Chapter Text
Gordie let out a groan of pain as he slid down the wall, tilting his head back as the cocaine set his nose and insides ablaze.
"Never gets easier, huh?" Someone from beside Gordie laughed, patting him on his shoulder. He mumbled in agreement, his head tilting back down to the ground as he sat with his arms on his knees. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his flannel jacket, waiting anxiously for the drug to numb him.
He dusted off the remaining grains in his hand back into the little baggy, thanking the man beside him. He waved Gordie off, insisting it was fine. Gordie's lips were swollen, but it was the least he's ever had to do to get some coke, so he guessed it was fine too.
He ran a shaky hand through his short brown strands, grimacing at how knotty and unruly it had become. Over time, Gordie had to take more and more just to reach the high he desperately wanted, and within months, he felt like the shell of someone who could've become more in life; his appearance resembled something rather ghostly and otherworldly — his skin was pale, his cheeks were hollow, and he doesn't remember the last time he brushed his hair.
His thoughts travelled to when he was fresh out of high school, optimistic about the future and where it would lead him. His first apartment had stacks upon stacks of loose papers filled with beginnings to the stories he made in his head, all written by the youthful eighteen-year-old version of himself, who was dead-set on becoming an author.
He sighed. Those papers had been burned beyond a salvageable state a long time ago. Now, he's twenty-three years old, and in the last four years of his life, he's dedicated his life to drugs and meaningless sex with strangers. His current apartment is desolate and empty, void of anything that resembles human life.
His body shuddered from the wind of a cold winter night. Something was scratching at the surface of his undersense, making him smile with joy; this uncomfortable feeling usually meant the cocaine was kicking in, and in just a moments time, he'll be free from the ball and chain that was his mind, and his thoughts and feelings would dissipate.
Gordie stood up quickly, his knees cracking as he did so. He leaned into the wall behind him and sighed again, this time in a positive manner. This was the feeling he was yearning for — complete and utter numbness within his brain, paired with the tingling of his skin and the urge to jump off rooftops.
His heartbeat rang through his ears as he began to walk out onto the streets. The brightness from stoplights and unidentifiable street signs made Gordie's head pound, but it didn't stop him from running down the busy street, his jacket slipping down his thin arms.
He ran past shops, houses, and people whom he hadn't seen before, their faces all blurring into one. His head was still pounding and his body felt uncomfortably hot, but he didn't want to ever stop. He let his jacket fall from him. The warm fabric was bugging him anyway.
There was a flash of pain in his left shoulder and all of a sudden he was laying on the filthy, cigarette-stained sidewalk, staring up at the midnight sky. The stars seemed to stare back at him.
Two hands grabbed his body by his waist and pulled him up to his feet. He staggered, taking an awfully long time to balance himself. The blurring shape of a person who picked up his pathetic self held him in place by the shoulders, their fingers digging into the prominent bones.
"Gordie…? Gordie! Gordie!"
Gordie blinked, and the figure in front of him was talking, saying his name over and over. The voice felt so loud, yet so far away. It made Gordie's head spin.
He took a shaky step back. "How d'you know m'name?" Gordie slurred, the words coming out before he could even process them.
Upon closer inspection, this individual had neatly combed blond hair, wore a professional-looking black suit, and had a briefcase beside their feet. They sighed and took Gordie's hand, dragging him away from the bustling people of the street.
But Gordie didn't want that, not one bit. His body trembled at the fact that this person, who seemed as though they owned enough money to cover up a murder, was taking him away from the public eye. He was adamant that something terrible would happen as long as he was in this person's presence.
"Hey, s-stop!" He cried out, roughly pulling back from their grip. His skin felt like it was on fire, and the person's hand against his tingling flesh wasn't making anything better.
Gordie breathed hard, his heartbeat spiking and pounding in his ears like a drum. That hot and tingly feeling had turned into something bigger, like something was crawling underneath his skin. He stepped back again and mindlessly scratched at his arms, the urge to just run and run and run growing by the second, gnawing at him. The figure tried to stop Gordie from scratching by enclosing his hands with theirs, but that only heightened Gordie's anxiety; he felt trapped, and now, the urge to sprint turned animalistic — it was digging its teeth into his neck and its nails into his sensitive skin.
Gordie tried to knock the, now blurring, figure away with the back of his hand. Something left his mouth, maybe a protest, maybe a profanity, but he was way too far gone now to process it. They shouted in return, roughly wrapping their arms around his waist and holding him against their body tight, not letting go, even when Gordie resorted to punching them, striking right above their cheek and knocking their glasses off their faces. The frames landed on the ground with a shatter. They yelled again and dragged Gordie by the front of his ripped shirt, keeping an arm around his waist still and ignoring how Gordie was doing practically anything to be released from their grip.
-
When Gordie awoke, it was with a wince and a soft groan of pain; a bright light engulfed his vision, sending sharp pains through his head. There was an overhead lamp above him that was switched on, and it was killing him. He covered his eyes with his hands, groaning again. He felt exhausted and hungry, and he couldn't ignore how his body craved some sort of drug, even though he had only just woken up.
Peaking through the gaps in between his fingers, he slowly started to understand that this room he was in, this bed he was laying on, and the big green jacket that hung on his frame weren't his own. He had no idea where he'd landed himself this time.
Panic spiked in his veins. Usually, if he woke up in a stranger's residence, he'd probably been violated or used in some way. Having a short and small body, Gordie knew that some random's had a lust for his child-like appearance, and he'd wake up half-paralysed in a stranger's withering apartment, naked, bruised, and dirty without a clue on how he got there. The thought made his skin feel filthy and impure; a feeling that could not be cured by a mere shower.
He used one of his hands to push himself up, attempting to take in his surroundings and search for an exit, all while shaking with fear and confusion.
Yeah, it really doesn't get easier, he thought to himself.
He was laying on a soft bed, accompanied by white sheets and multiple unmatching blankets thrown atop of him. Well, whoever had plucked him off the street this time had definitely tried to make up for their disgusting acts by pampering him.
He threw the blankets off of him and tried to stand on his two feet, only to tremble and fall with a thud. His muscles ached, and he only just realised how incredibly weak and starving he was. It all made his head throb.
Despite being in pain and unable to walk, he used a nearby shelf to push his shaking frame up and onto his feet again. He knew better than to call out for someone, so he tried to walk again, pushing away the blinding pain.
The door to the room opened with one swift movement, scaring the shit out of Gordie and almost knocking him off his feet again.
Gordie gasped involuntarily when he saw a familiar sight in the doorway; a tall, lean man with blond hair and the softest blue eyes that almost resembled ice, a stark contrast to the warm, almost fiery personality he could remember.
"Chris…?" Gordie muttered, immediately followed by a series of coughs. Chris was gone for a moment, before returning with a bottle of water.
"Drink," he ordered, shoving the plastic bottle into Gordie's dry lips. Gordie drank from it greedily, his instincts telling him that if he doesn't take advantage of this now, he'll never get it again. For months at a time, he'd roam the streets hungry, thirsty, and exhausted, but if he could just take what he could now and bolted, he'd be okay for the next few days.
He blinked rapidly again; one of Chris's arms was wrapped around Gordie's waist, holding him up, and the other was pouring water down his dry throat. Chris, whom he hadn't seen for God knows how long, was here in front of him, practically bottle-feeding him water at this point, not seeming to mind that Gordie was in his house at all.
Gordie held his hand up near the bottle, signalling that he didn't want any more. Chris pulled the bottle away and wiped away a falling drop of water from Gordie's mouth with his sleeve.
"Are you warm? You don't have to keep wearing that." Chris referred to the jacket that'd been placed on him during his unconsciousness.
"N-No, it's fine. I…I have questions?" Gordie stammered, confusion overpowering any feelings of uncertainty and hesitancy he once had about being in the Chambers residence. The hot flame within Chris must've died down over the many years of his absence because Gordie couldn't recall any times where Chris had been so nice to him. Years ago, in real desperate times of need, Chris would offer him company and a place to stay, which was already enough, but now he was treating him like a small child.
"I do too," Chris replied, voice seemingly calm while staring Gordie dead in the eyes with a blank face, "but you look like you haven't had a drop of food or water in weeks. I'm sure they can wait for now.
At this, Gordie's stomach rumbled loudly. "Yeah, I guess."