd be my tech guy, not a runner.”
“That's great!” Ford beamed at him, he loved technology, “well, I gotta go.” It was already a good hour and a half gone and if he didn't hurry he wouldn't get the one order out that he had with him. Ford knew when he got into work that evening that there was no way all the orders were going to be delivered tonight. There was a nine o'clock cut off point when the store wouldn't deliver to customers homes after that hour and with how many deliveries he'd been handed Ford would have had to work all night just to get them filled.
There was just no way at all.
“Alright. Drive safe Adrian.”
“I will. Thanks John.”
“You're welcome.” John smiled at him, Ford could feel John watch him as he left.
- Current Location:Kitchen Table =-)
- Current Mood:Suicidal
- Current Music:T.V. quietly playing, THANKFULLY
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)
A/N:Well, I'm back just as I said I would be, I just want to say a big and hearty thank you to everyone for sitting through that impromptu hiatus and I hope to get this done soon. =-)
For the first time in his life Rodney slept soundly that night and didn't wake up once. He laid down for just a minute the soft soothing darkness taking him and rolled over to find that it was an hour before his alarm was set to go off.
Rodney sat up, it was 9:30 a.m.
He hadn't twitched and jerked awake in torturous pain.
It was the first time in an eternity that he hadn't been ripped from sleep every fifteen minutes to an hour by his nerves either prickling him with sharp needles or the overall shudder. He called them “waves” and they would roll over his whole form in a frigid sear causing him to go rigid with what felt like a sharp and terrible knife like freezing or burning. It would start somewhere in his body usually his shoulder or leg and then spread, like liquid made of pins and needles, one after another each and every wave would come, sometimes one on top of another.
Not knowing what else to do or think at the moment Rodney got up and went about getting ready for work.
He was half way through when it hit him, he was whistling … in the shower no less. He blinked and chuckled ever so slightly, he hadn't been this relaxed and on the verge of happy since … heck since he was in his 20's and pre-cancerous, it was great! He washed his hair using a bit more pressure then usual then went through the trouble of actually getting down and taking care of several other items he usually ignored, one being the cracks and crevices between his toes. It was liberating to move again and the feeling of being competent was just … beyond words.
It was a new life.
By the time he was out of the shower he was more then squeaky clean for once and actually felt reborn, like an old building given a second chance.
Rodney puttered around quickly getting his things together, he hadn't felt this well in a long time. While packing up he noticed that it was sunny, something else he hadn't noticed in a while and that there were leaves on the trees now, brushing against his bedroom window. Granted he lived in a two room one bathroom apartment, more of a shit hole then anything else but it had been a long while since he'd noticed the new beginnings of spring, much less the bright happiness of a bird chirping outside his window.
“Wow,” Rodney put his hands on his hips and looked around. His place was a mess and really since he was probably fired or would be soon why not just take the day off.
Rodney thought it over and decided he really shouldn't. Hurrying he shoved the rest of his items in his briefcase and then it hit him, he'd like to eat. … Actually he was really kinda hungry, maybe a muffin would be nice. The thought of going down to the corner Starbucks flitted through his mind and he instantly dismissed it. The last time he'd eaten there he'd gotten sick, granted it was possibly because it had also been the day, or week he couldn't recall now, of his first treatment but still, just the very thought of the local Starbucks upset his stomach. He righted himself and looked over his apartment again, maybe a day off was exactly what he needed.
Rodney made a decision and set to work, flipping his phone open.
The next day arrived bright and early and John got up wincing from the pain of it all. His masterpiece from the night before had been ruined and now he was going to have to create a second batch from scratch along with trying to figure out what in the world he was going to do with the original one.
The sky was gray and overcast (usual for predawn) and that terrible frigid loneliness howling down his neck shivering him to the bone was back. John shook, the banshee in the back of his soul howled making the still atmosphere seem open and as if he was in free-fall.
Why would he be feeling like this, then it hit him;
Never before had John slipped like he had last night and made the mistake of telling a total stranger what his problem was.
That was why his past was bothering him today.
Initially after the diagnosis, when he'd been living in that little hole in the wall apartment his brother rented for him, he'd made the mistake of trying to tell a few people. His neighbors had knocked on his door several times wanting to know what the ruckus was, John had tried to tell them that he had night terrors and he was sorry. No one was impressed and mostly they just saw John as making excuses or lying. It was when they didn't understand that John tried to explain to them what the shrink had told him, but it had gone so terribly that he was taught to never mention it again and to just lie his ass off.
John was quickly re-taught how lying actually made life far better, far far better.
It still bugged him though and there was this nasty little part of him that demanded to be able to spill his guts and just wail out all of his problems to the very air itself, as if some great god was listening to him and would care enough to answer him.
John knew better now but in the past he hadn't, having to learn the hard way, through experience. Every time he'd asked for something he'd gotten the exact opposite, like the incident that finally taught him to never pray again. He'd made a terrible mistake of befriending a dog for a while when he was homeless. It'd been sick and sliding fast, then it'd gone delirious or something and had been hit by a car. It'd been old, far to old, but for a few months it had been John's only friend. He'd told that dog a lot, shared his soul with the animal and the poor thing had stuck by him, even baring it's teeth and more or less barking off several people who were trying to do John harm.
When John had finally made it over to the poor animal after it was hit … well … he'd poured out his soul knowing, just knowing God heard him.
The damn dog died that minute, with it's head in John's lap.
It was after this that he knew prayer might not be a good thing, and maybe he should stop.
So it was with shock and a sudden overtaking need that he gasped out, “God save me,” when he'd seen him come into the shop.
So far except for the caustic loneliness that was literally sapping his will to live and very strength John had had a pretty good day. One of his employees, the strawberry haired girl, had figured out that he should just take candy molds and turn his base from the night before into cheap “holiday” pops, or little trial samples. John had thought this was a great idea and went ahead with it even coming up with far better and more ideas, by the time he was creating his third base for the day he'd already figured out a whole new line of items to make with just the smooth chocolate cream alone. Never before had he thought of using it as is, presenting it as some kind of finger candy or even a “light”, weight conscious product. It was this and many more ideas that were buzzing through his mind when the damn guy from last night walked in.
John had never told some random stranger what his problem was the only people who knew about it were his brother and his wife, and she only knew bits and pieces so it was a bit more then rattling to see Mr. Uptight come walking into the store the next day. He was carrying a bouquet of flowers and had what might pass as a smirk on his face.
John hadn't expected that one.
He watched closely as the guy sauntered around, his eyes twitching side to side as if looking for someone. John slipped into the back hoping he could let one of his cashiers take care of it. He really couldn't deal with it right now.
Mr. Uptight as John had decided to call him was the kind of guy who pointed fingers, took names and kicked ass never getting to the truth or caring what was really going on. He was the kind of person who rather then admit he'd done anything wrong would say that someone else was the cause of some kind of catastrophe that had just happened. He was the kind of guy who would rather point fingers of blame then stop and try to fix a situation as it was. John had run into far to may like Mr. Uptight in his life, hell it was those kinds of people who'd court martialed him, caused him to sit in prison for far too long while his sanity seeped away.
John shook himself, he had a business to run and right now that meant getting as far away from Mr. Uptight, or should John call him Mr. Trouble as possible, right now.
“Oh hey!” terribly the guy spotted him and waved his finger making a bee line to John, “I just wanted to say I'm sorry about the ruckus I made last night and I just wanted to apologize-here!” the guy beamed up at him from his slumped position.
John looked down, “flowers?”
“Well,” Mr. Uptight looked down at the bouquet in his hands, “ah-there really for the shop. I felt guilty and was worried I had left the place a mess,” he turned looking around, “which I can't really tell ...” he turned back to John.
There was a far to awkward pause and Mr. Uptight rocked side to side on his feet, “here.” he shoved the flowers, a lush and wide mess of tropical wild flowers from the looks of it, into John's hands.
At least he liked tigerlillys, John had never seen tigerlilly's come in such a wide variety of colors, nor so bright. He bent his nose to sniff not trusting them, they seemed painted; odd.
John caught movement out of the top of his eye and righted himself to find that the guy had straightened up a bit and was smiling … almost beaming at him.
John bent his head unable to hold back the sheer humiliation, he could feel his face going hot and then the darn need to chuckle started to bubble up, he rubbed the back of his neck.
“God this is so not...” he chuckled out loud despite himself and smiled at the guy hoping he'd get the gist of the whole situation.
It looked gay, gay as all get out, it was embarrassing especially since he wasn't nor was he guy-unless …
“Oh ah hey!” John waved his hands blind with being flustered, then noticed that the flowers got bent and bits and pieces were falling to the floor. John turned racing to put them in water and get the floor cleaned up. “it's no problem forget about it!” he shouted over his shoulder. He needed to clean up the mess fast before someone slipped and tried to sue.
When he made it back the guy was thankfully gone and really it was good thing since there was more then enough work to be done, John's new treats were a bit hit.
From the beautiful blush and the obvious happy chuckle to the clear embarrassment … Rodney had only gone over to try and apologize not to hit on the poor guy.
He knew how horrible he could be to deal with, more then enough nurses had clued Rodney in to this fact.
He hadn't known what to get a shop or business in order to apologize properly, he'd chosen on the easy to discard if unwanted flowers, they seemed the most safe route to go; that was until he'd had to hand them over to the shop owner, another man. … God maybe it was a good thing he'd gotten a call.
His phone buzzed again and Rodney ignored it, it stood to reason the only day he'd taken off in his entire working life that had truly and entirely been for pleasure was interrupted. Granted he'd taken days off when he'd first been getting treatment, but as time grew on and he'd gotten used to the sharp stomach then full body aches and dry heaving onto his shoes, he'd learned to ignore it.
Rodney's phone went off again but he was nearly at school so there was no need to answer it. Granted it was for a new piece of equipment and he'd asked to be contacted when it came in.
The rest of the day was spent in semi-crancky bliss, helping haul equipment in and placing it, setting everything up so that his students and the staff could make sure it was all in place and get it working properly.
He got a few looks and at one point the lowly furniture mover guy as Rodney deemed him in his mind, had glanced at him then over at his co-worker, seeming to say, “Whoah.” Rodney's arms had been in the air, trying to hold up some stuff, and he'd been shaking pretty badly.
Thankfully no one had said anything and he'd gotten away with it all but still, the stares were starting to get to him. It was as if everyone suddenly decided to take notice of his gray and drawn appearance, a few students and even one staff member offering to take something for him. He refused every time not wanting them to think him ill but it wasn't working.
By the time half the day was gone he was starting to really run out of any kind of life he'd had and everyone was talking behind his back. A few had mentioned how he'd possibly lost a bit of weight and how skinny he was, “unable to carry all that stuff”.
Unless he could come up with some kind of an excuse quick there would be wild and entirely wrong (or more then likely right) rumors flying around … really he should just prepare himself for the end now.
Rodney nodded to himself deciding, he'd figure out some way to write up a resigning letter and figure out how he could bow out with out being looked down upon.
It took all day to carry in and set everything up in the general area's it was going to go and Rodney had no idea what he was in for, if he had he would have delegated nearly all the work and just stayed home, despite the wonderful new science items.
That night Rodney didn't sleep, he was dead tired his body weeping for the wonderful escape of sleep but it was not to be. A burning ache was beginning, it wasn't until after 4:44 a.m. that he finally managed to doze off.
When the next morning rolled around the sun wasn't shining and the birds were not chirping, or at least in Rodney's world they weren't. Rodney opened his eyes at 10 a.m. his alarm ripping him from blissful escape his room was black as night and the sky outside was gray, or that's what he figured. In truth he didn't really know, he was blind with pain.
His whole being was stiff to the point of being immobile and when he finally got himself to sit up he realized that there was light coming in his window, it looked pale and gray. Pain had once again sapped any and all of his joy. It took all Rodney had to slither himself out of bed and then on hands and knees crawl to his bathroom. He lay there for a good hour or so curled up in a fetal position gasping he was so tortured, tears were streaming down his face choking him when he tried to move.
Once he was able to bear it he got himself onto his knees then stood, he grabbed the Aspirin-cream and stripped his clothes from the day before off (he'd never even had a chance to get undressed, not like it mattered anymore or ever really had ) and managed to get himself into the tub.
He turned the water on hot as he could stand and sat there waiting till his muscles weren't as tight as bow strings anymore. It took a good several minutes but he was soon able to draw the shower curtain closed and after the hot water ran out he crawled out and slathered himself down.
It as after this that he finally crawled back to bed and decided that he was not going to even attempt calling in for the day.
If anyone called him or tried to get angry about him not calling in sick then he didn't care.
Closing his eyes he gave in to the allergy he had to aspirin, another gift from god, or really his damn genes. The atmosphere went silent his ears sliding into that pressurized needing to pop feeling. Sound became fuzzed, like an old analogue T.V. set, one could say the sound was like holding a sea shell up to your ear, muffled and as if the air currents were rushing by making a growling hissing roar.
Rodney's ears began to ring blocking out the call from his one acquaintance at work, Zelinka.
It didn't matter though, Rodney was dead to the world, his allergies and pain taking him down into darkness.
- Current Location:Indoors - Kitchen Table
- Current Mood:Annoyed
- Current Music:Silence for once, Ahh <-D
Title: X-Files Scully's WishPosted: Saturday April12th, 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Fandom: X-Files Pairing: Scully/Mulder
Word Count: 921
Disclaimer: None needed (Seriously all these old people, their too far behind, do you really think they'd be posting Fan Fiction on their own stuff? And would they really be posting it on a site like this? Huh? Out in the open? …
Okay I gotta quit doing these darn disclaimers their pissing me off, royally. >X-P! )
Just like I promised an A-Sexual written Sex Scene/PWP … or my first attempt ever at one.
Lets just say it didn't work out. =-/!
This isn't anything that I wanted and didn't get to what I wanted it to get to, the SEX damnit!
But it came out as is, like this and it's perfect, so I'm posting it as is.
Read and be happy.
Maybe not satisfied, but at least mesmerized. ;-D! *two thumbs up!* :-D!
(I also had NO idea for a title, this was the best i could whip out at the last minute. ;D )
Have you ever wanted to kiss the insanity outta someone? Well I have.
I don't know what it was maybe it was the relentless constant companionship, the fact that no matter what I could not be rid of Mulder. Maybe it was because I gave in far to early and like he wanted gave up any and all attempts at having a personal or life at all outside of our cases. Whatever it was the more I hung out with the darn agent the more I had an overwhelming need to protect him, to care for him; to take him and claim him as mine and mine alone.
I don't know when the jealousy started, that seemed to start sometime after his did. I know he was jealous of the one date I had in those early years. I had managed to snag a date with a wonderful man who was a friend of my sister's friend. … Or something like that, I can't even recall his name now.
I do recall being a bit disgusted with the fact that there was a past woman in his life, and enraged even betrayed for him by the fact that she'd hurt him-messed him up so badly when it came to dating. Maybe this was why he kept pushing me and anyone else away whenever anyone got close.
All I know is that I can clearly recall the day I looked over at him and needed to take him right then and there.
Make him scream and whimper, plead and beg.
Make him say he was mine and mine alone and that he was dedicated to me and would not stray, not look at another.
The day that happened we were riding along in the back seat of our fellow employees car going to one of those mandatory retreats. It was meant to built team cooperation and hep everyone think as one, move and work as a smoothly functioning unit instead of fighting and slowing things down. He'd leaned over, hands tightly clasped between his legs, as though tied up, and said, “shoot me now,” giving his boyish smirk to let me know he was joking.
I gasped my world freezing in that instant.
In my eyes I saw him leaning towards me begging me, at my mercy; I couldn't help it, it's who I am and I have fought a good and long hard fight.
That night instead of getting to do what I wanted to, taking him to a hotel and tying him down; making him beg and writhe with in an inch of his life.
Making him come so many times he was sore and nearly broken the next day, barely able to walk; instead we ended up out in the woods, his enthusiasm to chase after literal ghosts (of his dead sister, if you were to put it into Psychological terms) once again ruined it.
My libido got another swift kick and I was glad that we never got to that retreat, that conference … because if we had I wouldn't be responsible for what I would have done with him.
With us that night.
God it would have been great though.
“Scully what ware you writing!?” Mulder called from across the office.
“Oh!” Scully shut her laptop, “nothing.”
Mulder waked up to the desk and laid out the old blue prints, “I think if we...” he started to ramble on about another case, another lead, “if we search this area then we should get it.” he smiled down at Scully.
She paused and looked up at him, “um, hmm.”
“You're kinda distracted, what is it?” He gave a knowing smirk, as though he could tell what was going through her mind.
Like their usual game she ignored it, “nothing.”
“Everything's okay?” he pulled the paper up and started rolling I back up.
“Yeah, just fine.”
“So you're coming along right?”
Scully paused and looked up at him, chin resting on her fists, “yeah. …. yeah.” She nodded, Anywhere Mulder, anywhere with you.
- Current Location:Indoors - Kitchen Table
- Current Mood:Stressed! >X-P!
- Current Music:Dishwasher
Title: Oil Chapter Title: Chapter VII- SEVEN
Posted: , March 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis Pairing: John/Rodney
Chapter Rating: PG Chapter Category: Gen
Word Count: 3,305
Chapter Summary: Rodney and John meet, sparks fly.
Disclaimer: Refer back to the top of the page on the Prologue or First Chapter, here: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)
A/N2: Some incidents occurred and I have a few announcements to make.
I didn't want to address this but needs to be dealt with.
Real life has reared its ugly head and I am unable to ignore it any longer. :-/! I am pressed for time so bluntness is the most expedient way for me to deal with the matter at hand, please forgive me if I am a bit crass and offer T.M.I. for I do not mean to. (Too Much Information)
I have a dear and close friend who is going through some very tough medical things right now and needs my help. Because of my own struggles with depression and the slight falling out I had with her upon finding out how ill she really is I did not write for a while on this story. New events have caused me to pick it back up here, mainly the greatly encouraging comments, though they may be few they were what I needed to continue.
Thank you all, it's amazing how such a small thing can help out so much :-) X's and O's to all of you :-) But because of this for the next 3-5 weeks I'll be posting only on the weekends, so check in every Sat. and Sun. for updates and most of that will more then likely be PWP items.
I desperately NEED everyone's encouragement and comments on what I post here and on these items especially. I'm an A-Sexual and have studied sex and all the stuff that goes with it. I am now trying my best at “applying” what I have learned and the first step is writing about it. (Like a paper at the end of college, the first step is writing.) So PLEASE let me know if I am getting it right.
Let me know if what I am writing is enjoyable and if you feel so inclined what I may have written correctly or you loved the most. If anyone has any critiques at all then PLEASE I BEG of all of you to LET ME KNOW. Only through criticism will I grow as a writer and I DESPERATELY NEED THIS. (Unfortunately everyone seems to rather like being mute or praising, which I'm more then for. ;-D, the praising that is, I NEED the ego boost to say the least, but it also doesn't help me grow. :-/! )
Anyway, that's it.
PLEASE show your support for my writing by clicking the Kudos button or better yet letting me know what you liked about it, or how it made you feel. :-)
Every comment, share, like etc. etc. is a BIG Pick-Me-Up for TactlessTruth ( and me =-) ) so PLEASE show your support by reading this fiction and spreading the word to any and all communities and people who might like to read it also.
Thank You and may you be blessed =-)
When John got to the door he found it was only one skinny ill looking middle aged man. He was hunched, drawn and bald, his eyes deep in his sockets and dark as if he hadn't slept for a whole lifetime or longer. He was pale and shook like he had some muscle disorder, his fist knocking on the metal part of the door. John couldn't tell if he was purposefully pounding away or if the man was unable to control his movements, his hand jerking despite himself.
John walked up to the door, the man babbling so fast he was incoherent, and unlocked it doing his best to be polite.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I need ...” this actually gave the guy pause, he licked his lips his mouth hanging open for all of a few seconds. John could see that his teeth weren't perfect, one overlapping another and his top teeth, there was a bit of a gap there; not as big as Letterman's but it was still present.
“I donno what I need, just give me something I'm about to die here!” the guy waved his hand and bent his head more or less ramrodding his way past John and into the shop.
“Ahh, actually were close-”
“You're sign says open till ten or are you deaf and blind-” the guy pointed, “and I'm not about to be refused simply because I don't have some quacks card stating that I need the shit you sell here. And since it's now free a for all I suggest you pony up!”
John blinked and put his hands up taking a step backwards, “ahh,” he didn't know if this was a robbery but that sure sounded like it.
After a few seconds the guy actually shuffled over to a seat and plopped down deflating as he did so.
“Oh my God!” he rubbed his back, “do you know how long-I can't believe I can't stand up for a measly ten minutes now with out-” he cut himself off his head snapping up to glare at John. “I thought you were gonna get me my order,” he frowned.
John's felt his own brows jump, “what,” he turned his ear towards the guy and frowned one brow at him. This guy was nuts, great just what John needed tonight, some insane asylum escaped druggie needing a high.
“I want the best of whatever you've got-here...” the man reached around and John nearly dived for his gun, which again didn't exist anymore.
“This should be enough,” sick guy took out a wad of bills, mostly fifty's and twenty's, and piled them onto the table, “infact just charge it,” he took out a credit card and dropped it on top of the pile, “I don't care anymore if I lose my job-I've lost it anyway with what I said tonight so really the last thing I'll have going for me is getting high.” the guy grumped like John's great-grandfather and turned away. John squinted and took in the man's profile, infact if he didn't know better the guy did look like his great-grandfather, smelled a bit like him too; but only after his treatments, or what-have-you; right before the man died. But he had lived a good year, year and a half before-
“Alright, I know what I said earlier and how I'm allergic to everything and yes I might just be allergic to your stuff too. But really don't worry about it-what I said earlier,” the man waved his hand over the pile of money in front of himself, “I'm in so much pain right now that a heighten allergic reaction and going via-how did that guy off X-Files put it?” the man actually put his finger to his bottom lip and struck a thinking pose, “auto-erotic-asphyxiation; is actually better then what I'm experiencing right now. So if I do keel over in your store you won't be blamed for it. If you really want just give me the damn stuff and you'll never and I swear-” he cut his hand through the air, “never hear from me again. And don't worry, I don't have any kind of family or friends of any kind so you won't have to worry about people out for revenge or blood or whatever,” the guy finished sighing like he was suddenly about to puke and leaned forward putting his elbows on the table top. He let his forehead drop into his hand and wrung his head.
“You know it's odd, I always thought it was so terrible to go bald, and that the cause was because I was wringing my hair … You never know how much you need to wring your own hair until it's gone,” he chuckled and then turned to look at John. “What.”
John just stood there, then had the great need to ask, 'what's wrong with you.' but he thought better of it. The man's eyes narrowed anger igniting in them.
Before John got a chance to decide if he wanted to serve the guy or not the man started babbling again, this time getting even more angry then he was before.
Not knowing what else to do John turned and went into the back. He grabbed up one of the small measuring cups he'd created for the half an ounce servings and scooped up the chocolate he'd been working on. It was made with pot-butter which was a creation of his own, the chocolate also had it's own pot mixed in. He had combined the two, the next step would have been mixing in some more marijuana along with other ingredients. This was the base mixture that he used to create his fine confectioneries, boxes of bon-bon's and melt in your mouth fudge, along with fruit dipped and drizzled in this and white chocolate.
Usually this base wouldn't even be touched until he was done perfecting it, and the items he made with it were far more fancy then this.
John was so flustered and upset he just grabbed up a scoop of the stuff and shoved it into a plastic dipping cup, popping a lid on.
Never before had he stooped so low as to give a customer a raw unfinished product.
John marched back out front and slapped the container down in front of the guy. He spun and walked away,“don't let the door hit'yeah'ass!” he waved over his shoulder hoping the guy would get the hint.
John was in the back before he heard the guy making noise again.
John heard the chair scrape, stuttering across the floor and winced, he'd made sure the feet of the damn things were capped so they wouldn't screech when slid across the tiled floor. To make any kind of noise with those damn things you really had to press hard and work on it.
“Don't you want me to pay for it!?” the guy sounded like he was shuffling, yes shuffling his way into the back. John scrunched his face up upset with himself for not installing a proper door in the place. The doorway between the back preparation area and the front customer area was a two person wide archway with counters on either side.
“Keep it!” John waved him off.
“No! As contradictory as this is I don't want to get arrested for not paying for the stuff-an' don't you have a profit margin or some such crap to deal with-” the guy changed mid breath, “of course I don't want to get caught paying for it either if I get pulled over leaving here.” The guy slapped his hand over the top of the tiny container and looked around as if he or the item in his hand was about to be ripped away. “Actually can I just eat it here-just in case. I don't want...”
John actually stood back, grabbed his hair and nearly yanked it out. Never before had he ever encountered someone like this. For lack of what else to do he actually did his damnedest to stop himself and his whole world at that moment, employing a Buddhist, Hindu, Taoist or god knows what religion it was that, that one guy was trying to shove off on him that one day, technique and tried to stop his mind from thinking.
Then he took Teyla's advice of all things and breathed in as deep as he could through his nose, long and slow-or as slowly as he could at that moment … then let it out … releasing all his tension.
“Oh,” the Guy said.
“Oh wow,” Guy said.
John inhaled again and let his arms reach out and his hands splay wide, then decided to go all the way and imagined a wind moving all through him taking his tension and rage, his overall uptight … ness, and washing it all away …
John heard shuffling.
“Are you okay,” the guy said.
John felt his shoulders un-pop and his arms go lax, god it felt good.
After a minute he was able to open his eyes and think for all of ten seconds.
Maybe it was because the damn customer was finally silent, and thankfully looking scared instead of like he'd been horribly offended and wronged.
“Ahh,” the guy swallowed.
“How about you eat it out front,” John nodded at him putting his hands on his hips. He tried giving his best smile to the guy, the one he used to always have in place but until lately he hadn't been able to drag up. He'd figured it was dead, buried somewhere in his past, with his lover and dreams, but this monster that had just stormed his little safe haven was able to get him to, through sheer need to be rid of the guy, drag it back up again.
John shook his head, it's amazing how something as simple as a smile can go from being good to being bad. Never once did John ever fathom a smile would be about survival though, that was entirely new to him, even at this age.
John did his best to be polite and usher the guy out to the front of the shop. He sat the man down and asked if he might want something to drink.
“Ahh-ye-yeah actually ah,” the guy gulped, like he was nervous of something, “I'd like some bottled water-but not the Dasani stuff that always gives me the trots!” he held up a finger as John went to get him just what he asked for.
John brought it over and just as he was about to go into the back both of their attentions were grabbed by the T.V. set.
“Are banks going to be punished for giving loans to Marijuana growers and shops who sell, or are “Friendly”; this is the question being asked right now-”
“What a bunch of crap,” the guy said.
“What-excuse me,” John turned to him.
“Oh it's already legal-hell their pulling in more money then they ever have, they wouldn't shoot themselves in the foot,” he waved at the screen opening his water and taking a swing.
“If the federal government doesn't quit leaning on the banks-at least lay off a little then I don't know what I'm gonna do,” one interviewee said.
“I mean-their making it hard for the rest of us,” the next interviewed person waved their hand to encompass all around, “I'm an honest green house, and shop owner, and I was questioned just last week-had to fill out a form and everything. And one of my banks-lenders they cut me off. I don't have half the money I need now to keep my business open-I mean I'm gonna hafta shut down the green house.” She gave a surprised disbelieving chuckle waving over her property. “I don't know what I'm gonna do,” She shook her head.
John turned back to the man, this was the story he'd been waiting to see all night. Deciding he raced for the remote glad that the strip mall had come with the option of cable. He grabbed the control finding it behind the counter right where his best but also most bossy cashier worked. He also grabbed a bag of chips for himself and switched the radio off. He needed to hear this.
He sat himself down on one of the chairs then jumped up again to turn the lights off in front of his shop. That was when John found that he'd left the OPEN sign on; he hung his head for a minute trying to get his anger under control. No wonder someone had come along demanding service, John had been sure he'd had the sign turned off before everyone left early for the night. After a few seconds he flipped the switch making sure the OPEN sign was no longer on, the only light now, was coming from inside his shop. Just to be sure he pulled the venetian blinds, slating them so that his customer didn't feel too boxed in, the last thing he needed was for the guy to go off on him again. He didn't want any more distractions and just to be safe he locked the front door, again.
The guy watched him closely, his eyes bugging when the door was bolted but thankfully he didn't say anything, John wondered why but didn't care right then, he had serious T.V. watching to do.
John got himself a few more things, since he hadn't had dinner yet he grabbed one of his sandwiches and a nice cold bottle of pop from the customers cooler then sat back down.
The guy was staring as John went through it all and hadn't touched his stuff.
John sniffed, figured.
He sat himself down and pressed the button to rewind, “whaddyeah do that for!”the guy squawked but John just ignored him his finger on the button.
Finally it was back at the beginning of the show and John let it play.
“Dear god,” the guy said, shifting around, it sounded like he was getting up.
“Want me ta' let you out,” John offered eyes glued to the set.
“No thank-you,” Guy said.
John heard the top of the small container pop open and he rolled his eyes, hopefully it would get the man to actually relax for once.
He sat and watched not noticing a thing from the peanut gallery, it took the whole news cast but finally at the end they showed the story they'd been promising to show all week.
“The Marijuana debate and how Citizens Uptight are petitioning to have it put to another vote. ...”
John watched and listened not once noticing the man behind him, or anything else for that matter he was so absorbed.
When the story was over he sat back and watched for a bit not sure what to think, his mind went blank and he just stared. … It had been one interesting story and from the sound of it, by this channel anyway-John checked to see what channel it was, each one differed in their politics and therefore made the story seem as if it were something it wasn't, usually.
John checked and then had to recalculate, wondering what the real story was. He shook his head finally shutting the whole thing off, he was going to have to look it all up, see for himself, there was just no way to tell. At least he had the topic headings now to know what he needed to look into.
He turned ready to finish his meal but jumped not expecting to see the customer from earlier still there.
He'd been so silent … and now John knew why.
Tracks marred the poor guys face, his eyes all red rimmed, his nose wet.
John blinked, what the hell. … this guy was mentally off. He stood up trying to figure out how to get this guy out of his shop. Despite himself a powerful wave of protection overcame him right then, John glanced at the look on the guys face. It was as if he'd just been gifted life for the first time ever, it kind of creeped John out and threw him off foot. John stood there for a minute both sides struggling within him. He glanced up at the clock, the news cast had lasted a good two hours, it was now well past midnight and going on one a.m.
“Sorry sorry-it's it's just I-” the guy wiped his eyes suddenly animated, “I haven't-it's been so long since I haven't been in pain. I forgot what it was like. Do you know what it's like to be tortured, not able to breath it hurts so bad!?” His voice cracked and he pinched his nose wiping his hand on his pants after-wards. “Ahh, sorry, sorry.” shaking and in a jerky manner he stood grabbing up his stuff. The man quickly shoved his pockets to bulging with his cash and one credit card.
John reached out steadying him-it didn't look like the guys legs would hold him up. The guy jerked away as if he expected to be hit-or hurt but John managed to grab him anyway. The man's whole body tensed in reaction as John gripped his arm, then just as suddenly he seemed to pause, full body, and slowly ever so slowly, he relaxed.
After a second John let go, “what's wrong with you,” he looked the man up and down.
The guy frowned at him, and crossed his arms dropping his phone. He picked it up and sized John up right back, “you don't seem dumb-are you?”
“What,” John leaned back.
“I'm TERMINAL,what is there not to understand about that!”
Pity hit John hard, he must have gasped or something because the guy reacted.
“Seriously what can you here back there-oh,” The guy snapped his fingers rapid fire near his head, pretty impressive for how much strong pot he'd just had, “yeah you had the radio on blasting and the T.V. How in the world did you even hear me-no wonder I was having to bang away for whole hours-” he shoved the chair under the table the two hitting each other and nearly tipping, “I could have died-DIED because you couldn't cater to one customer!”the guy waved his arms.
John leaned back, “Hey,heyhey,” he put his hands up, “I'm sorry, I've got what this one shrink-head quack called it PTSD can't work with out noise-hell I can't sleep most-”
“PTS-I donno-never min-”
“No, you were a soldier?”
“Yeah well,” John turned to leave, “have a nice day,” he gave a mock salute to the guy and went over unlocking the front door.
“No I had no idea-I'm sorry what's-ah-what's your name.”
“Don't matter,” John just nodded at him opened the door as wide as it would go and gave him the biggest shit eating grin he could.
“No seriously cause maybe I can-”
“We're closed,” he glared at the guy,smile firmly in place. That kind of look was guaranteed to creep him out.
“Fine,” the guy scrambled his few items left out into his pockets and checking everything twice stomped out the door.
He turned and John shut the door in his face, the blinds banging against the damn thing.
It had been one horrible night and his original creation was gone, John looked around the shop. … Might as well just close up, calling it an early night and try again tomorrow.
At this point there was really nothing else he could do.
- Current Location:Indoors - Kitchen Table
- Current Mood:Happy and Hopeful =-)
- Current Music:CBS Evening News
Title: Oil Chapter Title: Chapter VI- SIX
Posted: Monday, 24th March 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis Pairing: John/Rodney
Chapter Rating: PG Chapter Category: Gen
Word Count: 1,242
Chapter Summary: Rodney's current pains and situation.
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)
A/N: Since I'm not going to be able to post this Wednesday I decided to go ahead and post Chapter 6 today. Enjoy =-).
It had started the night before.
Another night spent too hot or too cold, bits and pieces of him were shivering ice while others were burning hot. All the while the bed was uncomfortable and his mind was blank with worn tiredness. This was the second night in a row where he couldn't sleep.
The second night in a row where his nerves were firing off, his whole body caught in a shower of sharp painful pinpricks. Except these weren't pin pricks as in pins and needles when a leg falls asleep no, this was more like trillions of itchy, irritating to the point of raw pin point knives stabbing with the force of a train into each and every one of Rodney's pores.
The now rather thin professor rolled onto his side and tried his damnedest to actually get back to sleep. For whatever reason he'd gotten tired very early on and had been able to lay down and snooze for about two hours while in his office at school, but now that it was the middle of the night sleep was eluding him. Rodney sat up and sighed, there was no reason for this, no reason at all. Giving up he put the light on and tried for some light reading, picking up War and Peace he went to work. So far he'd found that after a good two, maybe four pages on his more stubborn nights, he'd be out like a light. The author truly had a talent for putting people to sleep, it was unrivaled from all the other items Rodney had read, even his old college textbooks which initially had been real snoozers. He hadn't gotten very far in War and Peace and was barley an 8th of the way into the book. In all honesty he wondered if anyone in history had been able to suffer through reading the whole of this piece and why in the world it had been deemed a classic, maybe it was because the guy had friends in high places which definitely seemed to be the case from what was written. That is, if this authors book was anything to go by when it came to his personal life.
Sadly it took a bit longer than Rodney had expected, several times over he had been nodding off the book drooping in his hand and he'd shut the light off, slip down into the covers, relax and; his eyes and whole body would wake wide up. It wasn't until 7 a.m. that he finally managed to doze off only being ripped from sleep when the 10 a.m. alarm went off. Granted he didn't have to go in till 10:30 a.m. but still not being able to sleep, or even call in sick was just too much.
Granted by this time he was able to set his own hours and had ample privacy which he was more than relieved for, so at least there was an upswing that no one else would have in his position. It still didn't get him the much needed sleep though or the ability to lay back down and at least doze during the day, even though it'd turn his hours all around and make him feel even worse then he already was.
When he woke up there was the tell tale sharp ache like a massive knife flaying him from his spine outward. The whole of his body was pain and when he got up he was blind from it.
He went through his regular routine gingerly doing everything, cranky as all get out. Even getting dressed was beyond agony, the clothing itself a weight that rubbed and prickled his skin, rough and pure red to the point of raw, chafing.
He'd gone into work not able to think of anything, the pain overriding everything, and had ended up staying late again, or what was late for him now, thankfully.
By eight o'clock he was on his knees begging a god he'd never even given the merit of existing to just let his agony end.
He pleaded and made deals, all of which he knew from psychology was what most people who were faced with death went through. Then it hit him that he might be dying and just not know it … it sure as hell felt like it.
His mind and memory had been shot all day, concentration was zero and being able to even take in information was not gonna happen, even through he'd waited all day for the torture to subside. Usually at some point it did but his original ongoing back problems coupled with his new nerve problems set him on edge.
By the time Mrs. North directly across the hall was ever so kindly wrapping that damn box with as much packaging tape and love as she could manage Rodney had had enough.
He'd been doubled over elbows on knees, rocking back and forth, hands over his ears the very sound like tin foil fingernails scraping against the chalkboard of his nerves.
He'd had no sight and no idea he'd been doubled over in the first place till it suddenly dawned on him, after the initial shock of his realization, that he was standing in Mrs. North's office and had nearly outed himself.
It was the need for his job and control again that had forced him to turn on his heel and literally run out of there. He'd grabbed his keys and driven down to the one place he'd been sticking his nose up at every time he'd had to pass it.
He'd even changed the route he took to work just to avoid this area after it had become legal to use the stuff for recreation. He'd voted against allowing Marijuana to be sold for medication and had even written a few letters to several publications about the evil dangers of allowing the drug to be sold as open and frivolously as liquor.
Now he stood, despite himself and what had been left of his better judgment, outside the one place that seemed to be open.
He looked at the sign again, it said that the place was open till 10p.m.,10:30 on some nights and it was barely nine o'clock, what could be keeping them he had no idea. When he'd arrived the whole place was empty and looked like it had been closed up for the night. He tried the door again hoping he'd pulled on the wrong one, then tried pushing thinking it was like that Far Side cartoon with the “smart” kid, but both doors were locked. He cupped both hands around his eyes and peered in, the lights were still on and the whole of the place was rather warm and welcoming looking. It was just empty, very empty. He craned his neck and saw that the large flat screen up in the corner had on some wanna be “news cast” like 60 Minutes or something. One of those “info-tainment” episodes displaying images and talking about some obviously dumb subject with a skewed perspective.
Rodney glared at the whole of the place wishing that the damn pot heads would quit getting high for one damn second and actually serve a possible customer when he started knocking; loudly.
After a few seconds he found himself yelling at the top of his lungs pouring out the whole of his pain, worry and life.
- Current Location:Indoors - Kitchen Table
- Current Mood: hyper
- Current Music:Inside of my house