Thread: the ties :: tubercular skies and dkakes

The sweater wasn't doing much in terms of warmth and Jon wished he had the blanket he'd gotten before, but it wasn't like he was going to go begging for a fucking blanket. He wasn't a charity case and he wasn't going to let the nurses have a one up on him in any way possible. They were partially the reason he was in this condition. They watched and monitored him like he was an experiment--pfft. There was no like to it. Jon was a fucking experiment and they were testing new shit on him to see if the others would live through it. Was this something that the other 2000s had to deal with? Maybe they just hadn't survived. In the end, Jon was replaceable. Someone else would surely get his power. Who was to say he was the only one with it? Jon's exhausted, dull eyes began to scan the congregation in the common room. It didn't look like any of them would have his power, but it didn't look like he had any special powers either. It just looked like he was dying slowly....not unlike everyone else. Jon snorted out of contempt. That was pretty much all he could do at that point. Trannie was also noticing how shit he was looking lately. His DTs were becoming increasingly apparent. He sniffled and rolled his eyes, looking away from her. Absentmindedly, he began to claw at his arm, and claw, and claw, and claw, and claw. Scratching through the sweater was shit so he ended up inside and the clawing got even worse. Since he'd been stuck in the Clinic, his nails were getting on the longer side. Removing skin was easier than it should have been, but it didn't stop him. Ahm fine, he gruffly lied like a bark. It didn't matter. Trannie didn't need to know shit. All she needed to know was that he was fucking alive and he wanted her pills if she wanted answers. If he was a real dick, he could have counted that as a question, but he just didn't have the energy to be his total dickhead self. Trannie may think he was being a total cockwag, but he was running on fumes and any hate the spilled felt like it took from his energy. It felt weird that Jon had to conserve his energy by talking as little as possible. For some reason, she still gave a fuck about him. Rather than the normal amount, she handed him a baggie with some pills. Jon took it as his eyes turned to slits. Should he trust her? What was this about? What made the situation worse was the smile that stuck to her face like herpes. The sweater was large enough on his coat-hanger-like body to easily eat his hand if he pulled his arm back slightly. Why did Trannie smile? What was up with the pills? Jon couldn't look at the pills, but what would she gain from killing him off? How could she even kill him off? She couldn't....she wouldn't. Jon's fingers moved the pills around in the plastic, staring at her with distrust. Fuck it. Jon felt like shit and the cure was in between his fingers. While he usually took one pill, he slipped out two and slipped them into his mouth with his boney fingers. The look of his hands was beginning to look more like a living skeleton. His skin was tautly stretched over the bones. Jon would have to start eating soon or he wouldn't live much longer. The double dose was bitter, but he began to chew them up in his mouth. It broke down better when the outer coating was broken down. The pills were swallowed and Jon's face crumpled in disgust. He never liked the bitter taste, but even if his tongue rejected the taste, his mind savored it. It was like a full rotisserie chicken dripping in butter to a fat girl. It was a taste his mind came to love and anticipate...that was before he switched to heroin. Pills were always too fucking expensive and heroin was cheap. Cheap won every time. It felt like forever before the pills began to kick in. It probably was a much shorter time than Jon would guess. Time was taunting him every second of every day of every week of every month. His nails pressed against the skin in his palms until he felt the familiar warmth from the pills and the lightheadedness of God. Trannie must have noticed that the pills were kicking in. That, or she heard the long, drawn-out sign that leaked from his mouth. It was like Jon was getting head by an expert, but much more. The pills constricted his pupils and he could hear Trannie asking if he was feeling better. If she looked close enough, she could see the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. The double dose coursed through his body and he felt better than he had in days, weeks even. Fuck trying to distance himself and fuck trying to make his stash last. At this rate, he was going to die, and if he was going to die, he was going to bite the bullet with a smile on his face and opiates in his veins. Jon wanted to take so much his brain wouldn't ever recover and his breathing would stop. Oh, god the edge. The edge he'd always dreamed about but couldn't achieve. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and looked down at Trannie with a content look on his face. The pin-point pupils stared at her and he nodded slowly. Ahm fine, he said again, but it was much different than before. It was quiet, almost like a whisper, but it was like he wanted to keep it a secret. The fact he was feeling good was a secret only for Trannie and him. This was the answer to all their problems. This was the holy grail of moods.