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[ageplot, for michael and alex]
Jul. 1st, 2020 06:21 pm[Dated to approx the morning of 07/01]
Luke comes to with a jerk, his heart pounding in his chest, and the startle is enough to tumble him off the bed, along with half the sheets he's wrapped in.
The...bed?
He looks around, blinking uncomprehendingly, his mind a fog. He's sitting on the hardwood floor of what has to be a child's room, right now a blur of blues and yellows and the rocket ship pattern of the sheets of the twin bed he's fallen out of. "What the fuck," he mumbles, clutching at the sheets, which as he has begun to realize, are a blessing, because he's not wearing clothes. Something that he thinks might be some kid's sweatpants are tangled around his feet and he kicks them away jerkily.
Luke Crain has woken up in some -- really fucked up places, all right, in some pretty incredibly fucked up states -- but he has never passed out in a kid's bed. Much less woken up naked in one. His stomach twists sickly. He's pretty...pretty sure he'd have booked it if a pusher had a kid around. He wants to take off right now, but he can't find his fucking clothes.
As he gets to his feet, gathering the sheets up around his waist, he smacks his head on a mobile of the solar system that he thinks fleetingly he'd have loved when he was little. Luke winces away from it, setting it right. What the fuck happened last night? He hasn't -- he wasn't -- he's been sober --
Joey. Nell. It comes flooding back into him, the vision he'd had the night before, the sudden, abrupt nothing, the cold. Joey robbing him, the bare feet, the sense of the Tall Man over his shoulder. But more than anything, the cold. He's shivering already with it, but something's changed: it's like an echo, like the threat of withdrawal instead of the actual sickness of it. He can't feel her. He can't feel Nellie at all, and that's more terrifying than anything else.
He didn't -- what did he do? He needs to get out of here. He needs to get to Nell.
Luke comes to with a jerk, his heart pounding in his chest, and the startle is enough to tumble him off the bed, along with half the sheets he's wrapped in.
The...bed?
He looks around, blinking uncomprehendingly, his mind a fog. He's sitting on the hardwood floor of what has to be a child's room, right now a blur of blues and yellows and the rocket ship pattern of the sheets of the twin bed he's fallen out of. "What the fuck," he mumbles, clutching at the sheets, which as he has begun to realize, are a blessing, because he's not wearing clothes. Something that he thinks might be some kid's sweatpants are tangled around his feet and he kicks them away jerkily.
Luke Crain has woken up in some -- really fucked up places, all right, in some pretty incredibly fucked up states -- but he has never passed out in a kid's bed. Much less woken up naked in one. His stomach twists sickly. He's pretty...pretty sure he'd have booked it if a pusher had a kid around. He wants to take off right now, but he can't find his fucking clothes.
As he gets to his feet, gathering the sheets up around his waist, he smacks his head on a mobile of the solar system that he thinks fleetingly he'd have loved when he was little. Luke winces away from it, setting it right. What the fuck happened last night? He hasn't -- he wasn't -- he's been sober --
Joey. Nell. It comes flooding back into him, the vision he'd had the night before, the sudden, abrupt nothing, the cold. Joey robbing him, the bare feet, the sense of the Tall Man over his shoulder. But more than anything, the cold. He's shivering already with it, but something's changed: it's like an echo, like the threat of withdrawal instead of the actual sickness of it. He can't feel her. He can't feel Nellie at all, and that's more terrifying than anything else.
He didn't -- what did he do? He needs to get out of here. He needs to get to Nell.
