Listen to what I say
Moanin' and groanin'
Won't drive those blues away
Lift up your voices in song
You know you've all done wrong
You sinners, drop everything
And let that harmony ring
Up to Heaven
And sing, you sinners
Just wave your arms all about
And let the Lord hear you shout
Pour that music right out
And sing, you sinners
Whenever there's music
That ol' Devil kicks
He don't allow music
By the river Styx
Oh, You're wicked and you're depraved
And you've all misbehaved
Say, If you wanna be saved
Well, sing, you sinners
– Sing, You Sinners
He's stupid.
Really stupid.
He always sleeps on the bed nearest the door. He does this not because he likes the draft that comes from it – though he will say in the heat of the summer that it's a perk. No, he sleeps there because it allows him to monitor the comings and goings through it, not so that he can sleep through the comings and goings through it.
Tim awakens not to a redhead in the other bed, but to a note:
Went to Church. Try to be good Timothy, and don't get into any trouble while I'm gone? x
She could be in Portugal by now for all he knows.
He's never slept that deeply with someone else in the room before. Even after he had acclimated himself to Jay's constant presence he slept lightly, always aware on some level of his surroundings.
Allison just walked right out the door.
As he slept in the bed right next to it, oblivious.
Great.
He supposes it's the principal of the thing that has him pissed off the most – on both of their accounts. She left a note, supposedly telling him where she went and implying that she'd be back shecouldhaveleftittothrowyouoffherscentsothatshecouldleaveandnothaveyoufollowimmediately so she probably will be, but she could just as easily not have left a note and left him in the dust to grapple with the events of the last week by himself, so that was nice of her at least. Still, she could damn well have waited until he woke up to leave or at least could have woken him up before she left to let him know what she was doing and allow him to ask important questions like, "Where will you be in case of an emergency?" or "How long do you think you'll be?" and "When should I send in the cavalry to save you?" – things like that.
He gets up, showers. Finds some food in a vending machine. Takes his pills.
He sits.
He smokes a cigarette.
9am.
He checks his phone. No missed messages or calls.
He grabs one of those awful plastic-wrapped paper cups, fills it with water, drinks.
He picks up one of the musty books Allie unpacked last night, rifles through it.
Puts it aside.
Smokes another cigarette.
9:30am.
YOU ARE READING
Reticulated
FanfictionIt had been optimistic to think that it was all behind him now. Foolishly, stupidly, optimistic. He should have known that he'd never truly be free. Maybe he really should have done what Alex said, because now its all happening again, and he's losin...
