#;april23rd

[ashton-ryder]

//int. ashton's apartment #306 - morning. 23rd april. @hannahxinterrupted

After Charlie left, Ashton found himself falling back into the deep haze after exerting way too much energy to stay focused on talking coherently with her. He had appreciated her pulling him out of the pit that morning however, now being alone again, it was too easy to slip from his grips and fall back in. The shitty feeling that he couldn't quite place why other than due to withdrawals came and went in waves, the tide had receded while Charlie was here, making it easy to justify hanging on, but now it came back in full force over his head, threatening to drag in under water. The meal Charlie brought still sat on his bedside table, honestly the smell probably made him more nauseous. And so he pulled the covers over his head, curled into a ball, riding it out as the ugly thoughts swung back in. What's the point on hanging on? Maybe a lack of air underneath the covers here can knock him out to a painless dream.

He wasn't left alone for very long, or maybe it was long, it felt long, Ashton couldn't really have a grasp on time, only pain, assuming Charlie had come back to make sure the food was eaten, "I don't want to eat, I'm fine." Those were better greeting words than kill me, right? Right. The words were pathetically muffled into blankets, not really sure of the new presence with him that morning. And if it was anyone here to hurt him, all he could think of was might as well.

[ashton-ryder]

//int. ashton’s apt #306 - dusk. 23rd april. @beauclary

After Charlie left that morning, Ash was really starting to feel the effects of being awake for one, the heroin withdrawals for another, physically and emotionally exhausted from crying for last. Yet he couldn’t do anything about it but lay in bed and ride it out. He was in and out of consciousness for most of the early day, battling the nausea, and headaches, and pain, vaguely aware of someone visiting - Beau? Ash couldn’t really remember. He was spoken to, he said some words, and then he succumb to some kind of surface level of sleep with the mixture of everything assaulting his senses.

By the time he clawed through unconsciousness and the heavy weight suffocating him, the sun had lowered to filter into his windows, looking to set soon and usher in the night. He groaned at the pounding in his head intensifying the more he pulled himself awake, the nausea getting him to at least sit up, feeling the room spin with him as he did. But once his vision could focus again, Beau was still seated on a chair by his room, reading one of his books. “You’re still here?” Ash rubbed his eyes and the tear stains away, blinking until the blurry figure cleared up to morph into Beau, "told you it's fine, you didn't hafta stay and sit here doing nothing," he weakly chuckled but gaze clearly appreciative of his friend's gesture.