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tampered2008-07-09 11:35 pm
notapreacher.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2008-07-09 11:35 pm
Log: Completed
When; Late at night, July 8
Rating; PG
Characters; Julia (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
goodnightjulia) and Gren (notapreacher)
Summary; Things that were supposed to stay buried never really keep quiet.
Log;
"Private Eckener."
If drugs have a face, this is what they look like: nameless, shapeless, but not unrecognizable: there are eyes and fangs and claws, and they loom up from the darkness and he's... strapped to the table and can barely move: how did they get him here? Why didn't he fight? Why is he back on Pluto? Who turned him in?
"Private Eckener."
The thing about drugs is this: when that needle gets close enough, a person can taste what's inside the syringe and he wants it so badly and yet he doesn't want it at all, and he knows exactly what it's going to do to him and more than anything, he craves that. Once an addict always an addict, but didn't he kick this years ago? Cold and alone, in solitary? Didn't he sweat it out of his system? Didn't detoxing just about kill him?
"Private Eckener. Hold still."
The face, void of emotion, stoops there with the hypodermic needle in hand -- claw -- and he knows that once that needle pierces his vein he'll be helpless to fight it. He got clean once, but going cold turkey is something he's pretty sure he can never, ever survive again.
Where will the music go? Where did it go last time? He can't remember. All he knows is the hand on his arm and the poke of the needle and there's nothing, nothing, nothing he can do but surrender to the one thing he wants the least and most. There's no fighting it: the blackness filters in quickly and from somewhere far, far away, he's pretty sure he hears laughter.
"Double up the dosage."
"But that could kill him."
"I know."
Fuck, fuck, fuck: he hasn't sat up in bed so fast in years. The light goes on; his hands are shaking. In fact, he's shaking all over: that was so real. The first thing he does is check his arms for track marks but there aren't any and that's a relief but he's shaking.
He's shaking badly, so he gets up out of bed and dresses and turns on every light in his apartment and paces and paces, but he can't stop shaking, and even though it's the middle of the night he finds himself at Julia's door knocking insistently.
"Julia. Open up."
Please. I need you.
Rating; PG
Characters; Julia (
goodnightjulia) and Gren (notapreacher)Summary; Things that were supposed to stay buried never really keep quiet.
Log;
"Private Eckener."
If drugs have a face, this is what they look like: nameless, shapeless, but not unrecognizable: there are eyes and fangs and claws, and they loom up from the darkness and he's... strapped to the table and can barely move: how did they get him here? Why didn't he fight? Why is he back on Pluto? Who turned him in?
"Private Eckener."
The thing about drugs is this: when that needle gets close enough, a person can taste what's inside the syringe and he wants it so badly and yet he doesn't want it at all, and he knows exactly what it's going to do to him and more than anything, he craves that. Once an addict always an addict, but didn't he kick this years ago? Cold and alone, in solitary? Didn't he sweat it out of his system? Didn't detoxing just about kill him?
"Private Eckener. Hold still."
The face, void of emotion, stoops there with the hypodermic needle in hand -- claw -- and he knows that once that needle pierces his vein he'll be helpless to fight it. He got clean once, but going cold turkey is something he's pretty sure he can never, ever survive again.
Where will the music go? Where did it go last time? He can't remember. All he knows is the hand on his arm and the poke of the needle and there's nothing, nothing, nothing he can do but surrender to the one thing he wants the least and most. There's no fighting it: the blackness filters in quickly and from somewhere far, far away, he's pretty sure he hears laughter.
"Double up the dosage."
"But that could kill him."
"I know."
Fuck, fuck, fuck: he hasn't sat up in bed so fast in years. The light goes on; his hands are shaking. In fact, he's shaking all over: that was so real. The first thing he does is check his arms for track marks but there aren't any and that's a relief but he's shaking.
He's shaking badly, so he gets up out of bed and dresses and turns on every light in his apartment and paces and paces, but he can't stop shaking, and even though it's the middle of the night he finds himself at Julia's door knocking insistently.
"Julia. Open up."
Please. I need you.