stilljustandrew (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stilljustandrew) wrote2014-07-21 11:28 pm
stilljustandrew) wrote2014-07-21 11:28 pm
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[oopfsb / darkest timeline] Curtis
It's not that he hasn't been eating. It's that he hasn't been able to muster the energy to do much more than unwrap a granola bar or a stick of beef jerky or open a packet of chips, once or twice a day. And even at that rate, he's run out.
He made himself take a shower yesterday, which means his clothes have only been slept in once, so he can probably make it through the bar without attracting too much attention. There's a baseball cap to hide his bedhead, and obscure his face a little. If he's lucky, maybe he won't run into anyone he knows.
Down the stairs, one step at a time, and towards Bar.
He made himself take a shower yesterday, which means his clothes have only been slept in once, so he can probably make it through the bar without attracting too much attention. There's a baseball cap to hide his bedhead, and obscure his face a little. If he's lucky, maybe he won't run into anyone he knows.
Down the stairs, one step at a time, and towards Bar.
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Oh god he's getting so tired of crying.
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There's the sound of Curtis shifting -- gingerly, a little slow -- as he gets to his feet. In the opposite corner from the hammock, a door (small, just like everything else in the room) opens to a bathroom. Its hinges squeak a little.
Shortly after that, a wad of toilet paper comes into Andrew's line of sight, as Curtis holds it out in silent offering.
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He reaches out to take the offered toilet paper, blows his nose, wipes the wetness out of his eyes.
"'nks."
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He retreats back to the wall, but leans against it this time, rather than returning to his seat on the floor.
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"I can't get past that part." His voice is dull again. "I made it so easy for him."
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(Unless you're Curtis, but that's not the point. Normal is just as extinct as cigarettes where he's from.)
"It's Matt's fault for screwing you over, not yours."
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"Yeah," he mumbles. "I know."
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"I mean, did he give you any sign that he wasn't into it, either?"
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He shuts his eyes, shakes his head silently.
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"Look." Quiet. "Tell me to fuck off if you want, it's not like I've got a lot of experience here. But this doesn't look like you were deluding yourself."
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"Thanks."
Because he means it kindly. Even if he's wrong.
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"You sure I can't get you water or something?"
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"Actually yeah," he says, "water would be super, thanks."
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There's the sound of running water -- as brief as possible, lest he waste more than he needs -- and a clink of glass against ceramic.
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He's still not sure whether or not it was a good idea to come here in the first place.
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"Here," he murmurs as he holds it out to Andrew.
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It isn't until the first sip soothes his throat that he realizes how tight and painful it's been.
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He stuffs his hand into the pocket of his jacket, leaning against the wall.
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... possibly he hasn't been drinking enough, over the past however many days.
Another few drinks and it's empty. He gets to his feet and offers the glass back to Curtis.
"I should get going," he says. "Thanks again. For listening."
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Even if Andrew never takes him up on the offer again? It's important to look out for the people who need it.
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"Listen," he says, "if -- if you ever need anything, while you're here -- let me know, okay?"
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Andrew's not from the tail. But neither of them are in the tail, either. They're not even on the train.
"I will," he says. "Thanks, man."