April 12th, 2008


Gutterflower /1

It winked at him. The light flicked off it, creating reflections on the ceiling, and everything else was still. Letting out a small noise, Jaejoong jerked his head to the side, burring his face into his shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut.
“No, no no no.. no no…” He muttered to himself, rocking slightly so that his head rattled against the tiled wall, the pain anchoring him.

He woke up on the floor, his head aching and his fingers twitching. Crawling forward, he managed to make it to the toilet bowl before throwing up violently. Bile and the horrid unnatural orange of those chips he’d eaten earlier splashed down, leaving him feeling just as queasy, and he heaved again.

Clutching at the ground to stop it spinning out from under him, he slumped, fingers trembling against the white as his body curled into itself. Sweat beaded down his neck, and the light seemed blinding. The wall moved, and then there was pain and silence.

He woke up screaming, the nightmare of the gaping wide mouths and dying, dead faces dancing in his eyes even as the bare bathroom swam into view. He yelled again, coming face to face with the needle, which had rolled off the counter and across the floor, to rest by his eyes.

Scrambling away, he backed into the door, and fell back onto the carpet of the bedroom floor. Staring up at the ceiling, he concentrated on breathing. His shirt was soaked, clinging to his skin horribly. He smelt, he knew he did, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up off the floor.

He had no idea how long he laid there, if he slept or if he was just blanking out for periods of time. He knew that he hurt, that he cried sometimes, that he tried to rip open his arms at one point. He knew he hungered, he needed, but that he had somehow smashed his last hit, the remains of it scattered around one corner of the bathroom. He had small cuts on the lower parts of his legs, and over his fingers, but then, they were just like the tracks up his arms, weren’t they?

Eventually, he managed to crawl into the shower, dousing himself with icy water that seemed to only do half a job of waking him up. After that, he sat shivering in the stall. It took a long time to summon the energy to peel his clothes from himself and tug down the cover from the bed to wrap himself in.

He nested there, shivering and sniffing and dazed, and then fell into another restless sleep from which he woke up screaming.

Gutterflower /2

zero / one

The stupor ended when someone knocked on the door, and he managed to drag himself out from the covers, and pull on a pair of pants. He found he was dizzy when he stood, his legs unsteady and his head to light to focus on anything. He’d somehow managed to have a conversation with the hotel manager, shoving money in the man’s face to get him to go away, another week’s rent silencing his complaints.

He’d slept again after that, but when he woke, he was hungry. Stumbling back into the shower, he gulped down the water as it rained down on him, thirsty beyond belief.

Staring at himself in the mirror after, he wondered what had happened. Wondered when he’d come to this. The person staring back there wasn’t him. Was some stranger, with ribs poking through, skin a sickly pale pallor, eyes sunken and hair a mess. He tried half-heartedly to comb through the knotted strands, but it wasn’t going to be so easily tamed.

Drying himself slowly, he averted his eyes from the mirror, determined not to look at it anymore. Instead, he pulled on clothes, threw a towel over the mess of liquid and glass to make it go away, and found his wallet under the bed and the key jammed down behind the TV. Shakily, he locked up, moving down the stairs at one end of the balcony slowly.

The bright lights of the servo lit up the night, and he walked through the automatic door to the sickly smell of food and air freshener. Willing himself not to gag, he wandered around the few isles, confused and unsure.

Eventually, he dumped an arm full of an assortment of food at the cashier’s desk. The guy boredly began to scan them through. All the while, he stared guiltily, fixedly at the white rack nearby.

At the last moment, he grabbed hold of the smallest bottle of vodka there and slid it across the counter. The guy looked at him a moment, but made no comment and scanned it through a moment later. Money was exchanged, and he left with bags full of food and one of alcohol.

Shuffling almost fugitively back across the street and up the stairs, he locked the door behind himself and fell upon a packet of chips with gusto.

An hour later he was retching in the bathroom, clinging to the edge of his porcelain throne and turning his insides out.