Untameable addiction (Jesse Pinkman)

Missing In Action

TW: Violence, Death, Depictions of Guns, and Swearing.

I laid curled in a ball on something that was comfy and smelt safe, but I couldn't breathe at the heat that caressed my lungs, the sweat off my forehead dripping down my arm as I choked in the darkness of wherever I was. Someone was moving besides me, as the other seemed closer, my mind so hazy and desperate for air. My sense went into overdrive as I faced the sun, not having time to process before I was tossed onto the sand beside Mr. White. With a groan, I hear Jesse yelling at Tuco, my vision blurry until it focuses on the rifle he held with security.

"Get up." All of us struggle to stand as we're panting for breath to return into our lungs.

"Don't do this Tuco."  Mr. White pleads, Tuco only motioning for us to walk towards the small shack-like house in the barren desert. We only made it a few steps before Jesse's legs crumbled beneath him. Out of instinct, I crouch down to help, my motions halted as the gun connects with my face, crumpling my body as well, as the ringing begins throughout my ears. The yells were only muffled as I am dragged inside, placed between the two men onto a couch of some sort, where in front was a man in a wheelchair, watching TV with his gaze shrouded in age. My eyes open and close lazily, with my head falling onto Jesse's shoulder as if too heavy.

"Don't let her sleep, she might have a concussion." I hear Mr. White whisper, the front door opening with a loud bang as Tuco emerges once again. Everything seeming fuzzy, even the telenovelas that the old guy watched felt like gibberish to my mind. Eventually in my daze, feeling something press against my chapped lips, the liquid slowly traveling down my throat.

"You need to drink water, come on." Obliging Jesse's request, I take hold of the water and drink until I almost collapse, Jesse then finishing it off beside me.

"Empty your pockets." Numbly standing, the three of us empty the contents of our clothes onto the table, the only thing left being my wallet and cigarettes.

" Thought your name was Heisenberg<Walter Hartwell White>," Tuco says, examining all of our driver's licenses and cards.

"Heisenberg is a kind of a pseudonym. You know a business name." Mr. White confirms, Tuco moving to continue rummaging around until he pulls out two pictures with a sigh.

"I like doing business with a family man. There's always a lot of collateral." The picture of Mr. White's family reminded all of us of what we were doing this for, whilst also making me thankful I never kept photos of my own son in my wallet. Tuco moving now to Jesse's and begins laughing not at the bills of cash but at the singular condom that fell across the table. His gaze is humorous at a sheepish Jesse, who I feel glances my way.

"Looks like lover boy had different plans." Tuco chuckles, moving to stand once more as I try not to show embarrassment. But his attention was aimed solely on Mr. White, gripping his shirt collar in intimidation as he leans in.

"Can I trust you?"

"Yes, yes, absolutely." Mr. White not hesitating answers, Tuco pushing him back down on the couch as a sign to sit. Then moving to motion for us to collect our belongings, realizing whence his back is turned that he had kept my license for whatever sick intentions.

"The DEA...Hit my place of business this morning. About a hundred cops looking for me. You haven't been talking, right?"

"No." Mr. White is quick in shutting down Tuco's insinuation, both Jesse and I following with our own answers.

"Picked up my whole crew, top to bottom. Everybody except Gonzo. That's weird, right? I mean, don't you think that that's weird?" Tuco asks, all of us processing what this meant.