chainsmoker | greg&gen
Boom. Two holes in the wall within thirty seconds. Greg noted how weak the drywall was, tended to his throbbing fist, and then remember briefly that this was how he and Genevieve had met. She’d be so mad at him right now, that was all he could think about. He couldn’t stop thinking it. She hates me. She hates me so much. His stomach twisted as he tried to talk himself down from his anger. There were dark circles under his eyes from not having slept since Gen got stabbed. He’d previously left her to sleep, and then returned to his close-by room to think about how he could have handled that situation better. He wished that he could just sleep or get high to get his mind straight again.
Realizing that he wasn’t going to get himself to where he needed to be on his own, he stopped trying. His face was pale, and his ears were red, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. He knew how crazy he looked as he exited his room, getting a flinch or two from some mousy little patients. He glared at someone giving him a dirty look on the opposite side of the hall before he sped down the stairs and into the kitchen. He tried drinking water first, but had a strong hankering for alcohol. He waited for about twenty minutes for someone to leave the basement door unlocked. Some security guard had come up with a stack of files in hand, and he took that chance to sneak down there. He looked around when he got to the bottom of the stairs. The walls were brick, and unpunchable, assuming that he wanted fully functioning hands. He saw the crawl space, and remembered Gen again. And so did the couch. Everything reminded him of Gen. Dammit. He couldn’t get wasted, what if she needed him? Sighing in defeat, Greg’s expression weakened, and he slumped against the wall, running a hand over his face. He was going to have to get better by himself.
