Chapter Text
It wasn’t that he’d actively decided to do something self-damaging. Any more than usual. Just like he hadn’t meant to hit the self-destruct button on his life a few weeks earlier. Like most thing lately it just sort of...happened.
He was a failure. He knew that. Over and over again he’d managed to fail. It wasn’t so much the expectation of being ‘Johnny Rose’s Son’ that got him really. Nobody expected him to be the next Johnny Rose. And anyway his Dad was fond of telling him that he wasn't a success until he was forty. No the pressure wasn’t from his Dad. Or even his Mom. Who early on dispaired that her children lacked the performance gene- despite Alexis’ misguided recording attempts. Typically hands-off his parents simply rolled their eyes every time something went wrong. They made excuses for him. Meanwhile all he could think was someone should start taking responsibility for his many failings. He just didn’t know how to.
It was looking around at everyone his age. And if he was honest, everyone younger. That’s what did it. He’d hit 30 and felt like he was falling off a cliff. He hadn’t ‘made it’ he wasn’t a success. If anything he was doing worse. Across his twenties he’d managed moderate success. A few lucky moments with artists he’d managed to make some headlines, even make some of his own money. There was a sense he might be ‘going places’ whatever that meant. He never had any idea what he was doing really. He just fell into one thing after another. Until he fell out of it.
And now everyone was 25 and ‘innovating’ left and right, and he was the old guy who never quite made it. And he was getting laughed at by fresh graduates for his dated ideas. And for not being cool enough. And given he didn’t even know what he did, he was qualified to do absolutely nothing else. And so he’d spent the last two years drifting from the odd project to another. But not really doing anything.
And mostly channelling his energies into other pursuits.
He’d come home on Friday. With just one bag. But he wasn’t going back. He knew that, whatever happened he’d shut the door and wasn’t going back there. He couldn’t face those people again. That life.
And as he’d sat in the quiet of the huge house alone all weekend, he slowly realised he didn’t have anything to keep going for. Not really. It was a slow realisation of something that had been there for so long. He was done. With everything.
If he stopped and thought about it, he’d been done for a while. He couldn’t remember a weekend for a long time. If he was honest he couldn’t remember many week days. Some of them were parties he still got invited to where the only way through was drinking and whatever other substances were on offer. Mostly it was drinking alone until he passed out. Because then he didn’t have to think. Or feel. Or do.
Really he just wanted to sleep. For as long as possible. He just wanted everybody to leave him alone. He just wanted everyone to stop wanting something from him. Something he clearly didn’t have to give. And he didn’t want to see his Dad’s pained expression when he told him that he’d fucked up again. And he didn’t want his Mom’s pity, or her trying to explain away his latest failings. He’d take his sister brushing off his problems in return for whatever Middle-Eastern millionaire she was creating drama with this week. But she was too caught up in whatever drama that was to care. So he wanted to sleep. Was that so much to ask?
He made the decision without making the decision. He found himself in his parents’ bathroom, where he knew his Mom kept the pills. It was just an open secret that her kids- and he was willing to bet his Dad given he had to put up with the rest of the family- occasionally stole one or two of her pills. Who hadn’t occasionally swiped prescription painkillers or the odd upper from their parents he and Aleixs had often reasoned. Whether it was curing jet lag or making it through finals week, they all knew they did it, and just as long as Moira still had enough of her stash nobody minded.
Except this time David took more than just the one or two that he would to get him through a party, or an exam.
First he spent Saturday in a not-unpleasant painkiller induced haze. It really was the best he’d felt in weeks. The entire day passed virtually without him noticing. Until the effects started to wear off. And his thoughts got louder again. So he took another pill and started on the vodka. It was a clean drink after all, it wasn’t going to mess things up. Really all he wanted was to sleep. He hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours in weeks. Today had passed in a pleasant doze, his vision too blurred to turn on his computer or read his phone. So he’d just stayed, in the quiet.
He looked at the pills in his hand. He downed another gulp of vodka. It was helping. His body already felt numb. Maybe just drinking more of that, all of that, was easier. He gulped more down. It burned, but it felt good. His thoughts got more and more blurry. He tried counting out the pills but lost track. He lined them up on the floor while he swigged more vodka.
He wasn’t sure how many he’d taken now. Which could be a problem. It wasn't too many he was sure. His Mom certainly took more than he had in a day.
And then the thought crept in.
‘So what if it is?’
So what indeed. He looked around his room. His childhood room. He was 30 years old and he’d moved back to his childhood room with one bag. Because everything had gone wrong. And nobody cared. Nobody cared about the rich boy who managed to fuck everything up. Nobody believed him when he tried to tell them how sad he was, how lonely. Nobody believed him when he told them how badly people treated him. Poor little rich boy whose Daddy bought him an apartment. Whose Mom was crazy, and maybe so was he. The New York society lot never really did outgrow their Prep Schools that way. Maybe he was crazy, maybe that was his problem. Maybe he just wasn’t designed to function in society that way. Maybe just maybe he should stop trying.
But mostly he just wanted to sleep. For a long time.
He downed some more vodka. No matter how many pills he’d taken today it would take at least two sleeping pills to even knock him out. He knew, he'd been trying for weeks.
It didn’t register that the dose on his Mom’s pills was twice what he’d been taking. Or that he counted out six not four.
He blinked awake. He had no idea where he was. It was bright. Too bright. He wasn’t in his room anymore. He tried to sit up and everything hurt. He also couldn’t breathe, something was stopping him breathing. He panicked trying to sit up and reach for his face at the same time.
‘Just lie still David. It’s ok.’ his Dad’s voice cut through the haze and he blinked a few more times seeing him swim into view. He was frowning down at him. His hair was a mess and he had his glasses on, but no jacket, just a shirt that was undone at the collar. He looked...uncharacteristically unkempt.
‘Dad?’ he tried to say, it hurt. He lifted a hand, there was an oxygen mask over his face. He felt his Dad reach over and gently remove it.
‘They said you could take it off when you woke up, just a precaution.’
‘Where-’ he tried again but his throat felt raw. He coughed and that hurt too.
‘You’re in the hospital.’ Johnny said sitting back down in the chair next to him. David looked around, registered the pale peach walls, and the vaguely medical bleeping sounds around him. The smell. His stomach churned a bit. His Dad perched on the bed next to him still frowning at him. He was bound to be disappointed whatever David had done. He remembered coming home. He didn’t know when. He felt his Dad’s hand on his arm, he’d clearly zoned out. ‘David.’ he said, and he turned back blinking at him. ‘They, uh, they had to pump your stomach, which is why your throat probably hurts. Here, um, these will help.’ he handed David a cup of ice chips. Which he took and gratefully swallowed a few down.
‘Thanks.’ he croaked. ‘What…’ he couldn’t remember anything beyond...he struggled. Friday? Maybe. WHen he got home. He’d eaten some leftover Chinese food. He’d taken some pills and gone to sleep...he’d woken up in the middle of the night...then nothing.
‘Do you know what day it is?’ Johnny frowned at him. David shook his head.
‘Sunday evening.’ he said ‘They, uh, that is I, found you late last night when I got home. You were unconscious, you'd been sick, and well other stuff.’ his Dad shifted uncomfortably.
David looked away, embarrassed.
‘And there was a vodka bottle and some pills, and I called an ambulance, and well. Here we are.’
David took a second to take it all in. ‘I don’t...remember.’ he managed.
Johnny nodded. David assumed he was well versed in blackout and lack of memory after 30 something years with his Mom. ‘I figured as much.’ he said. ‘David what’s going on?’
He didn’t have an answer. Not really. He was just unhappy. So very unhappy. But he couldn’t articulate why. So he said the only thing that made sense to him. ‘I just want to sleep Dad.’ he whispered, his throat hurt so much. He braced himself for a lecture, on thinking about the consequences of his actions. Of taking responsibility. Of how ridiculous and irresponsible he was. Instead his Dad reached over and brushed the hair out of his eyes.
‘Ok Son, you sleep a bit.’ he said softly, ‘You just sleep a bit I’ll be here.’