Break Bad

Smooth Lies, Stuttering Truths: Part 3

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December 27th, 4:37Am..

Keith rolled onto his other side, pulling in a breath, and forcing it back out again.
"Fifty five."
His voice hollow in the hotel room, it hit the walls, but did not echo. Half absorbed by the pillow.

He pulled in another breath, and released it.
"Fifty six."
By now his eyes felt as if they had weights attached to them, dragging him down, and enticing him with rest. In a moment of weakness he relented, and they closed. His breathing became faint, and the distant sound of late night horns and tires faded.

In it's place came again that rhythmic beeping. Unsteady, and random. Each tone was like a punch to his chest, making it tighter and tighter. Keith sucked a breath in, and it was pushed out by another beep. Each tone was louder than the last until it was so overwhelming, a truck horn could blare into his ear, and it would hardly compare.

It was raised in pitch, and speed, each tone pushing more breath from his lungs until there was none left, and it felt as if his lungs would soon crawl out his throat. Tighter and tighter, his shirt was constricting him, and his pillow was pulling him in deeper.
Then the tone became one long steady frail scream of a dead heart, with no beat, no rhythm, and no life. Just a dead dial tone in his ears and in his head.

His eyes shot open, and he heard only the scream coming from his own throat as his body jolted away from the choking grasp of his pillow. His blanket was soaked with sweat, and almost seemed to splatter as he threw it across the room.

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December 28th, 3:00Pm.

Shiro knocked twice on the door, repeating the same words he'd said the day before, though not expecting any more of a response than he'd gotten the first time.
"I'm heading to the hospital, if you're coming then let's go...."

Shiro heard no response, and sighed as he let his hand rest on the door.
"Keith...I haven't so much as hear the water running. Have you even had a shower since we got here?"

Still nothing gave. Shiro's hand closed into a fist, and he began to push it against the door, clenching his teeth.

"Keith are you even fucking in there?-"
He began to raise his voice.
"-Did you leave the room in the middle of the night? Do you even care if she-"

The door was yanked opened, leaving Shiro to nearly stumble into Keith as he fell forward a step before catching himself. Keith's hair was tangled and greasy. His shirt ripped down the middle. The room was worse. Blankets on the floor, bedding scattered about. Keith simply turned around, and walked to the small recliner in the room, pulling both his feet up and under himself, and clenching his phone tight in his grip.

Shiro gazed around the room, from one broken glass to another torn piece of clothing. Before his eyes finally stopped on Keith, who stared back at him unblinking.
"Uhh....Keith?"

Keith blinked, and raised an eyebrow.
"What? It's not like you didn't see this sort of shit a hundred times a decade ago."

Shiro closed his eyes a moment, then nodded.
"Yeah, right....Broken glass, unshowered Keith, torn clothes. Atleast there's no coke this time."

Despite his appearance of a man who'd just committed murder, Keith chuckled bitterly through his stare, and held up the phone.
"Got something better than that. More addictive too."

Shiro closed the door and walked in, sitting down in the chair across from Keith.
"So, is he coming down? Are you going up?"

Keith shook his head.
"Neither."