A small part of him wonders if this is some strange, fucked up hallucination. If the drugs are just that strong this time around and this weird dream will shatter, fall apart around him and open back up to the bleak hospital room. But the bed feels real and his whole body practically sinks into it. He hasn't even bothered to take off the coat yet, either.
"Mm, food sounds awful," he groans, the admission blunt. "I mean don't get me wrong, I'm hungry, but it's better for both of us if I don't eat anything right away."
The next couple of days will be horrific. They always are, filled with shakes, nausea, night-terrors and cold sweats. Partner all of that with the absolute need for a fix and the creeping sounds of the undead? Well.
"This bed might be better than the bath, I swear. Are all fancy beds this soft? I'm not used to a bed that doesn't have a spring that occasionally stabs you in the ass just to remind you that you're alive."
He slowly rolls over onto his back and reaches a hand out for one of hers, giving it a little tug. "You're sure this is all real? Like, you're not fucking around, right? You're there and I'm here and we have a whole suite? A suite with TV and room service? I feel like the Queen of England if she got hit by a double decker bus and someone killed her corgi but you know. Still the Queen."
What does the other side of this situation look like? When the withdrawal is done and they're left with whatever remnants remain? It won't be pretty, and part of him wants to warn her, but he wants to apologize before that. "You know... this is gonna suck a lot. I'm usually in places where they can lock the door and let me do my thing until I'm done and we all move on with our lives. I mean we do the happy, sit in a circle and talk about our deep, dark inner turmoil, but before all that comes the really bad shit. I..." He swallows hard and looks back up at her. "You... don't really deserve to see me like that," he laughs, a nervous sort of edge to it. "Gonna be a real clown show, let me tell ya."
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"Mm, food sounds awful," he groans, the admission blunt. "I mean don't get me wrong, I'm hungry, but it's better for both of us if I don't eat anything right away."
The next couple of days will be horrific. They always are, filled with shakes, nausea, night-terrors and cold sweats. Partner all of that with the absolute need for a fix and the creeping sounds of the undead? Well.
"This bed might be better than the bath, I swear. Are all fancy beds this soft? I'm not used to a bed that doesn't have a spring that occasionally stabs you in the ass just to remind you that you're alive."
He slowly rolls over onto his back and reaches a hand out for one of hers, giving it a little tug. "You're sure this is all real? Like, you're not fucking around, right? You're there and I'm here and we have a whole suite? A suite with TV and room service? I feel like the Queen of England if she got hit by a double decker bus and someone killed her corgi but you know. Still the Queen."
What does the other side of this situation look like? When the withdrawal is done and they're left with whatever remnants remain? It won't be pretty, and part of him wants to warn her, but he wants to apologize before that. "You know... this is gonna suck a lot. I'm usually in places where they can lock the door and let me do my thing until I'm done and we all move on with our lives. I mean we do the happy, sit in a circle and talk about our deep, dark inner turmoil, but before all that comes the really bad shit. I..." He swallows hard and looks back up at her. "You... don't really deserve to see me like that," he laughs, a nervous sort of edge to it. "Gonna be a real clown show, let me tell ya."