[ tim sighs softly, the warmth generated by the gentle touch enough to make him think that maybe these chills won't last forever. it's just from the drug in his system, the nurse had warned him. as he begins to go through the waves of it and the fluids they gave him, he'll flip flop from cold to hot. but for now, the shivers seem to take him over as his body starts to come down from it all. ]
Thanks for waiting.
[ why would his professor wait for him? why would he wait for anyone that showed up to his office like tim is now, strung out and drugged, spewing tales of a date gone wrong. it's a miracle the man even believes him.
he turns his face against the blanket for a moment, sniffling softly and wiping at his eyes with the fabric. embarassing - all of this is so embarrassing - even in the haze of the drug he can feel shame wash over him hot and sharp. ]
I couldn't ask you to do that. I don't -
[ ... deserve it. he almost says it out loud and instead closes his eyes tightly for a moment, trying to stop the momentary spin of the room or the hurried ticking of his heart. but he begins to shift anyway, turning onto one side so he can push himself up and away from the backrest of the bed. he needs to swing his feet over, and he manages to turn a little, but his shoes get caught up in the blanket. ]
I just need to... find my phone. I get that and I can find someone.
[ but he knows there will be no one. no one will answer tim laughlin's calls late at night, when most students are out partying or drinking with friends. his use is limited to them, after all, and doesn't include emotional baggage like this.
hindsight? what would he even tell them. would he make up some lie about drinking too much? going to some rager? going to some upper-classman's party? it wouldn't be believable. he hangs his head after a little bit of a struggle, his feet finally coming free and swinging to the side of the bed. he grips the bed hard, knuckles white, and while he doesn't seem like he will fall or sway over, unsteady, like he would have before, he doesn't look great, either. he stares down at his boots, the laces worn, the dark leather cracking, for a long time until slowly, he sucks in a breath. ]
It is my fault. All of this.
[ he pauses a little, biting his lip to help a wave of nausea pass. ] I'll... I'll go with you. No one will answer if I call, anyway.
[ there's nothing self-pitying in it, but there is a sort of clarity in it - a statement of fact so true it may as well be made into a scientific law. he breathes deeply, slowly, like one of the nice nurses had said, when he starts to feel a little dizzy again. his heart's beating fast - anxiety - she'd say, made worse by date-rape drugs like this.
ah, right. ]
I don't know if I can walk. Sor - [ he cuts himself off. ] Maybe if you help me stand up. Or... or whatever you want to do. I don't - um. If anyone sees.
[ he ducks his head a little, suddenly aware that his professor is risking a lot by being here with him, showing his face with someone in the state he's in. if only he could get the room to stop spinning, to get his heart to slow down, to breath deeply and forget everything about the man and -
no subject
Thanks for waiting.
[ why would his professor wait for him? why would he wait for anyone that showed up to his office like tim is now, strung out and drugged, spewing tales of a date gone wrong. it's a miracle the man even believes him.
he turns his face against the blanket for a moment, sniffling softly and wiping at his eyes with the fabric. embarassing - all of this is so embarrassing - even in the haze of the drug he can feel shame wash over him hot and sharp. ]
I couldn't ask you to do that. I don't -
[ ... deserve it. he almost says it out loud and instead closes his eyes tightly for a moment, trying to stop the momentary spin of the room or the hurried ticking of his heart. but he begins to shift anyway, turning onto one side so he can push himself up and away from the backrest of the bed. he needs to swing his feet over, and he manages to turn a little, but his shoes get caught up in the blanket. ]
I just need to... find my phone. I get that and I can find someone.
[ but he knows there will be no one. no one will answer tim laughlin's calls late at night, when most students are out partying or drinking with friends. his use is limited to them, after all, and doesn't include emotional baggage like this.
hindsight? what would he even tell them. would he make up some lie about drinking too much? going to some rager? going to some upper-classman's party? it wouldn't be believable. he hangs his head after a little bit of a struggle, his feet finally coming free and swinging to the side of the bed. he grips the bed hard, knuckles white, and while he doesn't seem like he will fall or sway over, unsteady, like he would have before, he doesn't look great, either. he stares down at his boots, the laces worn, the dark leather cracking, for a long time until slowly, he sucks in a breath. ]
It is my fault. All of this.
[ he pauses a little, biting his lip to help a wave of nausea pass. ] I'll... I'll go with you. No one will answer if I call, anyway.
[ there's nothing self-pitying in it, but there is a sort of clarity in it - a statement of fact so true it may as well be made into a scientific law. he breathes deeply, slowly, like one of the nice nurses had said, when he starts to feel a little dizzy again. his heart's beating fast - anxiety - she'd say, made worse by date-rape drugs like this.
ah, right. ]
I don't know if I can walk. Sor - [ he cuts himself off. ] Maybe if you help me stand up. Or... or whatever you want to do. I don't - um. If anyone sees.
[ he ducks his head a little, suddenly aware that his professor is risking a lot by being here with him, showing his face with someone in the state he's in. if only he could get the room to stop spinning, to get his heart to slow down, to breath deeply and forget everything about the man and -
tim swallows hard and shakes his head. ]