Thread: Writer's Block [Gypsy & Crusade]

Jerry was a stranger in his own home. The cabin felt foreign to him as he lay there, his stomach in knots and his heart beating unsteadily. He couldn't formulate any semblance of a rational thought, his mind turning to all those lines of cocaine he'd done earlier. He wanted it again. He itched for it. He wanted so badly to just lose himself again, to make the pain go away. But, he was immobilized. It wasn't that he couldn't move. It was that every movement felt like trudging through quicksand. Even just the simple act of rubbing his beard, a nervous tic that usually came while writing, felt almost impossible. He still couldn't wrap his head around what happened. Not being in his right mind was terrifying. It was like renting out a body, or even worse, having someone rent out his. He wanted to scream, to break the deafening silence that shrouded him, but no sound came. The only break in his mental meltdown was the sight of a woman entering his room carrying a tray. He'd been so catatonic prior, he hadn't noticed her before. Or had he been sleeping? Everything was such a fucking blur. When she approached, his eyes widened. His body, not moving a muscle, took in the sight of her. She was the first person he'd actually been able to see . It took a moment to process who she was, but all that stuck with him was she was a visitor in his home. A very much unwanted visitor. His cabin had been a place of solitude. It was nestled into a heavily wooded, heavily secluded tract of land. It could only be accessed by a series of long stretches of low maintenance, gravel roads, the kind that were obnoxiously bumpy and kicked up all sorts of dust as they were driven over. Jerry had only ever had his manager at the cabin. He'd been asked by magazines to open the cabin to them to show where the talented writer found his muse. His manager, Wallace, encouraged him to do it. He said the press he would have gotten would've been well worth the grief of having a camera crew parade around his place like he was on an old episode of MTV Cribs. He shuddered at the thought and made it clear that no one was going to be taking photos of his cabin. So, why was this random woman strolling into his bedroom? If he'd been thinking rationally, his first thought would have been that she was a nurse. Nothing clicked as she spoke. The words hung in the air as if suspended by some unseen force before just floating off. He couldn't process what she was telling him. Delilah... St. Xavier's... Recovery... Jerry tried to make sense of it. He saw the tray of food and almost vomited. His stomach was so uneasy, his head was throbbing. He wanted nothing to do with the food or the woman. He needed to finish his book. The book. Yes! The book! How had he forgotten? Eyes widening, Jerry reached out, grabbing hold of the woman's arm firmly, his body shifting. It was the most he'd moved in what felt like weeks, but was probably more like hours. In the process, he'd knocked the water from her grip and the sound of breaking glass beside his bed made him jump, his grip on her arm tightening in response. Some of the water had doused the sheets on his bed, but he paid it no mind. The deadline! Get me to my computer. Now! he told her. He hadn't a clue who the fuck Delilah was or why she was bothering him, but with his mind settled on his book, he knew what he had to do. It was the book that was going to propel him into superstardom and all he could think about was the deadline and the fact that he needed to work. He didn't know what the date was, but damnit, it was close. It loomed so large, it was the only reasonable thought he'd had since he'd regained consciousness. And if this woman was going to impede on his personal space, the least she could do was help him to his writing desk situated near the window.