#over the counter painkillers do nothing and a some time ago i got desperate enough to start taking my cat's meds so its

[77pupu33pipo]

i started venlafaxine for chronic pain a tiny little while ago and it's working well? im no longer constantly hurting?.. have i entered the good timeline??

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Four

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: hey y'all. my new job has been draining the life out of me so i have very little energy left for writing, which is why these updates are taking so long. im still very passionate about this fic though, it just takes me more time to write :(

in other news, this chapter is saturated with descriptions of pain, both physical and emotional. i hated writing it but it was worth it.

***

Nesta, 14

Sometimes it all becomes too much. Feyre asking for help with homework and Elain begging for more money to go to the strip mall, and their dad ignoring them all as if they aren’t even there. Sometimes she wants to leave it all behind and pretend she isn’t anchored to three other people, wants to pretend she is a lone being in a lonely world.

When she needs to go away, she comes here.

Cherrywood House is quiet, as it always is this time of year. One of several expensive vacation homes in the Smokies, Cherrywood is Nesta’s favorite for a multitude of reasons— it’s empty for ten out of twelve months of the year, it’s the only house with a clear view of the nearby lake, and cherry blossoms bloom on trees out in the back every spring.

It’s early June, and she has a few more weeks left with the house until its owners return. The family that owns the place never leaves a trace of themselves behind when they leave each August, so Nesta returns the favor by never leaving hints of her inhabitance either.

She takes her worn Converse and socks off at the back porch and climbs in through the unlocked window barefoot. This is where she belongs. A ghost roaming the empty halls, with no one to care for and no one to care for her.

She makes her way upstairs to her preferred hideout spot: an airy bedroom with a bay window seat that looks out onto the cherry blossom trees outside. Cracking the window open to let the fragrance of flowers in, she settles into the bench seat with her book of the week and starts reading.

Absorbed in dreams of deep love and deeper kisses, Nesta doesn't notice the sun going down until she can barely make out the words on the page before her. Glancing up with sore eyes, she realizes she needs to leave soon if she doesn't want to take the wooded path back home in the dark.

“Damn,” she sighs, but she gets up and shuts the window firmly.

She keeps her nose in her book all the way down the hall and down the stairs, and doesn't sense anything off until a large shadow flashes in the corner of her eye. Her head whips up, and the face that greets her looks just as surprised as she is.

Nesta freezes.

“Um,” the guy says. He’s maybe a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen, and tall with shaggy dark hair. The front door of the house is still cracked open behind him. “What the fuck?”

Nesta unfreezes. And then she runs.

All the way through the main hall and to the back door, while the boy’s shouts chase her through the house. “Hey, wait up!”

They weren't supposed to be here this early—

Her hand wraps around the back door handle and she flings it open, shoving through the second screen door and shooting right down the porch steps. Heavy steps behind her ignite a panic in her, and she gains a burst of speed.

“HEY!” he calls again. Soft grass becomes dirt and twigs beneath Nesta's feet, and she knows she's reached the tree line. Dark shadows fall over her as she darts into the safety of the woods.

Still standing on the back porch and waving a raggedy pair of Converse, Cassian tries calling for the girl one more time. “You forgot your shoes!”

Cassian wakes up at five in the morning to the sound of the house’s pipes creaking, a telltale sign that someone is using one of the faucets. Blinking his eyes open, he hears the distant sound of the shower running.

Who would get up in the freezing cold at this hour just to take a shower? He checks the time once more to make sure he isn't imagining things, and gets up to peek his head out of his bedroom. Sure enough, light leaks out from under the bathroom door.

Cassian walks up to the bathroom and listens closely for any sound beside running water. He knocks hesitantly. “Nesta?”

Her muffled voice calls back to him, but he can't make out a thing.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “How long have you been in there?”

There’s no response, and now he’s concerned. Raising his voice, he says, “I’m going to come in to hear you better, is that okay?”

A soft affirmative answers him, and he tries the doorknob. It’s already unlocked, which is odd, but he pokes his head into the steam-filled bathroom cautiously. “Nesta?”

From behind the curtain of the shower, a pale, tired face appears. She’s sitting on the floor of the tub, he realizes. “Hey,” she attempts a feeble smile at him.

Cassian fully enters the bathroom, the humidity dampening his skin. “Are you okay? When did you get up?”

“I’ve only been in here for an hour, maybe.” Her voice is weak enough that he has to move closer to hear her. “Don’t worry about your water bill. I’ll pay it, I swear.”

He shakes his head, confounded. “I don’t care about the water bill. You still haven’t told me if you’re okay.” He moves to crouch beside the bathtub, the opaque shower curtain the only barrier between them.

Nesta rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s just cramps. I get really sick on my periods, and I would have warned you that they suck ass, but that would imply that my period could affect you. It doesn’t have to affect you— if you just leave me to myself for a few days, I won’t even be a bother.”

Cassian blinks, not really knowing where to start with that, so he just says, “But why the shower?”

Nesta shifts uncomfortably behind the curtain. “Sometimes hot water is the only thing that helps with the pain. I already tried getting out of the shower, but it hurt so bad— I had to go right back in. I’ll get out eventually, don’t worry.”

Cassian frowns. This all sounds incredibly worrying. “This is normal for you?”

She’s about to answer when her face pinches in a look of discomfort. “Cassian,” she says, strained.

He leans closer, wanting to help. “Yeah?”

“Get out.” She doesn't look like she has the energy to add anything else.

Cassian wants to defy Nesta and stay right there, but that would require arguing with her, and she clearly is no longer in the mood to hold up a conversation.

Reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll be right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.”

Nesta is already sinking lower into the tub, trying to get more fully under the burning hot spray. Her eyes drift closed and she hums in answer.

Cassian doesn't return to his room like he said he would, but heads downstairs instead. He spends a good ten minutes reading the drug labels of various painkillers from the medicine cabinet before carefully arranging a nonlethal cocktail of them on a tray. He adds a cold glass of water and various handpicked snacks before returning upstairs to set the tray by Nesta’s bedside, and turns the heat all the way up to combat the chill in her room, just in case.

Then he goes back to his room and waits. He tries to listen closely for the sound of the shower stopping, but he’s not used to being up this early on a Saturday, and his bed is so warm…

He falls asleep waiting.

***

Nesta stumbles out of the shower long after Cassian leaves her and downs a handful of pills without thinking too much about who left them for her. She already has an idea of how the next few days will go, and she just hopes Cassian will allow her the dignity to suffer through it alone.

She crawls into bed exhausted and shuts her eyes tight. The next time she opens them, sunlight is streaming weakly through the windows. Jarring pain lances through her abdomen, and she brings her legs all the way up to her chest and whimpers. From the edge of her consciousness, she notices the snack tray has been replaced with lunch— some leftover lasagna from the night before. Sneaking out her hand from her mountain of blankets, she goes for her phone. A text sent nearly an hour ago waits for her.

Cassian: please eat.

Nesta glares at the lasagna because she knows better. She might have spent this morning eyeing the bathroom tiles to determine if they were clean enough for her to curl up there and die, but she's not at a point to abandon her dignity just yet. The last thing her roiling nausea needs is solid food. Instead, she gathers the focus to text back Cassian: Leave me alone today.

It's only after she sends the message that she realizes it sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to explain further or to soften her tone. Her pain always has a way of stripping her of any defenses and formalities and leaving only a primal creature behind.

Turning her phone off, she closes her eyes and inhales tightly through her nose. A wave of cramps that feels closer to what a brutal stabbing victim would feel like overtakes her, and— no, she has to get up.

During times like these, the bathroom is Nesta’s favorite place in the whole world. Cool tiles to rest her head on, hot water just a foot away, and a spacious tub if she ever feels like passing out. Heaven. Naturally, she escapes there first.

After maybe another hour of restless writhing and moving about, Nesta decides the suffering isn't worth it and hobbles downstairs in search of some Nyquil to knock her out. She’s got the medicine cabinet halfway open when a broad hand slams it back shut, and she turns to find Cassian standing behind her with a stern look. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You can’t take meds on an empty stomach.”

Nesta wants to cry at the denial of pain relief, but she grips the counter behind her and manages a glare instead. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I will absolutely tell you not to wreck your liver, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

A desperate whine escapes her, and she can’t believe Cassian has to see her like this. Even worse, she sees sympathy soften his face as his hand slips off the cabinet next to her head. “I made soup,” he offers. “Can you have soup?”

Nesta hesitates. Her insides don’t hate the idea of soup. She nods.

***

Nesta insisted on avoiding Cassian for the rest of the day, and Cassian graciously eased off her back once he knew she’d eaten. He kindly pretended he didn’t hear her running back and forth from the bathroom all day because she couldn’t sit still, and only interrupted her once to make sure she took more Tylenol before bed.

Now, long after night has fallen, Nesta is truly alone. Her medicine either hasn’t kicked in yet or isn’t strong enough to do its job tonight. She can barely think straight, and this is when the most primal part of herself comes out.

Despite her age, despite everything, she still cries. She cries as if anyone would bother listening, physical pain intertwining with the pain and humiliation of being ignored. “Papa,” she calls into her pillow, again and again.

She hasn’t trusted her papa in years, and yet she still expects him to rescue her. She still waits for him to show up and make everything better.

A hot tear leaks from her eye, and the catharsis of it distracts from her cramps. She curls up into a ball and cries harder, as if she can weep out everything that’s wrong with her body.

A soft knock interrupts her helpless whimpers, and Nesta hears the door open a moment later. “Nesta? Were you calling for me?”

Somebody came. No one’s ever come for her before.

A sigh of relief escapes her, and she forgets to put her walls up. “I’m just—” she tries to say, “so tired.”

She hears Cassian come farther into the room and curse. “Fuck, it’s an icebox in here.”

A hand nudges at her mound of comforters, giving Nesta’s shoulder a shake. “You should’ve told me the heater wasn’t working. Are you okay?”

That question sets her on edge. “Do I look okay?” her voice cracks. She wants to cry even harder now that he’s here, for some reason.

“Obviously not,” he mutters. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Get up.”

Nesta groans and burrows further into her freezing cocoon of sheets. “Don’twannamove.”

“It’s either that or I’m carrying you. I’m good either way.”

Nesta finally cracks her eyes open, glad that Cassian is only a tear-blurred figure in the dark. She doesn’t want to read whatever is on his face right now. Gathering her heavy comforter around herself, she gets up and lets Cassian lead her down the hall to his room.

Toasty warmth hits her as soon as she’s inside, and she makes an exhausted sound and drops the comforter. In a blur, she’s tucked into Cassian’s bed, enveloped by his scent and his lingering body heat on the sheets. Under the dim lamplight, Cassian seems to finally take notice of the tear tracks on her face. Clicking his tongue in sympathy and concern, he rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under Nesta’s eyes. Her whole body shudders under the gentle touch. Who knew just the pad of his finger could combat this inescapable agony?

“This isn’t normal,” he murmurs. “I’m taking you to a doctor as soon as this storm clears.”

If Nesta was in the right state of mind, she’d tell him absolutely not. However, she’s barely comprehending his words as it is, so she watches him click the lamp off in silence. Darkness fills the room, but she can hear him moving.

“I’ll be right back,” his voice rumbles, and then she’s alone again. More tears leak at the feeling of abandonment. She’s so sick of herself.

After what feels like an eternity but is only a few minutes, she hears Cassian return. The mattress dips behind her as he climbs under the blankets with her, and then Nesta feels something hot and dry being pressed to her side. A towel. “Does this help?” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly close to her ear.

Wordlessly, Nesta reaches down and takes his hand holding the hot towel, dragging it beneath the hem of her sweater so the heat burns against her bare skin. She sighs and allows her tensed body to sag, leaning back into the hard cradle of Cassian’s chest and arms.

In her ear, Cassian’s breathing has gone shallow. His hand slips from her side, only to find her back and start rubbing up and down.

Her eyes flutter shut.

“My mother was a Muslim immigrant from Algeria,” Cassian whispers out of nowhere. “And whenever I felt sick as a little kid, I would crawl into her lap and she would rub my back just like this, and say some prayers and blow on my face, and I would feel better.”

Nesta makes a weak sound of acknowledgment. That sounds nice, nicer than anything she ever knew growing up.

“I’m sorry I don’t know any prayers,” Cassian says. Then, Nesta feels a whoosh of breath tickle the side of her face. “Does that help?”

It feels weirdly good, and Nesta's shoulders start shaking. She doesn't know if she's holding in a laugh or a sob. Cassian’s hand stills on her back. “Nesta?”

A sharp wave of pain sets her straight. After she breathes through it, she tells him, “You don't need to pray. Just… keep talking to me.”

His hand resumes drawing circles on her back. “Alright.” And he whispers stories into her ear for the rest of the night, until she's fallen asleep and long afterward.

The next morning, Nesta is feeling much better. Cassian knows this because she’s sitting in the living room when he comes downstairs, straight-backed instead of hunched over in pain, and she’s regained the energy to glare at him.

Cassian’s relief at seeing Nesta okay hesitates at that glare. He slows on the bottom step. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Don't call me that.”

He blinks, not sure what he did wrong. Before he can ask, Nesta says, “You didn't listen to me.”

“Excuse me?” He strolls deeper into the living area.

“I told you to leave me alone while I'm on my period, and you didn't listen. You dragged me to your room and made me spend the night with you.”

“You were crying for help,” Cassian says in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”

“Yes.” She looks even angrier. “It’s humiliating for me to have you see me like that. It's humiliating to have my own family see me like that.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re—” He almost says overreacting, but some deep instinct tells him that word won’t fly well with Nesta. “You’re wrong,” he decides. “Whatever you think I’m thinking of you after last night, you’re wrong.” Cassian has no problem going into caretaker mode for Nesta; it's his natural state of being most of the time anyway. Besides, last night was… a new experience for him. For a multitude of reasons. “You can't tell me you go through that every month and have never had anybody take care of you.”

“I haven't, and for good reason,” Nesta seethes. “You had no right to see me like that.”

Cassian leans on the arm of a chair and crosses his arms, considering her. “Have you ever seen a doctor about your period?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. Here is the Nesta that Feyre is always talking about: quick to anger and always on the defense, to the point that she comes off as unreasonable. Nothing like the helpless woman in tears from just the night before.

It brings out a rougher side of Cassian, one that wants to nip and bite at her boundaries instead of letting her be comfortable all the time. “That’s no way to talk to someone who stayed up all night to wait on you hand and foot, you know.”

“Don’t you dare hold that against me.” Nesta’s voice is dangerously cold.

“I’m not holding it against you. I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“No.”

“I already made an appointment.”

“Cancel it.” Her voice is brittle and she’s now trembling with restrained rage. Cassian doesn’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to give her a choice or if she just really doesn’t like doctors. Either way, it doesn’t change how Nesta ran out of bed at four this morning to puke her soup up. If it wasn’t for all this snow, he would have dragged her ass to the ER by now.

“I don’t have health insurance,” Nesta admits when she sees that Cassian won’t back down. “And I’ve made it this far without any cause for concern; there’s no reason to go.”

“Then I’ll pay for it,” he says simply. Her lack of care for her health astounds and angers Cassian at the same time. How is it that nobody, not even her family, has looked at this woman before and said You’re not okay, do you need help? How many times has she cried in pain with no one to listen?

Nesta has now stood up and is turning red in the face. “Absolutely not. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Cassian smirks and straightens up.

“I’m not going to the doctor,” she barks. “Cancel the appointment.”

“No.”

“DO IT!”

In that moment, Cassian sees it. He sees how beneath the adult manner and adult words, the carefully crafted facade of cool, there is an explosive, tantrum-prone child. And he’s about to reveal her for good.

“It’s this Wednesday. I hope you don't mind skipping class.”

An enraged shriek shatters the air in the room, and before Cassian can even be shocked Nesta is verbally pouncing on him, yelling, “How fucking dare you, you complete shithead—”

“Nesta.”

“You have no right to— You’re so useless, this is why I didn't want to stay with you, this is why I never talked to you—”

“Nest—”

“You egomaniacal manipulative bastard— just because you let me stay in your house doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do—”

“Damn it Nesta, can you just shut up and LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!”

Nesta freezes and blinks, taken aback. Cassian immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if he’s finally crossed that line he’s been so cautiously toeing this whole time.

He watches her face closely, looking for signs of upset— or worse, fear. She only says, “Fine.”

He’s confused. “Fine, what?”

“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor’s.” Just like that, her fight is gone and the facade is back in place. She sets her jaw, but a hint of surprise and newfound discovery lingers in her eyes. “But I’m not letting you pay for it. It’ll have to come out of my own pocket.” She doesn't look happy about that part.

Cassian wants to argue her, but he knows how to pick and choose his battles. For now, he’s just baffled that he demanded Nesta to do something, and she listened.

He raised his voice at her. God, he yelled at her in anger and she only blinked in response, and now she’s listening to him. What kind of sick alien shit is this?

***

a/n: i love talking about these characters so if you ever get sick of waiting for part 5 just shoot me an ask and ill gladly discuss nessian with you

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx

[timotey]

Ficlet: The Roundabout Ways of Dreams

Dark Blue Kiss ficlet. PeteKao. @coolthingtrash requested: Kao having a nightmare about losing Pete and spending the next some days totally clinging to Pete and Pete being confused and suspicious and eventually finding it out and comforting Kao?

I promised I would try. Though my muses took to this concept very loosely and then decided to make it as angsty as possible to boot. Because why not, right? Twisty little beasties!

Or, Kao’s mind works in roundabout ways. He wishes it didn’t. Even smoke signals would be more useful.

xXx

That morning, he breaks a glass clearing the table. It’s the last straw.

Kao is tired. It’s the kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones and settles in your joints, that makes you feel twice as heavy and thrice as old. That happens, apparently, when you don’t get enough sleep.

During his waking hours, Kao’s happy, so happy. After Pete’s Live, everything fell into place: his job, his internship… his relationship with Pete. That especially. It’s been perfect, so much better than before now that Kao allowed himself to be open about whom he loves.

That’s why he doesn’t understand where his dreams come from, his nightmares really.

They’re never the same and yet - in all of them he loses Pete. Sometimes in his dreams Pete never does his Live and Kao’s troubles just keep piling up until they swallow him whole. Sometimes Pete does the Live but when Kao comes looking for him, he can’t find him and keeps running around the city, searching desperately but it’s all in vain, Pete’s just gone.

Pete’s starting to notice that something’s wrong, that something’s off about Kao. Because whenever Kao jerks awake after a particularly nasty dream, he wraps himself around sleeping Pete and clings to him like a drowning man.

And then last night, last night, Pete died in Kao’s dream…

Kao stares down at the shattered glass. There’s blood in the sink: Kao cut his palm open on a sharp, jagged piece sticking up as if waiting to do him harm.

“Shit, Kao!” Pete exclaims, and taking Kao by the forearm, he turns his hand palm up. Blood floods the creases in Kao’s skin.

“It’s okay,” Kao responds with a remarkable calm. “I’ll just wrap it up.”

“Wrap it--? Are you dense?” Pete snaps at him. “This needs stitches!”

Kao watches as Pete grabs a dish towel and wraps it around and around Kao’s hand, ordering him to hold it tight; it’s quickly soaked through. Pete takes Kao by the shoulders and marches him out of the kitchen, outside and towards his car. They leave droplets of blood behind, on the counter and the floor too. 

The kitchen looks like a crime scene.

xXx

Dripping blood tends to grab even the busiest doctor’s attention. They’re led into an examination room and Kao’s cleaned and stitched back together like a ripped pillow. He feels like one too, with half its filling gone.

“Alright, spill,” Pete demands once the doctor leaves them alone for a minute and he’s sure his boyfriend isn’t leaking anymore. “What’s up with you?” His voice sounds annoyed - it always does when he’s worried.

Kao sighs and hunches his shoulders. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” he admits.

“No shit,” Pete responds.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” Kao continues, looking down at his bandaged hand.

“About?” Pete prompts when he falls silent.

Kao glances up. “Losing you,” he whispers.

Pete’s whole face softens. “You won’t,” he assures Kao. “I will never leave you again.”

Kao lets out a frustrated sigh. “I know that. I believe you. I trust you. That’s why I don’t understand--” He cuts himself off and rubs his forehead with his uninjured hand.

Pete touches his shoulder. “Kao…”

Letting his hand drop, Kao looks straight at him. “Last night, you died in my dream,” he says. “I ran to you after your Live and I found you there, in the pool, floating in the water. You weren’t moving. And when I tried to get to you, to save you, I couldn’t move from the spot, no matter what I did. I looked over my shoulder and…” He pauses. “I saw Non. He wouldn’t let go.”

Pete frowns hearing Non’s name. But then his expression clears and he reaches out to stroke Kao’s cheek gently. “You know it’s just your subconscious dealing with things, running haywire, right?”

“I know,” Kao sighs, and leaning forward, he drops his forehead down onto Pete’s shoulder heavily. When Pete pats his back in comfort, Kao mumbles into his chest, “But I still can’t help but feel like something’s not right, something’s... off.”

But what, dammit? What?!

xXx

Kao is prescribed some sleeping pills on top of painkillers and… something else. He’s so tired that he’s not really listening but Pete is and that’s enough because Kao would trust Pete with his life let alone this.

He falls asleep in the car on the way back and Pete lets him nap. At one point, when they’re almost at Pete’s house, Kao’s home away from home, Kao thinks he hears Pete make a soft, disturbed hmm sound but he’s probably mistaken.

A few minutes, a glass of water and one sleeping pill later, Kao’s lying in their bed, curled up under sheets that smell so wonderfully of Pete’s shampoo. Pete sits down on the edge of the bed, and stroking Kao’s hair, he tells him softly, “Just sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”

Kao smiles.

He sleeps.

xXx

He wakes up a couple of times to stumble to the bathroom and back, other than that, though, he sleeps through the day and night, for once undisturbed. The next morning he wakes up refreshed and ready to face anything.

Or so he thinks.

“He… what?” Kao asks in a shocked, disbelieving tone of voice.

It’s after breakfast and they’re sitting in the living room: he and Pete and Pete’s dad - and a policeman in a fresh and neatly pressed uniform. They’re all staring at Kao who... simply doesn’t understand. He must’ve heard wrong.

“Yesterday, when I brought you back from the ER,” Pete says, sitting next to Kao on the couch and holding his uninjured hand, their fingers entwined, “I saw Non farther down the street. At first I thought I saw wrong but when I went and asked our neighbors to check their security cam feeds, yeah, it was really him.”

Pete’s dad adds, “The CCTV at my company caught him sneaking around, too. Several days in a row. Then two days ago, it was the camera at our gate here.” He sounds disapproving, angered. “So I called the police.”

The policeman admits reluctantly, “He was caught by the CCTV around the school where you teach, too. It seems he was waiting to catch you alone.”

Alone. Yeah, by pure chance, Kao has been rarely going anywhere alone lately, hasn’t he? Either Pete or his dad usually drove him, dropped him off and picked him up.

The policeman continues, “We brought the young man in for questioning. I’m not certain what his real intentions were--”

“Nothing good, that’s sure!” Pete jumps in angrily. “That brat almost ruined my boyfriend’s life!”

Clearing his throat, the policeman says, “Yes, I’m aware of that. Still, there’s no evidence he meant any harm...”

Pete stares at him in disbelief, but before he can snap, his father cuts in. “I filed for a restraining order,” he says, then he turns to Kao. “That is, if you don’t mind, Kao?”

Kao blinks at him, still overwhelmed. Non? Non was stalking him? And does he mind the steps Pete’s dad took on his behalf? Something like a restraining order would leave a permanent mark in Non’s record... 

Still.

Kao shakes his head. “No, I don’t mind. I think that Non went too far. I don’t want him to come anywhere near me ever again.” Yes, he’s done being kind to this boy.

When he finishes, the policeman sighs - he must’ve hoped to change Kao’s mind - but Pete’s dad and Pete, they look... proud of his decision. Kao has to admit, at least to himself, that his first reaction will probably always be to give people the benefit of the doubt but Pete’s pointed reminder that it was Kao’s kindness that got him into trouble? Yes, those words stuck.

xXx

Later on, when the policeman leaves and Pete’s dad goes to work, he and Pete sit by the pool, leaning against each other comfortably. Neither of them has to go in today; discovering that you’re being stalked and getting the cops involved is apparently a good enough excuse even for the most hard-nosed of bosses. 

“I really didn’t notice him,” Kao says after a while, when Pete scoots closer to let Kao rest his head against Pete’s shoulder.

Pete shrugs, careful so as not to dislodge Kao. “Maybe you did, without even realizing it.” 

“You mean my nightmares?” Kao asks, intrigued. An interesting concept, that’s for sure. Though he would prefer if his subconscious did not work in such weird, roundabout ways. Even smoke signals would’ve been more useful.

“Who knows? Maybe losing me wasn’t their point, the consequences of Non’s actions were. And in end result, they did help us catch that little creep.”

Kao lifts his bandaged head. “I ended up with stitches,” he complaints.

Pete takes Kao’s hand in his and kisses Kao’s fingers. “If it’s only that then I’m grateful. I really hope that we’ll never, ever, ever hear of that brat again. I swear he’s turning into a real bane of our existence.”

Kao smiles. “‘Bane of our existence’?” he teases Pete.

“Oh, hush you, I was trying to avoid being rude,” Pete retorts, mock annoyed. “But if ‘pain in the ass’ suits you better, then there you go.”

Laughing, Kao turns his head and kisses Pete’s jaw. It’s stubbly. He didn’t shave right again this morning. “I love you,” he says.

Pete pulls Kao closer and returns the kiss, dropping it on the top of Kao’s head. “I love you, too. And never forget that.”

Kao hums happily. “I won’t.”

[silvernightwalker]

Why princes like their happy endings

Warnings: making out, anger, bit of angst, swearing, mention of a panic attack, happy ending.

Pairing: Prinxiety

Plot: the tension between Virgil and Roman gets too much and eventually they explode. In good way. Sort of...

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Virgil woke up that morning with another headache. He groaned and buried his face in the pillow, tucking the heavy blanket over him to shield himself from the world. Which was obviously not working.

A soft knock was heard and the voice of Patton followed. "Virgil? Are you awake? Breakfast is prepared. Come down when you're ready, kiddo".

Virgil was glad that Patton knew how he had to wake him up, because he really couldn't handle an obnoxious Roman or a stoic Logan. Deceit was even worse, since they weren't really on 'good terms'.

He loved the sides, no doubt, but since a while ago a certain prince made him have feelings he didn't want to feel. His knees got weak, he got easily flustered and could only think about him. And it all happened when they started to accept one another and slowly got to spend more time together. It was mostly Roman who visited Virgil to watch a movie or Netflix. Or simply talk. Sometimes Virgil would use Roman to practice on with makeup. They still had their heated discussion, but every now and then Roman would give him a reassuring or even fond smile.

And recently Virgil wanted more. He felt the need to have those lips on his own, to have his touches on his skin. He wanted him in his bed, their naked bodies moving in sync and receiving and giving pleasure. But Virgil knew he didn't stand a chance since the prince never gave a hint of liking him back. So he never made a move, afraid to destroy whatever they had.

Virgil tried to stay in bed for as long as he could, but he knew he would disappoint the moral trait if he didn't show up. So he got up, groaning again and grabbed his hoodie. He took some painkillers to suppress his headache and eventually walked out, into the hallway and down the stairs.

He already heard Roman talking loud and in his arrogant way like he always did, while Logan ignored him and read the paper. As soon as Patton saw him his eyes lit up and he put some scrambled egg on his plate and made a coffee.

Virgil gave him a small smile and sat down, sipping the freshly brewed coffee. He had just taken a bite from his food when he felt a pair of eyes on him. He looked up and saw Roman staring at him.

Oh no. What have I done? What is wrong? Is my hair weird? Or did he say something and now waiting for an answer while I didn't hear it? His anxiety flared up, but he locked eyes with Roman and growled: "what?".

Roman was simply mesmerized by the fact that Virgil wasn't wearing his usual sweatpants and walked around in only boxers and a hoodie that revealed his beautiful, pale legs. He swallowed and averted his eyes. "Nothing, you just don't look very good".

"I never look good, so let's move on". Roman snorted. "I beg to differ", he mumbled. Virgil's head shot up, his eyes widening. They locked eyes and stared at each other while the tension slowly became strong and heavy. Patton and Logan quickly fled the kitchen with the excuse to help Thomas with things.

No. No not again. Don't get your hopes up. He didn't mean it like that.

His heart was beating fast, but somehow he managed to stay calm and growled. "Shut up, prince Worthless. I'm not in the mood". This time Roman growled back. "You never are" , he shot back.

Virgil's hand clenched around the fork and smacked it on the table, making Roman flinch slightly. "Well I'm sorry for not being able to enjoy life and have fun like the rest. I'm sorry for not walking around with an egocentric personality that makes the air around me smell worse than a trash can. Honestly, I'm worried your head will get too big to fit through the door one day".

Roman's hands slowly turned into fists and he slammed it down on the table, making the anxious man flinch visibly. "The only trash can here is you", Roman said with clenched teeth.

Virgil's heart broke and he was sure everybody could hear it. His lip trembled and he was on the edge of crying, but the anger inside him, slowly turning into rage, took over. "At least I know what I am and I'm not pretending to be more in every pathetic way".

"Enough!", Roman yelled and he stood up from his chair, looming over Virgil, "I am so done with your negativity and self loathing! If you want to change it so much, do something about it instead of hiding yourself in your room. No wonder you're like this! That room is only darkness and depression! We on the other hand can provide you with love and happiness. You should rely on us!!".

Virgil stood up too, the chair falling on the ground from the force he used. "I can't rely on you, self centered moron!!". He held his face up, bravely facing to more dominant side.

"Why can't you rely on us? Why can't you rely on me?!", Roman screeched, feeling desperate and angry for hearing those hurtful words.

"BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU AND IT'S DRIVING ME CRAZY!!!", Virgil screamed.

And everything stopped. It was completely silent, only their heavy breathing filling the kitchen. Roman's face had a confused and surprised expression, mixed with a bit of relief. Virgil, who was now on the edge of a panic attack, pushed Roman back on the chair and tried to escape the kitchen. Unfortunately for him Roman got a hold on his wrist. He stumbled along with him since Virgil ran out in full speed and eventually pinned him against the wall.

And then Roman's lips were on Virgil's. His eyes widened, feeling how his body was trapped between Roman and the wall. He tried to fight him off, hitting his shoulders and chest while he squirmed against him. Roman kept his lips on his, not budging at all and eventually Virgil gave up.

Roman slowly broke the kiss and opened his eyes. He swallowed when he saw Virgil with beautiful red cheeks, breathing heavily and such inviting lips.

"You-", he said, but Virgil started fighting again and so Roman kissed him again, this time with more force. The moment his tongue darted out and licked Virgil's bottom lip in a begging manner, the anxious man lost all control and he moaned loud and long. His lips parted and immediately Roman's tongue invaded his mouth, tasting him and finally, after all those months, letting him feel it.

He pressed himself against the fanciful side and felt his hands slide down to his ass. Virgil jumped a bit, wrapping his legs around his waist while Roman held him up, stroking the soft skin of his thighs. This time Roman moaned too and walked them to the kitchen counter.

The kiss was frantic, passionate, desperate and mixed with a bit of anger, their breath mingling together. Virgil spread his legs a bit and Roman immediately pressed himself against Virgil, earing a moan from him. They were both hard at this point and Virgil tried to get Roman's shirt off.

And even though Roman really, really wanted to have sex with him, he gently stopped him by lacing their fingers. They would surely get to it, but he wanted it to be pure and magical. Plus, at this point they would destroy Patton's innocence and Logan's will to ever eat here again. And live.

Eventually they broke the kiss, the need for air too much and instead gave each other short, soft kisses. They slowly came back to earth, Virgil's hands clutching Roman's shirt. He felt his anxiety, that was completely broken down by Roman's passionate kissing, slowly returning. They had to talk about what happened.

Slowly Virgil looked up and met Roman's eyes that held a very fond and tender look. He swallowed, tears appearing in his eyes. Why is he looking at me like that?

Roman leaned his forehead against Virgil's, smiling softly and cupped his face to caress his cheek. He was very surprised by this sudden development and he had a lot of questions and an apology to make, but there was one thing he was absolutely sure about.

"I love you too".

Virgil blinked, completely dumbfounded and staring at him. "You...do? What? Why?".

Roman smiled. "Because every trash can needs its trash bag".

Virgil whimpered, burying his nose in Roman's neck. "I think you're a beautiful trash can though".

Roman laughed and stroked his hair before he gave him another, deep kiss. Virgil moaned again, feeling so desperate and needy for him and it seemed liked Roman felt the same.

The prince carried him off the counter, holding him in his arms and Virgil quickly wrapped his arms around his neck. They left the kitchen while Roman walked them upstairs and started kissing Virgil's neck, suckin red marks. Virgil closed his eyes, enjoying the sparks of pleasure it send and mumbled:

"Now I understand why Disney princes like happy endings".

@fandermom

[spn-ficfanatic]

How To Save A Life (Ch. 2)

Chapter 2 of 2 (Ch.1 HERE)

Summary: The events of the day-from-hell catch up to you and Dean, helping you realise your true feelings for one another

Characters: Reader x Dean, Sam

Chapter Word Count: 2664

Genre: Flangst

Warnings: Swearing

The ride back to the motel was quiet. Sam and Dean shared glances at you in the backseat where you insisted you sit, and after a while you just shut your eyes so you didn’t have to see it anymore. You hated the concern in their eyes, the pity. You hated the image of Dean or Sam having to breath life back into you, of them having to pump your heart in a desperate attempt to bring you back to life. It embarrassed you and you wished for nothing more than the ground to swallow you whole.

The car stopped and the engine cut off, and you opened your eyes to find you were back at the motel. Gently you lifted yourself from your seat, walking to the door slowly. You were starting to ache all over, you didn’t remember a time that you had felt so horrible.

“So you can take one of the beds Y/N, I’ll crash on the couch tonight,” Dean told you, grabbing his wallet from the counter. “I’ll be back in a bit.” Before you could even take your shoes off he was out the door.

“Was it something I said?” you asked Sam dryly, and he gave a lopsided grin.

“He’s getting us some food and beer, he’ll be back in 20 or so. Jump in the shower, I’ll bandage that wrist for you once you’re dressed.”

“I can do it, ’s fine,” you responded quickly, and before he could argue you were already in the bathroom and shutting the door.

Finally you were alone, though sometimes having only your brain for company was worse than anything else. You turned on the water, knowing the hot took a while to start coming through, and began undressing. With a busted wrist and 3 busted ribs (you’d counted in the car) the process was agonisingly slow and painful, but eventually you were under the warmth of the shower. You had been half expecting to have some sort of PTSD episode the next time you even touched water but instead this was glorious. You closed your eyes and let the warm water run through your hair, down your back and front as it washed away the cold salty remnants of your dip in the ocean. With it you hoped the memories would wash away also but a flash of the merman’s face as he dragged you under proved otherwise. You opened your eyes in an instant and his face was still in front of you, staring at you and laughing. You knew he was dead, Dean promised you as much in the car back to the motel. You shut your eyes tight and opened them again, grateful to find he was gone and only the god-awful green bathroom tile stared back at you.

Your heart was racing, your brain felt like it was ready to implode, and before you realised what was happening you punched the tile in front of you, right where that snarky bastard’s face was a moment earlier. When you didn’t feel the pain you couldn’t help but do it again, and pretty soon you had made a bit of a mess of both the wall and your good hand. A loud knocking at the bathroom door pulled you out of it, and you looked up with wide eyes, trying to catch the breath you hadn’t realised you’d lost.

“You ok Y/N?” Sam called out, clearly trying to hold back on his panic for you but failing.

“I-I’m fine Sam, sorry,” you told him, your voice somehow both shaky and strong at the same time. You watched the door handle like a hawk, hoping he wouldn’t come in to check on you himself, and sighed in relief when you saw his shadow from under the door move away.

Surveying the damage, you were bummed to find your previously good hand was now in worse shape than your sprained one. You ran it under the water shakily, a mixture of blood and water running down your arm. Thankfully you hadn’t broken any bones, but you would definitely be nursing it for about as long as your sprained wrist. You checked the tile next, and kicked yourself when you saw the damage you’d caused. The poor owner of your stolen credit card was going to get a rude shock when the bill came in.

Resigned to the fact you couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever, you finished rinsing off without allowing any further distractions and carefully wrapped yourself in your towel before braving Sam’s wrath.

“Errr…” you started as you stepped into the room. Sam looked up from his laptop, looking concerned. You started to wonder if that expression would forever be glued to his face when he looked at you from now on. “Sorry about the mess. Really. I don’t know what happened.”

Sam nodded, eyes instinctively going to your hand. He stood and came to you, and lifted it gently to his eyeline.

“Don’t worry about it. Dean and I have punched a motel wall or two,” he told you with a tight smile. “I’m just sorry you hurt your good hand in the process. Definitely gonna need me to wrap it for you now huh.”

“Yup. And it’s gonna make bathroom visits a joy for the next couple of weeks,” you huffed out a laugh. He smiled unenthusiastically in return before stepping away.

“Shall I do it for you now, or would you rather dress first?”

“Oh, clothes are good. You shower, I’ll be ready for you when you get out,” you told him with a smile, trying to make it look genuine so he would stop with the pity party. Didn’t work.

“Alright, be out shortly,” he told you, placing his hand on your shoulder and patting it before heading into the bathroom and closing the door. You sighed a breath of relief and ambled over to the bed you’d be sleeping in for the night, sitting down.

“Take your time Sammy, really,” you shouted before he could turn the water on, and you hoped he got the message. The shower turned on and you relaxed, letting the towel fall to the mattress before starting the dressing process.

You got as far as pants before realising that you wouldn’t be able to put your bra on alone. Didn’t seem like you would be going out again today anyway so you slipped on a loose shirt to wear for the night, and gently lay yourself down on your tummy across the bed. You honestly hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but as soon as your eyelids closed your body took control and within a minute you were out for the count.

Dean half expected Sam to be wrapping your wrist when he walked in, so he made no attempt to enter the room quietly. Juggling bags of food and drink he used his foot to awkwardly kick the door open as he stumbled through the threshold and put them down on the nearby dining table. He’d heard the shower the second he’d stepped in, and looking around he spotted you laying across the bed. His heart started to race, and while he didn’t want this to now be the first reaction he’d have every time he saw you unconscious the events of the day were still too fresh in his mind.

“Y/N?” he called out, part of him not wanting to be too loud in case you were asleep, the other part hoping to wake you up immediately.

He approached the bed slowly, honestly scared of what he might encounter when he reached you. He couldn’t see you breathing, you were face down so the rise and fall of your chest was impossible to see, and you weren’t snoring like you sometimes did. It drove him crazy but god-damn it he would give anything to hear you snort in your sleep right now. Standing above your head, he reached down and with a shaky hand he felt for your pulse on your wrist. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a strong steady pulse under his fingers, and could have cried when you moaned slightly and shuffled your legs into a more comfortable position. He frowned when he spotted your knuckles though; gently he sat down on the mattress next to you and lifted your hand to inspect the damage.

“Dammit Y/N,” he muttered in disapproval, and as the shower turned off he decided to get Sam’s dinner ready before tending to your wounds.

---------------

You weren’t sure at first if you were waking up or still dreaming. You could feel someone holding your hand. Wait, no, not holding. Wrapping. Ah yes, you threw a hissy over dying for a few minutes and punched in the bathroom wall with your sole-functioning hand in retaliation to the universe. Smart move Y/N.

“You should tell her how you feel man,” Sam was saying through a mouthful of food, and while you knew eavesdropping was a big no-no the context of the conversation you’d woken up to was much too tempting to ignore.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about Sammy,” Dean replied like the stubborn ass he is, and if you’d been properly awake you’d have rolled your eyes.

“Sure you don’t. Because it’s not like I’ve seen you two together for the last 20 or so years. Not like I didn’t know about the kiss you two shared, or the night you’d spent together 2 months ago. I mean, it’s not like we know EVERYTHING about each other Dean,” Sam replied sarcastically, and you nearly giggled.

“Wait… seriously? You knew about that?” Dean replied with surprise.

“Ha. Yer Dean, the whole motel knew about it,” Sam laughed, taking a sip of his drink.

“Huh. Damn.”

“So cummon, when will you tell her? Because if her nearly dying wasn’t enough motivation for you I don’t know what else will be.”

“Look it’s not... it’s not that simple. So just drop it, OK?”

You heard Sam scoff, but the conversation didn’t continue and after a few minutes you decided it was time to open your eyes. Your eyelids fluttered open, your sight adjusting to the bright light in the room before settling on Dean.

“Hey you,” you told him, your voice hoarse and your throat sore. He looked at you with surprised wide eyes, and his face lit up when he saw you were awake.

“Hey yourself, you doing ok?” he asked you, his voice a little gruff.

“Throat’s a little sore,” you shrugged. “Actually I take that back, everything’s a little sore.

You heard Sam shuffle around in the kitchen and soon he was handing you a glass of water and some painkillers. You thanked him as you sat up, ignoring Dean’s offer to help, and drank the water and pills down in one fell swoop.

“I uh, I just remembered I need some new socks. I might head out and get those before we skip town,” Sam commented, and just like that he was out the door and you and Dean were alone. He turned back to your busted hand and clipped the bandage together before reaching for your busted wrist to start wrapping that as well.

“So,” you cleared your throat. “What’s the damage Doc?”

“No broken fingers at least,” he tutted with a frown. “What were you thinking?”

“I was pissed. Don’t get all high and mighty and act like you’ve never punched a wall Dean.”

He sighed and nodded in resignation. “Fair enough. And hey, at least now you’re symmetrical.”

You laughed lightly as he smiled, and you kicked your foot out to tap his hip playfully.

“Shaddap.”

Silence fell as he gently strapped your wrist, which thankfully was already feeling a little less painful thanks to your primo painkiller stash. You watched Dean as he worked and saw the concentration in his eyes as he carefully wrapped the bandage in the right places, making sure it wasn’t too tight but was tight enough to help it heal. You felt his fingers brush against your skin and shivers ran up and down your spine. You felt your heart rate quicken as you saw him lick his lips and, almost on instinct, you felt yourself leaning into him. He looked up at you, his green orbs reflecting in your eyes, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Y/N? You alright?” he asked you, reaching up to feel your forehead. “You look a little out of it, are the drugs kicking in?”

You shook your head and cleared your throat, pulling yourself back into your sitting position.

“Sorry, no, I’m fine. Was just thinking is all…”

“What about?” he asked nonchalantly as he turned his attention back to your hand.

Oh fuck it, you thought to yourself. “About kissing you.”

The bandage slipped from his fingers and rolled off the bed, leaving its trail from your wrist to the floor. His eyes shot up to stare at you, looking like a deer in headlights.

“I-I’m sorry, what?” he sputtered, sure he’d misheard you.

You didn’t bother answering, opting instead to show him. You leaned forward again, this time without stopping before your lips were on his. He pulled you closer instantly, breathing you in as he reciprocated the kiss hungrily. He moved closer to you, resting his hand on your back before gently laying you down on the bed.

“Wait, hang on,” he stopped suddenly, holding himself up above you as his arms straddled your torso. “What’s happening right now?”

“I heard you before,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks redden. “And it’s not as complicated as you think it is.”

He frowned, and before you could stop him he pulled away and sat on the bed next to you.

“Dean, cummon.  You say it’s not that simple but I don’t understand what’s so hard about it,” you argued.

“You’ve been with us long enough Y/N,” he said quietly, looking at his hands. “You know what happens to the women Sam and I love.”

Your heart jumped to your throat, but realising that he didn’t notice what he’d actually confessed to you, you pushed on.

“Yer ok, they die. Guess what Dean? I just died, like, an hour ago.”

“Yer I know, I was there,” he replied angrily.

“Yes you were. And I dunno about you but I wasn’t dating you when that happened. Shit happens Dean, regardless of whatever our relationship is. If you hadn’t been there, I still woulda jumped into that water to save the kid. The only difference is that you and Sam wouldn’t have been there to save my life. Did you ever think for a second that perhaps we’re good for each other, instead of assuming the worst?”

Dean didn’t answer, instead looking down at his hands and furrowing his brow as he pondered what you’d said.

“If I’d lost you today...” he started, his voice cracking.

“But you didn’t,” you interrupted. “And I might lose you one day, or Sam. Or maybe both, heck knows you two like to do everything together.”

Dean huffed out a laugh despite himself and you smiled in response. You ran your fingers through his hair, your nails scratching his scalp lightly, and he let out a soft moan.

“Stop worrying about what could be. We’re alive now, so let’s live. We’ll worry about the end when it comes, and based on statistics we’ve got at least another 3 years before I die again.”

Dean looked up, his eyebrow raised. “That’s not funny,” he scolded you, the hint of a smile in the corner of his lips betraying him.

You shrugged feigning innocence. “It’s a little funny.”

“Oh you think so?” he told you, all pretense now gone as he grinned and leaned over you, pressing his lips to yours.

You hummed and nodded in agreement as you let life happen... At least until Sam came back with his new socks.

My Masterlist

Tag Lists (Open)

“Dean/Jensen” taglist: @lilydarcy (won’t tag *SOB*), @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​, @perpetualabsurdity​

“Everything” taglist: @angelsandwinchesters​, @grace-for-sale​, @growningupgeek​, @iamnotsaneatall​, @nanie5​, @waywardasfudge​, @ronja-uebrick, @im-dead-inside05​, @julzdec​, @adoptdontshoppets​, @meghanbeinghappy​, @sleepylunarwolf​ , @sammysgirl1997​, @imaginationisgrowth​

[she-is-tim]

Neighbours AU Part 4 Emotions

Lucas is a young, exhausted musician who just tries to relax, while Eliott is the overexcited, dubstep loving artist who lives next door.

Aka Lucas confronts his annoying neighbour who turns out to be gorgeous

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Thursday 11:04

Lucas was leaning into the sink, throwing up everything he took in his mouth in the last few minutes, making awful noises. He turned on the tap, trying to wash out the taste with some water. This was just terrible, and it got worse when he heard the giggling behind him and felt the big, warm hands on his back, stroking it slowly.

“Are you okay?” Eliott asked. Of course he wasn’t okay, this dude just tried to poison him with something looking like an omlette. 

“Fuck you, Eliott!” he mumbled between two gulps, drinking water from the tap. He needed a few more minutes before he could safely raise his head and not be afraid of throwing up. He looked at Eliott, who showed no signs of regretting what he did.

“Feeling better now?” he asked with an annoying grin on his face. Lucas wanted to punch him, then kiss him to let him feel that taste he still has in his mouth. Looks like this is the charm of Eliott, that’s making Lucas feel anger but attraction towards him. 

“You could have just poison me and let me die in peace. This was cruel.” he said a bit angrily, crossing his arms in front of his chest as a protection. From who? Probably from Eliott’s cooking. 

“Oh come on, It was probably because of all the alcohol you drank last night. I gotta say, you weren’t thirsty when I found you at the party.” he said, still grinning and took a step towards Lucas. 

“Yeah, I had to ease the pain somehow.” he mumbled, looking away and taking a step back. He knew that if Eliott gets too close, he will lose it and not listen to his brain, but his heart instead. 

“You were in pain?” Eliott asked now concerned, stopping a few steps from Lucas, searching for his eyes to look into. 

“Just forget that I said that.” he replied and still couldn’t look at his neighbour. Eliott sighed and stepped closer, grabbing Lucas’ jaw with two fingers, making him to look up. 

“Lucas, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” he started and swallowed, trying to find the right words without actually telling the truth. He was sure that it would just scare this beautiful boy away, that was the last thing he wanted. “I had some personal issues... nothing too serious, but it was bad enough to stop me from coming over.” he said and he was actually telling almost the truth to Lucas. It was just difficult to explain all that was happening inside his messed up brain. 

“I saw you.” he said, looking at him with his big, ocean blue eyes that were filling up with tears now. 

Eliott could punch himself seeing how much he hurt Lucas. He wanted to scream, telling him the truth, hugging and kissing him, because that’s all he wanted. He was stalking this boy since two months now, seeing him from the distance, stealing short moments when he saw him leaving his apartment or walking down the streets outside. It meant the world to him when Lucas appeared in his doorway, asking him to lower the volume of his music. He had never been happier. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, snapping himself out of the waves of emotions that tried to drown him. He couldn’t let his brain to wander off into the darkness.

“I saw you and your girlfriend.” Lucas mumbled, pressing his lips together so hard, it became a thin line. He closed his eyes to fight back the tears. He had no rights to cry over this. It was stupid, since Eliott never promised anything, and they just met once. This was embarrassing.

“My girlfriend?” Eliott asked confused and had to hold back a sour laugh. He never liked how intimately she handled him, especially when he had mental problems. They broke up almost a year ago, but decided to stay friends, since Lucille was the best support for him during a breakdown. “Lucas... That girl and I aren’t together.” he said now seriously, leaning closer to him, still holding his jaw with his two fingers.

Lucas slowly opened his eyes, a drop of tear slowly running down his cheek, his eyes were a bit red, his pupils looked even more beautiful. Eliott wanted to kiss all over his face, tell him that it’s gonna be okay, cause he is here now. 

“Are you telling the truth?” Lucas asked, his voice cracked as he tried to swallow back his tears. Eliott couldn’t help, but smile a little, stroking his jawline with his thumb. 

“If I had a girlfriend, I wouldn’t be standing in your kitchen, making you breakfast.” he said softly. 

“By breakfast you mean that thing? You almost killed me.” Lucas said with a little grin on his face now. Eliott’s heart skipped a beat. This boy was so incredibly beautiful. 

“I tried my best here, and I swear that it tastes really good.” 

“I don’t know what kind of stomach you have, but that shit is horrible.” he said, chuckling a little, making Eliott release a sigh of relief. 

“You are beautiful when you smile.” Eliott said, letting his hand slowly slide down from Lucas’ jaw to his neck, while he put the other one on his waist. 

Lucas felt his face flaming from the compliment and had to look away, his hands grabbed Eliott’s sweater by his arms. So many emotions were rushing through his body and being close to his hot neighbour didn’t help him calm down his racing heart.  After long minutes of silence, he looked back at Eliott, who was looking at him so fondly, with such a soft expression that Lucas forgot to breathe for a second. He slowly let the tall boy’s sweater go, sliding his hands up on that beautiful face, then into Eliott’s wildly curling hair. They looked into each others eyes, slowly reducing the distance between their faces, when suddenly the loud ringing of Lucas’ phone on the counter bursted the moment like a needle burtst the bubbles.

Lucas slowly shifted to the side, reaching for his phone, he looked at the screen, cursing inside that he just got cockblocked. He answered the call and put the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” he said tiredly, glancing at Eliott, who leaned to the counter, smiling like an idiot. 

“Lucas! Thank god you’re alive! We were looking for you last night! Are you at home?” Yann basically screamed into the phone, which made Lucas’ head hurt. 

“I’m fine, Yann. Would be better if you wouldn’t yell. It’s echoing in my skull.” he said a bit frustrated. With the headache and Eliott in his kitchen, it wasn’t easy to focus on a phone call.

“Great, nice. Okay. We were worrying ourselves sick, you know! You could have at least send a text or some shit.” Yann said on a worrying tone, which made Lucas feel warm and a bit guilty.

“I’m sorry, I just woke up and I’m still a bit hungover.” he explained, giving Eliott a death stare when he giggled. “I got home safe. I’ll tell you everything later, okay?”

“Wait, is that true that you were with Eliott?” he heard Arthur’s voice suddenly. Great, so Yann put him on speaker. That little shit. 

“Yeah, it’s true, but I’ll talk to you guys later.” he tried to end the conversation. He kept getting distracted by standing so close to Eliott and now he even decided to reach out and play with Lucas’ hair as he tried to talk to his friends. 

“Is he still there? Are you with him right now?” asked Arthur excitedly. Looks like he didn’t have enough drink last night to shut his face the morning after. 

“Guys, I really need painkillers and a long shower. We will meet up later, okay?” he asked desperately now. He was shivering as Eliott were slowly wrapping his locks around his long fingers with a satisfied smirk on his face. Oh, fuck you, Eliott!

“Fine, but I need all the dirty details.” Arthur demanded. 

“Just take your time, Lulu.” Yann said with a soft voice, Lucas smiled a little. “See you at my place, around 15:30?”

“Sounds good. See you guys then.” he said and finally could hung up. He put his phone back on the counter, looking at Eliott, who pulled his hand back, acting like he wasn’t doing anything just a few seconds ago. 

“So bad we got disrupted by your friends.” he said with a happy smile. 

“It was for the best.” Lucas said with a smirk and walked to the table, making sure that Eliott’s terrible cooking goes to the trash where it belongs.

“You are being ungrateful. I made that with love.” Eliott pouted, while Lucas just snorted, looking at him.

“You almost killed me with it. I think your love is pretty toxic then.” he teased Eliott and put the emptied plates in the sink. He will wash them after he refreshed himself. 

“It wasn’t intentional, I always make this for breakfast... well if I get out of bed before 10:00.” he said smirking.

“Just promise me you will never cook for me again.” Lucas said, walking closer to Eliott, taking in his smell, his look, just everything. 

“I would promise anything to you.” Eliott answered, leaning down a little, while he stroked over Lucas’ arms softly. Just a gentle touch, but it made Lucas’ have goosebumps all over his body. He looked up just when Eliott gave a quick kiss on his forehead, stepping back with a smile. “I gotta go finish my work now. You could come over a bit later.” he offered.

Lucas was standing there, paralyzed for a whole minute before he could force out an answer. Eliott knew how to play with his feelings, making him crave for more. 

“Yeah, sure. I’d love that.” he mumbled, his voice shaking a little. 

“See you then.” he said, walking out of the kitchen right to the front door. He looked back with a wide smile on his face, before he stepped out of the apartment, probably walking to his own place right next to Lucas’. 

The boy’s heart was beating fast as he thought about the last few minutes, the moments he just spent with Eliott. He doesn’t have a girlfriend, he seems to be attracted to Lucas and they almost kissed. Eliott even kissed his forehead. He was smiling so much, his face was hurting, but he couldn’t help it. Things were going fine. 

[engineeringnovels]

Chapter One: Business as Usual

I sat near the doorway of an old convenience store in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere staring at the carcass of what used to be a person lying underneath the snow covered leaves of a maple tree. A flock of crows fed on whatever scraps of meat remained.. I’ve heard from other travelers that crows were a sign of bad luck. I suppose in this case, they did.

That person probably died of pneumonia seeing how carefully the body was covered . A deadly strain of the terrible illness struck everyone we passed. We thought that if we kept moving, we could avoid contracting it, but Pestilence rode faster than we could run. There used to be fifteen of us. Now, we’re down to five.

The wind howled outside. The inside of the store wasn’t much warmer than the outside, but it was nice to get out of that brutal wind. The place had been looted long ago,but it still had canned food, medical supplies, and even antibiotics if time is spent looking for it. Even looted, people targeted these places for supplies. If my small group of survivors and I found this place, other people can too and people were much more dangerous than the elements.

Time had become more of an enemy than the elements or even other people. The more time we spent searching, the more likely this bitter wind turned into a blizzard or a group of hardened survivors crossed our paths. Still, anything we found gave us an edge over the next guy.

“David!” Someone shook me.

When I turned my head, a perky little ginger named Steph stared back at me. “You started dozing off,” she says.

“I fucking hate farmland,” I reply. “Too much land to cross with little payoff.” Honestly, farmland would be awesome if animals didn’t strip the land bare long ago. Sometimes, we come across some surviving crops, but more often than not, there’s nothing for miles around besides some old house that I wouldn’t go in with just my revolver.

“We’re all tired dude,” Steph stated.

“Yeah, but we had to hike a few miles in that bitter wind. If we were out there a little more, I’d come down with pneumonia,” I declared.

Steph’s face grew dim. I lost friends to illness before especially when we ran out of antibiotics; but for Steph, it hit a little closer to home. My group found her and her brother couple years ago shivering in a tent on our way south during the dying gasps of autumn. We managed to save Steph… Her brother was too far gone…

“Oh, shit… I didn’t mean-”

“Shut up David… Let’s just find what we came here for.”

Steph walked away intensely. I stayed planted in my stop burying my face in my hands wondering how someone could be so stupid.

“What’s up with Steph?” A rugged young man named Danny asked standing in front of me.

“I made a pneumonia joke,” I revealed.

“Dude! You shouldn’t make jokes like that, especially around her!” Danny reprimanded. His tone suddenly changed. “What kind of a joke was it?”

“If we were out in the cold a little more I’d come down with pneumonia,” I repeated.

“Same. I glad we got here when we did. It feels like it’s getting colder every year.”

“Yeah, I did notice we had to travel further south this time,” I pointed out.

“Alright, the faster we get supplies, the faster we get out of this cold,” Danny said.

“Why did you even volunteer us for this?”

“Someone has to do it and I didn’t want to do it alone,” Danny chuckled.

Danny pulled me up onto my feet. We had assignments to make the job a little more efficient. I was in charge of gathering medical supplies, Steph was in charge of gathering food and water, and Danny was lookout.

Steph held up a can of baked beans. “I found some beans!” She shouted.

“Nice! Where did you find it?” Danny asked.

“Underneath the overhang of the bottom shelf. Guess no one wanted to put their face to the ground,” Steph said disappearing behind the shelves.

“How about you David? You find anything?” Danny shouted.

“Just some band-aids,” I paused for a second. “With flowers on it.”

“Got anything else?” Danny whined slightly.

“Just some tampons if you prefer those.”

“I’ll take the flower band-aids…” Danny sighed.

I hopped over the pharmacy counter nearly tripping over my own foot in the process. The freezing wind whistled in through a hole in the ceiling. A small pile of snow covered some cardboard containers at the base of the hole. Still, medicine still sat on the shelves. At this point, the chances of finding painkillers or antibiotics were slim. However, medication for high blood pressure and antidepressants still remained on the shelves; these were fairly useless unless traded at the handful of settlements along the way.

“Are there any trading posts nearby?!” I asked loudly. “I got some meds.”

“Any antibiotics?” Steph replied.  

“Nothing so far.”

“It’s already starting to snow. I don’t think we’re making any stops,” Danny declared.

I stuffed three bottles of antidepressants into my bag before continuing my search for antibiotics. I carefully inspected the names of each drug looking for anything that ended in -xin, -cin, -lin, -zole, or -cline. I pushed aside a dozens of drugs trying to see if there was anything left standing. I looked for a solid five minutes without any payoff.

I heard a soft fluttering behind me. I drew my revolver expecting some sort of dangerous creature. A crow flew in from the hole in the ceiling perching right above two pill bottles labelled Amoxicillin. It looked at me inquisitively cocking its head side to side and I stared back at it in disbelief. Slowly, I reached for the pills hoping the bird wouldn’t give me a nasty bite in exchange. It cawed twice before flying back through the hole.

“That can’t be good…” I thought to myself.

Suddenly, the sound of tires grinding against pavement approached us as I quickly stuffed the meds in my bag.

“Pickup truck! Get down!” Danny whispered loudly.

I immediately searched for a back door. Even though power had been off for years, the red exit signs still did their jobs. I found a push door a little further from the pharmacy. Rust and ice covered the hinges and the door frame. I pushed as much as I could, but the door wouldn’t budge. Damn!

I returned to the pharmacy counter where Steph and Danny holed up. The headlights from the truck lit up one wall of the store. The shadows of armed people passed through the headlights.

“I counted at least three,” Steph whispered.

Danny broke open his shotgun. “I have enough firepower to take out two guys if I don’t miss.”

“They don’t know we’re here right? We can sneak around them and if we’re lucky, take their truck from right under their noses.”

I peeked over the shelves to get a more accurate headcount. Four people entered the store cautiously with their weapons up. These guys looked tough. Their stone faces showed no signs of mercy or compassion. One of them levelled their gun at me. I quickly ducked under the shelves.

“Four guys, rifles and shotguns,” I reported. “And they don’t look friendly.”

“Do they have body armor?” Danny asked.

“No, they don’t look military. Maybe cold…”

“David! This is no time for jokes! Are you sure that there are only four of them?” Danny asked.

I quickly peeked over the shelves again. Still, only four people were inside. I gave a Danny a thumbs up to confirm my findings. I remained semi-exposed a little longer just to see if anyone else. A truck door slammed. I held my finger up. A little girl no older than thirteen came in with a duffle bag.

“We have five people in here with us,” I added.

“Alright, where are they grouping up?” Danny asked.

“Left side.”

“Ok, we’ll try to sneak out through the far wall.” Danny handed Steph his backup automatic pistol. “Take this Steph.”

“I’ll be fine. I got my knife,” Steph answered confidently bordering arrogance.

“Are you sure?”

The strangers started grabbing things off the shelves quickly making their way towards us. “Guys, they’re coming this way!” I said desperately. Steph grabbed the pistol.

“Spread out and stay low! Move out!” Danny ordered.

We broke off into a different aisle. My revolver trembled in my numb finger tips. I kept moving one foot at a time. I peered over the shelf. They didn’t notice...yet… I came across a wide open corridor; the safety of the aisle just out of reach. Danny and Steph poked their heads out.

“What’s that?!” A voice boomed.

We retreated into the aisles. I stared at the entrance. Heart pounding. The footsteps inched closer. A box crunched under a boot. I turned towards the entrance to the aisle. My neck cracked in intervals. The footsteps got louder. I extended my weapon arm. I half-cocked the hammer. Click!

“I found a twinkie!” The plastic wrapper crinkled.

“Are you done thinking with your stomach?” A more commanding person yelled. “I want to be out of here before the weather gets worse.”

The footsteps got quieter. I poked my head out again. The strangers were more spread out now. I turned toward Danny.

“Go!” He mouthed.

I held my breath. One… two… THREE! I darted across the corridor. I fell onto the ground face first. I quietly gasped. My breath rose slow and high. Safe behind the aisles once more. Just a few more feet to freedom.

Crash! Steph stumbled into something in the next aisle over. Fuck! We almost had it!

“Fan out! Block off the exit!” Someone ordered.

Footsteps frantically raced around. I peeked over the shelves.

One of them saw me. “There’s one over there!” Somebody shouted.

I ducked back down. They’re coming for me. ME! I suddenly became immobilized; my body curling into a fetal position. My breathing quickened into some panicked pace.

An echoey voice screamed at me followed by a sharp whack to the face. “Don’t take unnecessary risks. You endanger yourself and I hope to God you are alone. If you aren’t, you risk the lives of your friends! They will die…”

They will die rang in my head over and over. They will die! They will die! They will die! THEY WILL DIE!!!!

I felt a hand suddenly grabbed my shoulder. I jammed my gun in that person’s gut. Silence.

“Thank God that thing is ancient!” A familiar voice quietly gasped. Danny pushed aside my gun.

“Shit Danny!”

“Shhh! Don’t move!” Danny pointed backwards. Steph darted past.

“Grab him!” Someone shouted. Three guys followed Steph.

“Follow me!” Danny ordered. We crouched to the end of the aisle. “There’s one guy right there. I’ll circle around and try to distract the rest. You take care of this guy and anyone else that comes your way.”

“Got it,” I replied.

Danny turned to leave, but he tapped me on the shoulder again. “Oh and David?”

“Hmm?”

“Make sure your gun shoots this time,” Danny smirked.

He shuffled away. My thumb reached for the hammer one more time. Click! I took several deep breaths. Steph’s struggling echoed through the hollow store.

“What are you doing here?!” The same commanding voice boomed. “How many of you are here?!”

“I’m here alone!” Steph replied.

“Bullshit! No one has survived this long alone.”

Steph let out a soft squeal.

“Now, I’ll give you one last chance to rethink your situation before I gut you like a pig.”

Steph spat in the guy’s face.

“Why you little-”

Boom! Boom! Two shotgun blasts broke the tension. I rushed around the corner. Pop! Pop! One in the gut. One in the chest. Gunfire clattered. Pop! Boom! Pop! People screamed. People died. The scent of gunpowder hung in the air.

Rapid footsteps approached me. I turned. I faced the business end of a hunting rifle. Behind it was the girl; a poor soul who had to grow up too quick. I hesitated. She fired. A dull searing pain grazed my face. She struggled with the bolt. “THEY WILL DIE!” rang in my head. Click! Click! I didn’t hesitate again. Her body hit the ground before I realized what happened.

Another loud boom.

“Danny!” Steph shrieked.

My stomach tightened. I ran fast. White smoke rose above the aisles. I turned a corner. A gun waited. I stepped back. Pop! The bullet just missed my face. Another shot boomed. I came around the corner again.

Steph had a knife to her throat; held there in one hand by a grizzly looking man. In his other, a pistol aimed at Danny. Danny sat against a wall his body brushed a new coat of blood. His shotgun was just out of reach, but a thin pillar of smoke rose from a barrel.

“Shoot him David!” Danny groaned.

“Don’t shoot!” Steph pleaded, the knife pressed into her throat.

“I’m giving you a chance to walk away,” I declared aiming my gun at the man’s head.

He instinctively hid behind Steph. “You shoot me and this knife slides right across her neck.”

“If you let her go, I’ll let you live,” I proposed.

“And you get to go free after killing my friends?”

He was right. If that had been the other way around, I’d kill all of them. This wasn’t good. If I made any moves, Steph dies. Her life was in my hands. What do I do? I looked at Steph’s frantic eyes. Her eyes bolted to the floor and back up. I quickly glanced at her feet. The slight end of a wooden handle stuck out of her boot. She still had her knife.

“This is your last chance. Let her go now!” I demanded. It was futile. His eyes revealed his choice.

I aimed low. The man’s gun flew out of his hand. He was distracted for just a moment. Steph broke free. She grabbed her knife. A sharp thrust. A sudden twist. Steph retreated. The man fell to his knees. I flipped a lever on my hammer. Boom! Birdshot peppered his body. The man slumped onto the floor. I cautiously approached the man.

“My daughter-” he said choking on his blood.

“Dead,” I coldly replied. The man’s eyes filled with tears. He inhaled sharply twice more then expired. My gun arm dropped to my side. In less than five minutes, four adults and one child lay dead inside an abandoned rotting convenience store.

“David,” Steph said with careful horror. She went to hug me.

“Don’t!” I exclaimed.

Steph stopped in her tracks.

“It’s just business as usual,” I said solemnly before walking away.  

I returned to the little girl. She wore a cap with an obscure sports team and a gold cross around her neck. Her eyes were still open. They say that eyes are the doors to people’s souls. What did she see in her final final moments? Did she see a monster or just a broken person? I fell to my knees and shut her eyes. How many people has she lost? How many people did she kill already? Not even two minutes ago, she was still breathing the same frigid air, feeling the same bitter cold. She had so much potential. And I cut it short. I sat back staring at the holes I put in her. I buried my face in my hands and wept.

[usnewsaggregator-blog]

'It never really leaves you.' Opioids haunt users' recovery

New Post has been published on http://usnewsaggregator.com/it-never-really-leaves-you-opioids-haunt-users-recovery/

'It never really leaves you.' Opioids haunt users' recovery

It’s hard to say whether businessman Kyle Graves hit rock bottom when he shot himself in the ankle so emergency room doctors would feed his opioid habit or when he broke into a safe to steal his father’s cancer pain medicine.

For straight-talking ex-trucker Jeff McCoy, it was when he grabbed a gun and threatened to blow his brains out if his mother didn’t hand over his fentanyl patches.

For newly minted lawyer Bianca Knight, it happened after hitting the street to find drugs when her opioid prescription ran out, as she envisioned her career dreams crumble.

Addiction to powerful painkillers sneaked up on Graves and McCoy and Knight, ordinary Americans who began taking the drugs legitimately for pain, but like millions of others, got caught up in the worst opioid epidemic in U.S. history.

Now they’re fighting the same tough, slippery battle for recovery, owing their lives, they say, to an anti-addiction medicine similar to pills that nearly led to their demise. They credit a Nashville doctor too, an addiction specialist who also works as a Vanderbilt University pain medicine physician — sometimes recommending the same drugs to pain patients that brought the others to the brink.

The ironies and tragedies of the crisis are not lost on Dr. Dan Lonergan, who faced his own dark abyss years ago in medical school, when his older brother died suddenly of a possible opioid overdose.

He’s heard criticism about doctors “who get ’em hooked on drugs and then turn around and treat ’em for addiction.” And he’s seen the finger-pointing from those who think faith and willpower are the answer, who say prescribing opioid drugs to treat addiction is trading one vice for another.

“Doctors have contributed to this problem. In the past three decades we have gotten a lot of patients on medications that can be very dangerous,” he said. “The pharmaceutical industry has contributed significantly to this problem. This is a problem that we all need to own.”

But to stigmatize addiction as a moral failing rather than a brain disease is wrong, Lonergan says. Research has shown that opioid drugs can cause brain changes leading to uncontrollable cravings for drug use even when it leads to dangerous and unhealthy behavior. To not offer medicine as a treatment, he says, would be like withholding insulin from a diabetic.

This is a snapshot of those in the trenches of America’s addiction crisis. More than 2 million people are hooked on opioids. Overdoses from these drugs have killed more than 300,000 Americans since 2000, and they are killing an average of 120 people every day. Even for survivors, success never quite seems lock-tight.

THE FAMILY MAN

Kyle Graves groans slightly as he sits down on the dark leather sofa in his apartment living room, feeling the stabbing pains that a daily handful of pills used to ease. At age 54, he shares the small but comfortable space with his ailing mother, bedridden from a stroke, and two small dogs in Franklin, Tennessee, an affluent Nashville suburb.

Framed thrift-shop art posters and secondhand knickknacks decorate the place, fitting decor for a man seeking a second chance at life.

Graves’ troubles began more than a decade ago when he sought relief for degenerative arthritis in his hips, shoulders, feet and back. He was prescribed hydrocodone, an opioid drug that works best for short-term pain but is risky and potentially addictive when used long term.

He got several refills for persistent pain. But when he lost his dream job as a car dealership finance manager, Graves found the pills helped get him through that crisis, too.

He was a functioning addict when his sixth child was born — a boy named Joshua Jeremiah who contracted spinal meningitis during childbirth. The infant clung to life for six weeks; his death sent Graves sinking deeper into addiction.

He’d use up a month’s supply of pills from pain clinics in days, followed by terrible withdrawals — vomiting, diarrhea, shaking uncontrollably and intense pain. It’s familiar territory for addiction patients.

Graves turned desperate after a doctor refused more refills, suspecting he was selling the drugs because opioids didn’t show up in a routine urine test — he’d swallowed them all weeks earlier.

With his wife at work and kids outside playing basketball, Graves grabbed a loaded .22-caliber pistol from his bedroom nightstand.

“I thought, ‘I really can’t hurt myself by shooting myself in the foot or ankle.’ I thought that story sounded legit.” He pulled the trigger, then called an ambulance.

At the hospital, two shots of morphine “did the trick.” The only pain he recalls was when doctors removed the bullet. Graves thinks only his wife suspected the ruse.

She grew weary and left with the kids — the harshest blow to a man who worships family.

Finally, jobless and living in a lonely Nashville motel room, Graves knew he had to seek help. “I lost my wife, my kids, my home,” he said. “It just devastated and ruined my life. I never thought anything like that could happen to me.”

His sister helped send him to a California rehab center where hard work and prayer were the main treatments. It worked for a time, but after relapsing Graves sought help from Lonergan, who prescribed recovery medicine containing buprenorphine, an opioid drug that reduces cravings and withdrawal symptoms.

Graves has been on the pills for about three years. He says weaning himself “would be a struggle that I haven’t wanted to try yet.”

He has had setbacks, the most recent in 2015, when money was tight, his youngest daughter was distant and he was facing another Christmas without his kids. He knows they won’t come around if he falls back into addiction.

His hopes of rebuilding a life with those five kids, now grown, help keep him clean.

“I’d like to have a house, a place they can come over and have a cookout on the weekend,” he said.

“They know I love ’em with all my heart,” he said. “They still have issues. I’ve offered to get them together and talk to them. I guess they’re not ready yet.”

Graves’ triggers are tragedy and misfortune; he tries not to dwell on what the future might bring.

“I don’t worry about it a lot right now. Anything could happen, though, that could change that,” he said. “You never know.”

Pain wakes Graves up at night and greets him in the morning. He takes nothing stronger than over-the-counter pain relievers. He has stopped asking Lonergan for opioid pain pills. The answer was always no.

“I’ve come to tears in his office,” Graves said. “I’m going to get older and it’s just going to get worse…what is a guy like me supposed to do?”

He passed an important test a few months ago when another doctor prescribed opioids after shoulder surgery. Graves took the pills as directed, then quit.

He’s on disability now; looking after his mom keeps him busy. Sometimes he writes country songs — some sound good enough to be played in clubs 20 miles up Highway 65 in Nashville, and it doesn’t take much prodding to get him to share one.

“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, when he’s loving a woman, a woman like you,” Graves sings. “He’ll sacrifice and give all he’s got, to keep the fire burning, to keep the fires hot.”

At times, in the middle of the night, when back pain flares, he still fights flickers of temptation.

“It really never leaves you,” Graves said. “The voices always still call you back to the darkness. You just have to ignore ’em and go on.”

———

THE TRUCKER

On a country lane 40 miles outside Nashville, a lanky tattooed man wearing overalls and a do-rag gingerly leans over to tend sunflower seedlings in his spartan front yard.

Jeff McCoy, 56, is a straight-talking study in contrasts. He’s been a meth-using country band drummer, Harley rider and long-haul trucker, but these days McCoy calls himself a house husband — gardening, baking cookies for family and friends, doing crochet and doting on his wife, Joanne. Recovery from opioid painkillers prompted the turnaround.

It started nearly 17 years ago, after surgery for a progressive back injury — could be from baling hay as a boy, or too much time on the road, he’s not really sure, but it forced him to retire from trucking. His doctor prescribed Vicodin — painkillers that contain hydrocodone. After a year he was hooked.

“I just went full-boar,” McCoy says. “I was popping pills like crazy.”

When those stopped working, he was prescribed fentanyl patches, powerful opioid medicine often used for intractable cancer pain. Placed on the skin, they deliver medicine gradually. McCoy figured out that yanking them off and chewing them worked faster. He didn’t know it can be fatal.

“Phew — what a rush. I’m not gonna lie — awesome. It makes you feel invincible,” he said.

Medicated, McCoy says, he felt normal. But then the pain returned and when he ran out of medication, withdrawal symptoms kicked in. “That’s when my body was just aching for that opiate,” he said.

“I didn’t wake up one day and say, ‘Oh my God, I’m addicted.’ It just happened,” he said.

He knew he was in trouble when his wife started locking up the patches in a safe. When he found the key, his mother — who lives nearby — took over doling out the drugs.

“Got to the point where I got on the phone with mom, ‘You better bring me that patch right now else I’m splattering my brains all over this living room.’ I wouldn’t have done it. I don’t think I woulda,” McCoy said. “Who knows?”

When his wife threatened to leave, he finally got help.

“I came close to losing her, and I love her more than anything in the world,” he said. “I’d honestly die for her.”

He checked himself in to a detox center, and began a new year, 2009, with two hellish weeks of withdrawal.

“It was rough. It was scary. They locked the door,” McCoy said. “It was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He figures he’ll be on anti-craving medication for life even though sometimes now he takes just half a pill and still has some left when it’s time for a refill. That didn’t happen when he was taking pain medication.

“I’d have to suffer until I had my doctor appointment,” he said. “That’s the worst part about it. You’re all high when you got that big ol’ bottle of pills, you’re all happy party time. Then as it slowly goes down and slowly gets emptier and emptier, that’s when the anxiety (hits), ‘What am I gonna do, where am I gonna get some more?'”

Now, he says his wife is his addiction. “She’s my everything, she’s my drug. All she has to do is walk by me and pat me on the head and I’m like a dog in heaven.”

She taught him to crochet, a hobby for summer months when it’s too hot to bake. Cooking, cleaning and grocery shopping are also therapeutic for a man who hates to sit still.

Back pain still bothers him; he spends a chunk of each day flat on his back to rest it. His addiction medication helps a little, and he worries about not being able to find a doctor to prescribe it, if he or Lonergan were to move away.

Special training is required to prescribe that medicine in an office-setting instead of the kind of treatment clinics where methadone, another opioid recovery medicine, is prescribed.

Still, McCoy says he doesn’t worry about relapsing.

“I can honestly say I don’t even think about pain medication,” he said. “I’m not tempted one iota.”

He jokes that his life now is “boring as hell, but I’m happy.”

“The only thing that makes me different” from other addicts “is I finally wanted to stop,” McCoy said. “If I can survive with no life, come on, it’s worth it, but you gotta want to.”

———

THE LAWYER

At the end of three grueling years in law school, after graduating with honors and passing the bar exam, Bianca Knight had a nagging question too tough for even the smartest lawyer.

“How do I know if I have a problem?” she asked Lonergan, the Vanderbilt physician who treats McCoy and Graves.

Knight had spent the past two years medicated. Every day. On hydrocodone pills a different doctor had prescribed when she injured two spinal disks lugging around heavy law books.

They helped with the pain, along with steroid injections, but she found the pills did something else.

“They also gave me a euphoric feeling and helped me get through my long day in law school,” she said. “It made it all easier.”

Knight, 37, is nearly blind from a rare optic nerve condition she developed several years ago. It may have added to her challenges but she wasn’t going to let it stop her from pursuing a career. She knew of blind attorneys, and a state program for the disabled paid for a reader who helped with her law school homework.

When she got her first opioid prescription, she was given a vague warning that some people can become dependent on the drugs, but thought, “that won’t happen to me.”

Opioids made her feel energetic, not impaired. Soon Knight was thinking about them all the time, and taking far more than the prescribed amount.

“Toward the end, I resorted to buying off the street,” claiming to have had dental work and no insurance, Knight said. “Eventually someone can point you in the direction of someone looking to get rid of some drugs.”

But resorting to street drugs made her worry about her safety and the legal ramifications, picturing her career dreams crumbling if she didn’t seek help.

When she asked whether she had a problem, the doctor explained addiction and told her the average person doesn’t think about opioid pain pills 24/7 and carry them around in a purse.

Knight agreed to try buprenorphine treatment. Attending church and support group meetings also help, she says. She was able to continue medication treatment when she became pregnant last fall, which helps with her ongoing pain. She says the baby is extra incentive for her to stay clean.

“Now I’ve got someone else counting on me,” Knight said.

Still, relapse is in the back of her mind and Knight said she knows future challenges could make her vulnerable.

“For anyone in recovery, it is a daily struggle and I’d be a fool not to think so,” Knight said.

———

THE DOCTOR

Dr. Dan Lonergan says relapse is the biggest risk for patients recovering from opioid addiction. The drugs work by attaching to chemical receptors in the brain and sending signals that block pain and create pleasurable feelings. Repeated use can lead to drug tolerance, meaning increasingly high doses are needed to produce the same effect. In recovery, patients lose that tolerance so resuming the drugs can be fatal.

Addiction medicine — buprenorphine and methadone — act on the same drug receptors but produce much milder effects, along with reducing cravings and withdrawal symptoms.

As a pain specialist, Dr. Dan Lonergan sometimes prescribes opioids to patients with no history of drug abuse. But for patients taking medicine for their addiction he won’t, no matter how strenuous their pleas.

“Every day in my practice there are conflicts like that,” Lonergan said.

His double focus on pain and addiction is personal. When he was a second-year medical student, Lonergan got an early morning phone call from his distraught father with the news that his older brother was found dead on the couch. The young man used powerful painkillers for severe headaches and other medical problems, and his death was considered a possible accidental overdose.

“There may be some therapy for me in treating patients with addiction, but you never recover from the loss,” Lonergan said softly. “There’s still a hole there that will never be filled.”

Lonergan says the opioid crisis is compounded by not enough specialists trained to treat it and a persistent stigma, especially in Bible Belt states like Tennessee. He says patients’ families can sabotage their recovery efforts by telling them church, not medicine, is the answer.

Many of Lonergan’s patients are on addiction medication long term, though some can be weaned off. What he has found though, is that most need other addiction fighting tools, too — counseling, group meetings, social support, learning to manage life’s problems “in more old-fashioned ways,” he said.

Even with all that, he said, “there’s still a lot within the patient that has to come from the heart.”

———

Follow AP Medical Writer Lindsey Tanner on Twitter at @LindseyTanner.

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