#| oliver.

[mrtglfrd]

@olivcr​ !

        She’d been NOTHING to him until she was EVERYTHING. It’s a painstaking realization, hours of harsh CLARITY being forced upon him as he witnesses her almost LIFELESS body on the bed. He’s gone through all the MOTIONS, from sitting at her side and holding her hand to downing seven ( or was it eight ) cups of stale, hospital coffee to keep him AWAKE. Right now, he’s pacing, because FUCK, this really isn’t his style. It’s laughable and pitiful, and he just wants her to be ALRIGHT. In this moment, there’s nothing he wants more. It all BLURS together, the fight, the phone call, Pauline. He wonders if FATE played a hand in the destruction or if it was all him. If it was, he doesn’t feel POWERFUL, far from it. The deprivation of sleep has got him standing the end of her bed, leaning against the railing and looking to her with a clenched jaw and BLOODSHOT eyes. “ I’m sorry alright ? I’m SORRY. So if you could just, y’know, fuckin’ be okay ? We can figure shit out and I’ll do better. I’ll BE better. ”

[mrtglfrd]

@olivcr​ !

          It’s half three, and he’s itching for something more. An overactive mind grants him no peace, especially when she’s right there beside him. He’s never been able to find solace in silence, what’s meant to be comforting only highlighting a perpetually ticking HOURGLASS. With his back against the headboard and bare legs s p r a w l e d over unkempt sheets, his eyes scan the bedside table, instantly committed to the newfound idea. The already ajar drawer reveals a small ziplock which he picks from the array of other pleasantries ; condoms, loose change and a tie dye lighter an old friend brought back from Woodstock. He lifts a single brow, presenting the white speckled baggie before her. He’s gonna do it anyways, but it’s always better with a buddy, or in this case, the girl he just FUCKED. “ Babe, you want ? ”