Date: 10 January Time: 1:00 am Location: Everett’s apartment Closed: @compunctiious
tw: blood
The bright lights illuminating the small bathroom made the lines seem sharper, ugly and jagged across what had never held the accomplishment of perfection. Harsh breaths of denied pain fell from chapped lips as Everett poked and prodded at the still bleeding cuts marring his vulnerable flesh; the most recent addition to a collection of scars. Many would need stitches, he observed as tired irises settled on the thin trail of blood lazily creeping down the defined muscle of his exposed abdomen.
The sharp stench of hydrogen peroxide clung to the tiled floor and painted walls of the washroom, suffocating him with the sterilized fumes of a necessary precaution. It would do him little good to stitch up an infected wound. Teeth ground together in anticipation for the inevitable pain, Everett slowly picked up the cloth soaked in disinfectant. Trembling fingers pressed the stinging rag, quick and efficient, against the cut as a small whimper escaped his throat. Even in the privacy of an empty apartment, Everett loathed to show any type of weakness.
Everett reluctantly peeled the stained cloth from the wound, brow furrowed and eyes squeezed shut against the pain radiating through his abdomen. Reaching blindly for a rare bottle perched next to the sink, Everett took a quick swig of scotch. The crude taste of alcohol assaulted every taste bud; a necessary evil to stop his shaking hands. Swallowing the burning liquid with a grimace, Everett set the bottle back to its previous place and allowed his eyelids to part from their crushing embrace. And that was the easy part.
Eyes focusing on the glistening needle, Everett brought a hesitant hand to reach for the tool. Fumbling fingers closed around the delicate metal just as a loud knock echoed through the silent apartment. Staring at the needle still clasped in his grasp, Everett contemplated who would bother disturbing him at such a late hour. The Capulets had taken enough of his time under the reassurance that he was fine; now he was under the impression he was free to return home without the threat of further company.
The pounding sounded again, this time more impatient behind the thick wood of a locked door. Sighing in resignation and annoyance, Everett pressed the coarse cloth of a generic bandage to the harshest of wounds before making the short journey to his front door. Mind still rattling with the sharp pain echoing through his form, Everett paid no mind to the sight he would provide for his unwanted guest: bare feet, flannel pajama pants, exposed and torn up chest, all pulled together with a blackened eye and bruised features. His father would loathe to see him take on such degrading appearance.
The cold indifference that so frequently painted his features gave way to surprise as he opened the door, his unwanted guest suddenly becoming an unexpected friend. “Viv? What are you doing here?”
