In and out, over and over again. A few hours one day, an entire night the next. Hours ticked away the meaningless sounds of conversations taking place around him. None of them meant anything and it was a lot less painful not knowing. Slumped uncomfortably in the corner, half lying on the dirty mattress while fading out as quickly as possible, the hours bled together and dripped through the spaces between his fingers. He spent most of his time napping. Sitting half-lucid and rambling or dozing off right where he sat. No one had approached him for the past few nights, content to leave him alone and go about their business as though he wasn't there.
One day or night, unknown and unimportant to Johnny at this point, something disturbed him, bringing him around despite the immensely heavy weight dragging him down. Someone spoke. Quiet words floated through his head, digging into his brain like a hundred needles. He couldn't hear what was being said, or even discern where it was coming from.
Hands suddenly fisted into his jacket, the surface beneath him moved as he slid upright, meeting the gaze of a half drunk but concerned-looking Rigel.
"—it? You feelin' sick or what? Damn, lookit you," he was muttering, though his words were slow and slurred together, which was to be expected. "How long you been laid up like this? Hey. You in there?"
For a few seconds, Johnny merely stared. Once the words had sunk in, he nodded, managing to blink and rub at one eye. "What? Yeah," he muttered.
Rigel gave a slow nod, a single nervous chuckle. "Fuck you still doin' here? Ain't no place for you, man." His hands remained holding him up, despite the clear difficulty he had straightening up. "Go on, get back t'your own bed. This place ain't safe. Not good, man, not good."
Head aching and every inch of him seeming to weigh far too much, Johnny slumped forward. His forehead touched the man's shoulder, and he leaned there, just drifting, focusing on the sound of him breathing. "Haven't got one," he admitted, wincing when his voice came out raspy and dry.
"Ain't true, man, ain't true." The hands clutching his shirt eventually moved up, dragging through the tangled, greasy mess of hair, and lifting his face. "G'on, get. Julie's a good girl, ain't never...just try a li'l harder. All I'm sayin'."
"I fucked up," Johnny whispered, shaking his head, wanting to shut his eyes. "Jus' let me...sleep. Won' stay, promise, just—"
"Nah, none'a that. Don't do that. Look..." Rigel started, giving him a weak shake. "I got a phone y'can use. Get someone to come get'cha."
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, only a long, slow exhale. Letting his eyes slip closed, Johnny simply let Rigel do what he wanted, too tired and sore to protest.
"C'mon. Yeah? Stand for me," the man urged, shifting their weights and helping the heavy and awkward man onto his feet. "Let's get'cha, and you go head and sit on the step out front and we'll give someone a ring."
A grunt of protest, but Johnny obeyed all the same, allowing the taller man to ease him out the door. Despite the cold, Johnny welcomed it against his sweaty skin and leaned against the busted exterior beside the worn out screen door. Rigel was quick to return with a bag phone, shoving it into his hands. Johnny stared down at it, blinking a few times. "Didn't know you had one of these," he murmured, the corners of his mouth turned downwards slightly. The guy didn't even own a car to keep it in.
But Rigel just gave a small grin, putting his hands in his pockets and giving a quick glance to the inside of the house before looking back to Johnny. "Made a little trade for it."
"Ah."
Shaking his head, Rigel stepped away a short distance, allowing Johnny some room. "Right, well—I'll give ya some privacy. Get someone on the line. Y'ain't staying here."
"Rigel—"
"Think on it a minute if you gotta. I'll be back."
Before Johnny could argue, Rigel darted back inside, out of sight. Irritation bubbled up into his throat before quickly dying out, knowing it was a losing battle. Instead, his mind buzzed in the haze of the high, trying to decide who to contact for a ride. Options were limited, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face into a pillow and go back to sleep, no questions or berating. With that, the answer seemed obvious. Taking a deep breath and sitting upright as much as he could manage without feeling horribly dizzy, Johnny punched a series of numbers into the keypad and listened to the ringing begrudgingly.
Just answer the damn phone. Pick up already. Goddamnit.
Moments passed before the ringing finally cut off, and a familiar, rough voice answered with a low murmur. "Hello?"
Johnny was silent, staring at the peeling paint on the steps in front of him. His mouth felt dry.
"Hello?"
"Hey."
"Who is this?"
"It's Johnny."
Silence.
"Please—"
"It's after three. What do you want?" came the irritable answer.
"Van," he began again, rubbing at his temple a bit. "Look, please. I just...need a lift."
"This is a goddamn joke," Van grumbled on the other end. "You call at this hour to bug me?"
"I don't got anywhere else," Johnny mumbled, too exhausted and sad to think of an excuse.
"You serious? Where the hell is Julie?"
Biting hard on the inside of his cheek and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, Johnny pinched the bridge of his nose. His temples throbbed. He drew a shaky breath. "You live close." He paused, his brows knitting. "Please. It's stupid cold out here."
The silence following the words stretched on for an agonizingly long minute. Johnny tapped his foot impatiently on the porch, pressing the receiver a little closer to his ear. Breathing sounded against the speaker for a moment. Finally, Van took a deep breath. "Johnny, I'm not interested in dealing with your—"
"I know! Look. Look, I don't—where else am I supposed to go?"
"Sleep in your fuckin' car, why should I care? You're a big boy."
"Van! Jesus fucking Christ, please—" His voice was rising a little more than he wanted. It took all his restraint not to have a breakdown at that very moment, knowing it wasn't the best way to plead his case. When no response came, he forced a slow breath and lowered his voice, desperately grasping at anything that might work. "It's late. I can't stay here. I'm fucked up. Just—I'll pay you back, whatever you want. Please."
An audible groan on the other end, followed by shuffling sounds and mutterings. "No, I ain't doin' this again. I'm tired, I need sleep. Fuckin' asshole."
The dial tone confirmed he had hung up.
Johnny immediately pulled the phone from his ear, wanting to chuck the heavy device as far as he could manage, but was rendered motionless for a good minute and a half while a throbbing wave of frustration washed over him. Lips pressed tight together, he shut his eyes and tried to steady his breathing, pushing back the urge to crawl back inside, not keen on being badgered by Rigel again. Shivering a bit in the cold, he leaned his head back, staring dully ahead at the stars, though whether there were actually any in the sky or not, his brain refused to comprehend.
For a long time, he sat alone and unsure, until the lack of sound and movement beyond the house became grating. Hating every second of it, he held the phone, punching another set of numbers in the keypad, and held the receiver up to his ear once more.
Like before, the phone rang a few times, and right when Johnny thought it was to go to voicemail, a soft, sleepy voice spoke up. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's Johnny." His own voice sounded too tight, and he feared he'd hang up, too.
"Oh. Hi," Paul finally answered, forcing a polite little laugh. "I was wondering if you'd call again...but...didn't expect it at this hour."
"Yeah, sorry," Johnny muttered, chewing his lip in concentration as he tried to sound as casual as possible. "You busy right now?"
"Mmh, besides sleeping, no. Why, you need a little help getting to bed yourself?"
Johnny breathed slowly, ignoring the twinge in his chest at the flirtatious tone he heard. "Something like that."
Paul gave a soft laugh. "Aww, well I wouldn't mind. Can't stay away long, huh? Don't worry, baby. I'll always take you back."
With a grunt of slight annoyance, Johnny gave a nod despite the other being unable to see him. "Yeah. Can you come get me?"
"Hm? Right now?"
"Please."
A tired sigh, followed by the sound of blankets shuffling. "I...yeah, all right. Where at?"
Johnny took a moment to remember what was nearby, somewhere he could have Paul pick him up at that wasn't going to prompt unnecessary questions and make him come up with ridiculous lies to tell. Another moment. His tongue stilled, faltering.
"You still there?"
"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Sorry." Johnny blinked slowly, feeling a low throb develop behind his eyes. "The uh...that warehouse down off the main strip road. On the corner. You know where I mean, right?"
He hears a small snort. "You go out for the weekend and decide that's the place to go? Baby, that's desperate."
"Please tell me you're getting ready while you're yapping," Johnny muttered, squinting out at the dark, empty road before him he knew he'd have to start down soon.
Paul clicked his tongue. "Impatient. Relax, big boy, I'll be there in a bit. Don't wander off too far, hm?" The line goes dead once again, just as Johnny's free hand clutched the stair rail in an attempt to pull himself to his feet.
Packing the phone back up and returning it to Rigel, and telling him Van was on his way, he was met by a relieved grin and a few pats on the shoulder before Rigel wished him the best and vanished again into the house. Alone and still a bit disoriented, Johnny steeled himself to make the walk down the road and through the side streets, keeping his head down. After what seemed like an eternity, as his legs trembled and heaved, the sleek car he recognized as Paul's pulled around the corner, headlights off, and slowed to a stop.
"Hurry up, come on." Paul urged after rolling the window down, eyes scanning the street around them. "I don't want to be in this place a second more than I need to."
It took a little effort, but Johnny pushed his weight off the post and trudged over to the passenger side, fumbling with the door a few times before he hauled himself onto the soft, pristine leather seat. He couldn't help but exhale softly with relief, realizing how intensely his head had been throbbing.
Paul finally took his eyes off the surrounding area to glance at Johnny, and caught himself just before putting the car into gear again, staring. "Are you kidding."
"What."
"You look like hell," he laughed softly, smiling despite the deadpan tone. The smile faded quickly. "For real. You look sick."
"Thanks."
"Did you really give me a booty call at nearly four in the morning in this state? Are you serious? There's a new line."
"Can you just drive?" Johnny groaned, letting his head loll back.
"I'm not taking you home with me like this. No way."
Johnny managed a snort and looked over. "If you're so goddamn revolted why are you here?"
Shaking his head, the older man continued watching him, hands still on the wheel. "Listen, maybe you can't give an inch of respect to me or yourself, and somehow think this is acceptable behavior. Sure, maybe the bar is unreasonably low already, but this—" he gestured a hand to all of the crumpled, messy, lopsided man "—this does not work for me. No."
Johnny pulled his eyes away and went quiet for a moment, running a shaky hand over his mouth. "Then just dump me at the corner. I got other people I can call."
"Oh, yeah, I can tell."
With that, Paul stepped on the pedal and steered the car back down the street, looking unamused and exhausted. Bristling with anxious energy, Johnny settled against the door and stared out the window, resisting the urge to tap his fingers incessantly against his leg. He could hear Paul starting to mutter, and even though it was all in French, he didn't need to know the words to understand. The frustration bubbled up inside him, mixing with the shame, the embarrassment. The feeling of being a stupid piece of shit with nothing left.
"Paul, you—"
"No, you be quiet. The minute I turn my back on you, you show up, expecting me to sit here while you lie to my face, you look like death, smell like it, too, and I'm apparently expected to look the other way and think it's fine. What kind of game are you playing here? I'm not putting up with you taking me for an idiot. Understand?"
"Yes. I fucked up, just forget it. I said drop me at the corner and—"
"And let you roll up and down the sidewalk, fucking drugged out of your mind. No. Absolutely not."
Johnny's shoulders dropped and his eyes flicked down to the floor. Despite the feeling of his brain wanting to split open, the wave of sadness crested and slipped over him in all the worst ways, blurring his vision. His breathing sped up a bit, heart thrumming hard in his chest, seeming to grow louder and stronger the longer the quiet went on between them.