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monaboyd Mar. 5th, 2004 08:10 pm)
jettabug.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Mar. 5th, 2004 08:10 pm)Title: Imitation Of Life
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jettabug
Rating: R for swearing
Feedback: Please!
Author's Notes: Dedicated to Bunny [domslover] for being wonderful and so much like me it's scary. Love you sweetness.
Summary: I can't really write a summary without giving away the plot. Sorry. :) However, if things like hospitals squick you, don't read.
Imitation Of Life
by Jenna
For some reason, I always have to have my apartment clean when Billy comes over for our Thursday movie night.
It’s weird, he can organise to come over on a Saturday, and I can leave the place in a total mess, but for some reason, our Thursday nights are special.
It’s like a routine.
I clean the apartment, make sure I’ve got plenty of beer and some good movies.
Then when it’s about 15 minutes before Billy arrives, I get a phone call from him. He’s usually standing in the snack aisle of the local supermarket in upheaval over what snacks to get. I tell him the same thing every time: One packet of popcorn, three packets of chips, Doritos, original potato chips and salt and vinegar.
We haven’t changed our snack preference in a year. So really, I don’t know why Billy calls. Maybe it just comes back to the routine thing.
But anyway, when I was sitting on the couch, sipping leisurely from my beer on that particular Thursday, and the phone rang, I expected Billy. Because it was 6:15, and he was due to show up at 6:30, which meant he was going through his snack debacle.
I was tempted not to answer the phone, but I hauled myself up off the couch and into the kitchen, with a bemused smile on my face. I could just picture Billy standing in front of the rows and rows of chips, that look on his face, that doesn’t quite look confused, but doesn’t exactly look sure, either.
“Hello?” I asked into the receiver, expecting the pitiful whine of a man with a snack crisis.
“Could I please have Mr. Dominic Monaghan?” a crisp female voice on the other end asked.
“Speaking,” I responded, taking a slow sip from my beer bottle.
I listened carefully as the woman on the other end identified herself and began to speak in a fast-paced way, that I could barely catch up with what she was saying?
As she came to the end of her speech, I opened my mouth to speak. “What?” I demanded in a voice I didn’t recognise. It took me just a second to realise it was my voice, coming from my mouth.
I didn’t feel the beer bottle slip out of my hand. I didn’t hear it crash and break on the tiled floor. I didn’t feel the shards of glass as they imbedded themselves into my ankle.
I could only hear the ringing in my ears.
I hung up the phone and sprang into action. I grabbed my jacket and keys and raced for the door, headed to Wellington Hospital.
+|+
By the time I reached the emergency bay, the pain in my ankle and the blood filling up my shoe was enough to make me hobble into the waiting room, rather than run, which was what my body was aching to do.
“You’re bleeding,” a nurse said, coming over to my side.
“I know, but that’s not why I’m here.”
She looked at me. “We need to get that ankle looked at.”
I let her lead me away, as much as my mind was protesting to get away, to find the woman I’d spoken to on the phone, to find out what was going on.
I was in a daze as a doctor poked and prodded at my ankle, and I barely flinched as he removed tiny pieces of beer bottle from my leg.
“There you go, sixteen stitches.”
“What?”
“Are you ok? You don’t look so good.”
I tried to focus my eyes on the woman talking to me, but all I saw was a blur.
“I need to find Dr. Marina Tethers. I just spoke to her on the phone.”
The nurse seemed to sway in front of my eyes. “I’ll have her paged.”
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I got up off whatever I was sitting on and wandered back out into the hall.
I sank down onto an orange waiting room seat and rubbed my eyes. I hadn’t even realised, but my cheeks were wet with tears.
“Dominic Monaghan?”
My eyes seemed to instantly focus as a middle-aged woman approached me, clutching a clipboard in her hands.
“Y-yes,” I answered, standing.
“I’m Dr Tethers. Thank you for getting down here so fast.”
I shook my head. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
She motioned me to follow her, I did, as fast as my shaky legs would carry me. We walked through a set of double doors and down a corridor.
“How’s your ankle?”
“What?” I demanded, holding onto the wall for support.
“One of my nurses mentioned you arrived with a pretty nasty cut on your ankle. And I can tell that it’s bleeding through.” Her eyes shifted to my foot.
“This isn’t about me, just tell me…what’s happening?”
She didn’t answer me, just turned a corner and kept walking. I followed, limping, and she stopped suddenly.
“Please…tell me what’s happening,” I begged, leaning my back against the wall.
She looked at me. “I know you’re confused, but I need you to calm down. I can’t talk to you about all this if you’re going to get panicked. May I suggest a wheelchair, just to take pressure of your foot? I’d suggest crutches, but you can barely stand without swaying…”
I had wondered why the doctor seemed to be moving in front of my eyes.
“Once you get comfortable, we can have a chat.”
I reached out and grabbed the woman by her upper arm. “I’m not moving a fucking inch until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
She seemed to recoil from my touch, and I felt instantly guilty. I didn’t mean to scare her, I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I was desperate.
She pulled her arm away from me and grabbed at a chair. “Sit,” she instructed, and suddenly became a lot more adverse to my behaviour.
I did as I was told, and was frankly relieved to be able to sit down. I leant forward and rested my head in my hands.
The doctor pulled up a chair beside me. “Take these,” she said, holding out two pills in her hand.
I looked at them. “What are they?”
“Painkillers.”
I set her with a hard gaze. “It’s not my body that hurts…it’s my heart. I need you to please tell me what’s going on.”
She closed her hand and put the pills back into the pocket of her lab coat. “There’s no easy way to deliver news like this…”
I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for it. Waited for the horrible news, the gut-wrenching pain to slice through my heart.
The doctor began to speak, but I didn’t hear every word.
“Didn’t look good…banged up pretty bad…car accident…broken leg…concussion…possible brain damage…”
I leant forward more, my breath hitching in my throat, expelling ragged, gasping breaths.
“I’m sorry, but all we can do now is wait…”
“Wait for what?” I demanded loudly. “For death?”
Dr Tethers put her hand on my arm. “No. For test results, for sign of movement in the hands, behind the eyelids, anything to show us some life.”
“So what you’re saying is that at the moment, there’s nothing? No moving, no…life.” I choked on the last word.
“I’m afraid not…but that’s not unusual in circumstances like this…patients aren’t expected to respond that fast after such a brutal car accident.”
“So are you saying there’s hope?”
She looked at me with big eyes, and I could see the pain behind them. “Of course. There’s always hope.”
“I can’t lose…” I trailed off.
The doctor squeezed my hand. “I know this is hard, but we really need to talk about the details…”
I wiped at my eyes and nodded. “I understand, I need to know what happened.”
She took a deep breath. “It was through no fault of your friend. The car was stationed at a traffic light, the light turned green and your friend accelerated…but a drunk driver ploughed into the driver’s side door. You friend has a broken left leg, a concussion, scrapes and bumps, couple of broken ribs.” She paused. “ I’m sorry, is this too much?”
I took a deep breath. “Kinda, but…keep going…”
“A lot of blood was lost, and that was our main concern. We had to perform a transfusion in the OR—“
“Wait, you had to operate?”
Dr Tethers nodded. “Your friend’s leg was practically shattered, we’re lucky that most of the femur and fibula was intact, so it could be reformed. We also had to drain the lungs, because they were retaining fluid, blood mostly. The punctured lung is a worry, but we were able to contain the blood flow, and patch the hole. There’s a bad head injury that we need to keep an eye on, which will mean two CAT scans a day, to monitor brain activity…”
I nodded. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“At the moment, brain activity is four counts under the normal range. If it drops to anything below 10 counts, there’s a good chance that your friend won’t regain the use of the left side of the brain, which controls thought process…”
“So they’ll basically become a vegetable?”
“That’s the extreme possibility. But your friend seems to be doing well, I don’t foresee the brain activity dropping too much further.”
I took a deep breath and wiped at my eyes. “I’m sorry…this is all…an hour ago I was getting ready to watch Pirates of the Caribbean and now…”
“You’re more than welcome to visit…but not for long.”
I nodded and stood up slowly, pain shooting up my ankle. “In there?” I asked, motioning to a closed door.
Dr Tethers nodded. “Don’t be alarmed, it probably looks a lot worse than it is.”
“It can’t be much worse than what I’m picturing in my head.”
She gave me a tight smile. “I’ll come back and check on you soon. I’ll need to have a look at that ankle.”
She walked away and I stood at the closed door, taking deep, measured breaths. I put my hand on the doorknob and noticed it was shaking horribly.
I turned the knob and pushed the door open, my heart jumping into my throat.
What I saw shocked me to my core. It made my heart quiver in fear, and my chest constrict in pain.
The person on the bed was a shadow of the person I used to know. The person lying on the starch white hospital sheets was a broken form of a body, who looked like they’d been to hell and back.
There was a wide white bandage around the pale forehead, and a bright red spot above the left eye, where blood seeped through. The face was contorted in slashes of cuts, bruises coloured the neck and the cheeks, and the gravel rash populated the upper arms.
The broken leg was in a cast from the upper thigh to the toes, and suspended in a canvas pulley, attached to the roof. The person was topless, a thick bandage wrapped around the torso tightly. The body was a marred mess of cuts and bruises and the most horrific welts I’d ever seen.
Across the chest, from the left shoulder, creeping under the bandages and reappearing on the diagonal above the right hip was a deep purple bruise that I instantly recognised as whiplash. The bruise was dotted with flecks of red (blood blisters) and blue (more bruising) and even in some cases, deep welts, sewn up with bright yellow stitches. Dried blood was caked everywhere, the eyebrows, creases of the eyes, forehead, arms, neck, chest. The legs were covered with a thin cotton blanket, so I could only imagine what they looked like.
I hadn’t realised I’d been holding my breath until I let it go in a deep whoosh. All the air rushed out of my lungs and I felt my knees quiver and buckle. I grabbed the chair next to me and held myself up, my eyes fixed on the person. The person I used to know.
I moved forward tentatively. I was afraid of them. Afraid that I would hurt them even more if I got closer. But I knew I had to be there. As close as I could, so when they woke up, I’d be the first thing they’d see.
I dragged the chair over beside the bed and sank down into it. I was relieved to have the pressure of my ankle, but at the same time, I wanted to be as far away from there as possible.
But I couldn’t leave. I was rooted to the spot, and I felt that if I moved, I would lose them.
Tears fell freely from my eyes and I reached out and ever so lightly ran my fingers over the motionless hand that lay against the white bed sheet. When nothing happened, I reached out again and let my fingers linger against the back of the hand, revelling in the touch.
I leant forward and lifted the hand to my cheek, holding against the tear-stained skin, placing the softest of soft kisses over the fingers, the palm, the wrist. My lips grazed cuts, and gauze, but I didn’t care, I needed to hold that hand, to remind myself that there was still life coursing through those veins.
I sobbed harder and harder, my tears raining down on the blanket. I pressed more kisses to the hand as I pressed it to my cheek, willing with my mind for the person to wake up. To sit up and say, “fooled ya!” and for everything to be fine. But I knew that wouldn’t happen, I knew everything wasn’t fine.
Nothing could ever be fine while they were like this, broken and bruised in a hospital bed.
I lay my head down on the bed, the hand still clutched in mine. They were cold, so I rubbed them between my own, hoping to make the warmth return to those hands, that were always warm, no matter what. In freezing cold weather, after taking a shower, after washing up, after anything, those hands were always warm.
And now they weren’t.
The rings that were usually on the fingers weren’t there anymore. I looked around the room and saw that a clear bag rested on the table beside the bed. A ‘Personal Effects’ sticker was stuck on the bag, and I reached out for it, upending the bag, spilling the contents onto the bed. Most of the items had blood on them, but I didn’t care as I shuffled through them, my fingers grazing a watch, a wallet, two silver rings, a necklace, a set of keys on the Wellington key ring I’d given as a gift when we first met.
There was another clear bag with the clothes folded up inside. Blood-soaked, ripped and ruined, but there, in a bag, like the owner would want to take them home.
I didn’t touch that bag, I didn’t want to smell the metallic scent of blood, I didn’t want to see the large gashes in the material.
I turned my attention back to the pile of belongings in front of me. I flipped through the wallet, smiling at the horrible driver’s licence picture, a couple others of the person’s family, credit cards, a gym membership card. $291 in cash, and a piece of paper.
I plucked it from next to a hundred dollar bill and unfolded it.
It was a receipt.
For popcorn, Doritos and potato chips in two flavours.
I dropped the receipt and leant forward, burying my head in the blankets as I began to cry.
Cross posted to:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fellow_shippers & jettabug
Author:
jettabugRating: R for swearing
Feedback: Please!
Author's Notes: Dedicated to Bunny [
domslover] for being wonderful and so much like me it's scary. Love you sweetness.Summary: I can't really write a summary without giving away the plot. Sorry. :) However, if things like hospitals squick you, don't read.
by Jenna
For some reason, I always have to have my apartment clean when Billy comes over for our Thursday movie night.
It’s weird, he can organise to come over on a Saturday, and I can leave the place in a total mess, but for some reason, our Thursday nights are special.
It’s like a routine.
I clean the apartment, make sure I’ve got plenty of beer and some good movies.
Then when it’s about 15 minutes before Billy arrives, I get a phone call from him. He’s usually standing in the snack aisle of the local supermarket in upheaval over what snacks to get. I tell him the same thing every time: One packet of popcorn, three packets of chips, Doritos, original potato chips and salt and vinegar.
We haven’t changed our snack preference in a year. So really, I don’t know why Billy calls. Maybe it just comes back to the routine thing.
But anyway, when I was sitting on the couch, sipping leisurely from my beer on that particular Thursday, and the phone rang, I expected Billy. Because it was 6:15, and he was due to show up at 6:30, which meant he was going through his snack debacle.
I was tempted not to answer the phone, but I hauled myself up off the couch and into the kitchen, with a bemused smile on my face. I could just picture Billy standing in front of the rows and rows of chips, that look on his face, that doesn’t quite look confused, but doesn’t exactly look sure, either.
“Hello?” I asked into the receiver, expecting the pitiful whine of a man with a snack crisis.
“Could I please have Mr. Dominic Monaghan?” a crisp female voice on the other end asked.
“Speaking,” I responded, taking a slow sip from my beer bottle.
I listened carefully as the woman on the other end identified herself and began to speak in a fast-paced way, that I could barely catch up with what she was saying?
As she came to the end of her speech, I opened my mouth to speak. “What?” I demanded in a voice I didn’t recognise. It took me just a second to realise it was my voice, coming from my mouth.
I didn’t feel the beer bottle slip out of my hand. I didn’t hear it crash and break on the tiled floor. I didn’t feel the shards of glass as they imbedded themselves into my ankle.
I could only hear the ringing in my ears.
I hung up the phone and sprang into action. I grabbed my jacket and keys and raced for the door, headed to Wellington Hospital.
+|+
By the time I reached the emergency bay, the pain in my ankle and the blood filling up my shoe was enough to make me hobble into the waiting room, rather than run, which was what my body was aching to do.
“You’re bleeding,” a nurse said, coming over to my side.
“I know, but that’s not why I’m here.”
She looked at me. “We need to get that ankle looked at.”
I let her lead me away, as much as my mind was protesting to get away, to find the woman I’d spoken to on the phone, to find out what was going on.
I was in a daze as a doctor poked and prodded at my ankle, and I barely flinched as he removed tiny pieces of beer bottle from my leg.
“There you go, sixteen stitches.”
“What?”
“Are you ok? You don’t look so good.”
I tried to focus my eyes on the woman talking to me, but all I saw was a blur.
“I need to find Dr. Marina Tethers. I just spoke to her on the phone.”
The nurse seemed to sway in front of my eyes. “I’ll have her paged.”
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I got up off whatever I was sitting on and wandered back out into the hall.
I sank down onto an orange waiting room seat and rubbed my eyes. I hadn’t even realised, but my cheeks were wet with tears.
“Dominic Monaghan?”
My eyes seemed to instantly focus as a middle-aged woman approached me, clutching a clipboard in her hands.
“Y-yes,” I answered, standing.
“I’m Dr Tethers. Thank you for getting down here so fast.”
I shook my head. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
She motioned me to follow her, I did, as fast as my shaky legs would carry me. We walked through a set of double doors and down a corridor.
“How’s your ankle?”
“What?” I demanded, holding onto the wall for support.
“One of my nurses mentioned you arrived with a pretty nasty cut on your ankle. And I can tell that it’s bleeding through.” Her eyes shifted to my foot.
“This isn’t about me, just tell me…what’s happening?”
She didn’t answer me, just turned a corner and kept walking. I followed, limping, and she stopped suddenly.
“Please…tell me what’s happening,” I begged, leaning my back against the wall.
She looked at me. “I know you’re confused, but I need you to calm down. I can’t talk to you about all this if you’re going to get panicked. May I suggest a wheelchair, just to take pressure of your foot? I’d suggest crutches, but you can barely stand without swaying…”
I had wondered why the doctor seemed to be moving in front of my eyes.
“Once you get comfortable, we can have a chat.”
I reached out and grabbed the woman by her upper arm. “I’m not moving a fucking inch until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
She seemed to recoil from my touch, and I felt instantly guilty. I didn’t mean to scare her, I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I was desperate.
She pulled her arm away from me and grabbed at a chair. “Sit,” she instructed, and suddenly became a lot more adverse to my behaviour.
I did as I was told, and was frankly relieved to be able to sit down. I leant forward and rested my head in my hands.
The doctor pulled up a chair beside me. “Take these,” she said, holding out two pills in her hand.
I looked at them. “What are they?”
“Painkillers.”
I set her with a hard gaze. “It’s not my body that hurts…it’s my heart. I need you to please tell me what’s going on.”
She closed her hand and put the pills back into the pocket of her lab coat. “There’s no easy way to deliver news like this…”
I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for it. Waited for the horrible news, the gut-wrenching pain to slice through my heart.
The doctor began to speak, but I didn’t hear every word.
“Didn’t look good…banged up pretty bad…car accident…broken leg…concussion…possible brain damage…”
I leant forward more, my breath hitching in my throat, expelling ragged, gasping breaths.
“I’m sorry, but all we can do now is wait…”
“Wait for what?” I demanded loudly. “For death?”
Dr Tethers put her hand on my arm. “No. For test results, for sign of movement in the hands, behind the eyelids, anything to show us some life.”
“So what you’re saying is that at the moment, there’s nothing? No moving, no…life.” I choked on the last word.
“I’m afraid not…but that’s not unusual in circumstances like this…patients aren’t expected to respond that fast after such a brutal car accident.”
“So are you saying there’s hope?”
She looked at me with big eyes, and I could see the pain behind them. “Of course. There’s always hope.”
“I can’t lose…” I trailed off.
The doctor squeezed my hand. “I know this is hard, but we really need to talk about the details…”
I wiped at my eyes and nodded. “I understand, I need to know what happened.”
She took a deep breath. “It was through no fault of your friend. The car was stationed at a traffic light, the light turned green and your friend accelerated…but a drunk driver ploughed into the driver’s side door. You friend has a broken left leg, a concussion, scrapes and bumps, couple of broken ribs.” She paused. “ I’m sorry, is this too much?”
I took a deep breath. “Kinda, but…keep going…”
“A lot of blood was lost, and that was our main concern. We had to perform a transfusion in the OR—“
“Wait, you had to operate?”
Dr Tethers nodded. “Your friend’s leg was practically shattered, we’re lucky that most of the femur and fibula was intact, so it could be reformed. We also had to drain the lungs, because they were retaining fluid, blood mostly. The punctured lung is a worry, but we were able to contain the blood flow, and patch the hole. There’s a bad head injury that we need to keep an eye on, which will mean two CAT scans a day, to monitor brain activity…”
I nodded. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“At the moment, brain activity is four counts under the normal range. If it drops to anything below 10 counts, there’s a good chance that your friend won’t regain the use of the left side of the brain, which controls thought process…”
“So they’ll basically become a vegetable?”
“That’s the extreme possibility. But your friend seems to be doing well, I don’t foresee the brain activity dropping too much further.”
I took a deep breath and wiped at my eyes. “I’m sorry…this is all…an hour ago I was getting ready to watch Pirates of the Caribbean and now…”
“You’re more than welcome to visit…but not for long.”
I nodded and stood up slowly, pain shooting up my ankle. “In there?” I asked, motioning to a closed door.
Dr Tethers nodded. “Don’t be alarmed, it probably looks a lot worse than it is.”
“It can’t be much worse than what I’m picturing in my head.”
She gave me a tight smile. “I’ll come back and check on you soon. I’ll need to have a look at that ankle.”
She walked away and I stood at the closed door, taking deep, measured breaths. I put my hand on the doorknob and noticed it was shaking horribly.
I turned the knob and pushed the door open, my heart jumping into my throat.
What I saw shocked me to my core. It made my heart quiver in fear, and my chest constrict in pain.
The person on the bed was a shadow of the person I used to know. The person lying on the starch white hospital sheets was a broken form of a body, who looked like they’d been to hell and back.
There was a wide white bandage around the pale forehead, and a bright red spot above the left eye, where blood seeped through. The face was contorted in slashes of cuts, bruises coloured the neck and the cheeks, and the gravel rash populated the upper arms.
The broken leg was in a cast from the upper thigh to the toes, and suspended in a canvas pulley, attached to the roof. The person was topless, a thick bandage wrapped around the torso tightly. The body was a marred mess of cuts and bruises and the most horrific welts I’d ever seen.
Across the chest, from the left shoulder, creeping under the bandages and reappearing on the diagonal above the right hip was a deep purple bruise that I instantly recognised as whiplash. The bruise was dotted with flecks of red (blood blisters) and blue (more bruising) and even in some cases, deep welts, sewn up with bright yellow stitches. Dried blood was caked everywhere, the eyebrows, creases of the eyes, forehead, arms, neck, chest. The legs were covered with a thin cotton blanket, so I could only imagine what they looked like.
I hadn’t realised I’d been holding my breath until I let it go in a deep whoosh. All the air rushed out of my lungs and I felt my knees quiver and buckle. I grabbed the chair next to me and held myself up, my eyes fixed on the person. The person I used to know.
I moved forward tentatively. I was afraid of them. Afraid that I would hurt them even more if I got closer. But I knew I had to be there. As close as I could, so when they woke up, I’d be the first thing they’d see.
I dragged the chair over beside the bed and sank down into it. I was relieved to have the pressure of my ankle, but at the same time, I wanted to be as far away from there as possible.
But I couldn’t leave. I was rooted to the spot, and I felt that if I moved, I would lose them.
Tears fell freely from my eyes and I reached out and ever so lightly ran my fingers over the motionless hand that lay against the white bed sheet. When nothing happened, I reached out again and let my fingers linger against the back of the hand, revelling in the touch.
I leant forward and lifted the hand to my cheek, holding against the tear-stained skin, placing the softest of soft kisses over the fingers, the palm, the wrist. My lips grazed cuts, and gauze, but I didn’t care, I needed to hold that hand, to remind myself that there was still life coursing through those veins.
I sobbed harder and harder, my tears raining down on the blanket. I pressed more kisses to the hand as I pressed it to my cheek, willing with my mind for the person to wake up. To sit up and say, “fooled ya!” and for everything to be fine. But I knew that wouldn’t happen, I knew everything wasn’t fine.
Nothing could ever be fine while they were like this, broken and bruised in a hospital bed.
I lay my head down on the bed, the hand still clutched in mine. They were cold, so I rubbed them between my own, hoping to make the warmth return to those hands, that were always warm, no matter what. In freezing cold weather, after taking a shower, after washing up, after anything, those hands were always warm.
And now they weren’t.
The rings that were usually on the fingers weren’t there anymore. I looked around the room and saw that a clear bag rested on the table beside the bed. A ‘Personal Effects’ sticker was stuck on the bag, and I reached out for it, upending the bag, spilling the contents onto the bed. Most of the items had blood on them, but I didn’t care as I shuffled through them, my fingers grazing a watch, a wallet, two silver rings, a necklace, a set of keys on the Wellington key ring I’d given as a gift when we first met.
There was another clear bag with the clothes folded up inside. Blood-soaked, ripped and ruined, but there, in a bag, like the owner would want to take them home.
I didn’t touch that bag, I didn’t want to smell the metallic scent of blood, I didn’t want to see the large gashes in the material.
I turned my attention back to the pile of belongings in front of me. I flipped through the wallet, smiling at the horrible driver’s licence picture, a couple others of the person’s family, credit cards, a gym membership card. $291 in cash, and a piece of paper.
I plucked it from next to a hundred dollar bill and unfolded it.
It was a receipt.
For popcorn, Doritos and potato chips in two flavours.
I dropped the receipt and leant forward, burying my head in the blankets as I began to cry.
Cross posted to:
fellow_shippers & jettabug
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
From:
Wow
“WOW” .V.
From:
no subject
It's just so fantastic. You capture everything so perfectly and you can really see and feel the situation which granted is scarey but it shows how great ur writing is.
oh and Ilove my new nick name :D
Bunny loves ya.
From: (Anonymous)
no subject
I can't wait to see more!
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
i was crying through the last part it was so shocking and sad.
i sure hope there will b another part to it...i want to see what happens.
i understand ur use of they and them in the part where he is trying to distance himself from Billy's body. I do think tho that it disrupts the flow a bit. it would still sound the same if u used he/him.
but it was mint.
oh and btw i <3 ur nick 4 chend...*waves hi to bunny* lol
From: (Anonymous)
no subject