The Menzies Chronicles

Vicodin

Hey ho and lemme just say, I can't introductions.

Anyways, this is a short story of sorts I wrote for my OC years ago.

...Okay, not years. But you know, as a kid.

So enjoy a taste of what Gail Menzies the asshole surgeon, and Alex Robinson the distant detective step-sister is like. Enjoy ay

•••••

Silence.

The atmosphere in the room was deathly quiet, as if everything was on mute. The only noise that could be picked up by the only living being in the room was its own breathing. The rhythm of the breathing was unsteady, ragged, and shaky.

It should have been piercing, brown eyes that stared out the only window in room, hoping for some way of escape from this dreaded area. But instead, it was a pair of dull, grey-brown eyes staring at an orange bottle, musing on whether or not to take this dangerous substance.

The said eyes, described through a more or less narcissistic approach, belonged to a miserable looking person. Taking a closer look, it could be seen that this person was a woman, looking like she was in her late 20's to early 30's. The woman had European features, with hints of being half-Asian through the observation of how her hair was a darker shade of brown, held up in a ponytail. She was seated on the cold, marble floor, her back supported by the equally spine chillingly freezing wall.

The woman coughed violently, doubling over in reaction to the sudden sharp intake of breath she took. Blood began to seep from the corners of her mouth, progressing very slowly. The miserable woman leaned back, a hand clutching her side tightly. She raised her other hand to her mouth, wiping the blood that had begun seeping from the corners of her mouth with the back of her palm, onto the sleeve of the black military coat she wore.

Completely ignoring the risks of taking this drug, the woman leaned forward and balanced herself on her one vacant hand and knees. Once she was within the reach of the orange bottle, the woman let go of her side and snatched the bottle, falling back into the position she was previously in.

Ring. Ring.

The high-pitched ringing noise of a classic phone split the quiet air, causing the woman to toss a glance towards one of the pockets of her pants. Digging a pale hand into her pocket, the woman managed the pull the iPhone out, inserting the passcode necessary to unlock the phone. Selecting the option to answer the incoming call, the woman put the call on loudspeaker and laid it down, letting out a long breath.

"You're being stupid. Check the samples again," the woman spoke first, a cold and sarcastic tone to her words.

"Menzies! Where the hell are you?!" a female voice shouted, worry and disappointment layering over her own words. The other female's speech was slightly inaudible, due to noise in the background. This noise came from the chatting of people who were carrying on with their errands and whatnot.

'Menzies,' as the woman on the other line called her, gave a prideful snort and snapped out of irritation, "Says the person who keeps on running around in circles, doing nothing but unearthing the same evidence over and over again."

The woman on the opposite line was silent for a few moments before speaking up again, breaking the painful silence. "Where are you, anyways?"

Menzies went ridged, her facial expressions twisting into a scowl. Unwilling to reveal her current whereabouts, due to both her own incredible selfishness and an unwillingness to get other involved in her own problems. The brunette remained silent, making not a sound as the minutes and seconds passed by.

The original caller finally broke the silence once more, a gentle and worrisome tone adding to her words, "Please don't tell me that you're on 'it' again."

This statement caused Menzies to be even more unwilling to speak. But, for the sake of avoiding future interactions, she composed herself and opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a wave of bloody coughs.

Shaking from the fresh pours of blood escaping from the corners of her mouth, Menzies spluttered a bit but managed to choke out, "What do you--" One cough. "--expect?" Two coughs. "I can barely go through a--" Three coughs. "--day without taking this shit."

Silence. This sullen word seemed to be the one word that hung in the air, taunting the hoppa. A long sigh could be heard on the other line, accompanied by faint shuffling noises, accompanied by the sudden silence in the background, evidencing that the female had taken shelter in a private room of some sort. The lack of conversations spanned for a long time, roughly 10 minutes, Audrey herself finally spoke up, for once restarting the conversation.

"You know, there's this saying that the old man would always drill into my head in particular, Robinson," she began, her voice carrying a sarcastic and 'knowledgeable' tone, "'You don't need to give 5 fucks about what other people want you to do; what you wanna do is what you gotta do.'"

Ronbinson, as the other female was revealed to be, gave a most heavy sigh. So heavy, a tone of irritation seeping through and accenting the blow of breath. A heavy quilt of silence was draped over the two of them, suffocate them in its grasp.

"Fine. Fine then," Robinson finally chided, her voice cracking on the second 'fine.' In addition to the strong evidence pointing directly at the feeling of misery, a sullen sniff could be heard on the other line.

Menzies rolled her eyes, a snort leaving her nose. Literally, a pig's snort. "Mmmhm. You just go on ahead and run away. You can only come crawling back, anyways. That's the only way you can make sure that I'm alive." Before Robinson herself could hang up on Menzies, Menzies hung up, putting an abrupt end to the conversation by jabbing an index finger at the screen.

Snatching the black mobile device in one hand, Menzies messily stuffed it back into her pocket, to its original resting place. Knees brought up, arms locked around shins, eyes staring, Menzies fell over onto her side in a fetal position.

Her eyes had taken on a glazed shell, draping a blanket of protection over her quivering emotions. All of them; the ones she's picked up naturally, the ones forcefully invoked on her, the ones she's selfishly hid away all these years.

But it was especially hard to keep the ones she's bottled up for so long, the bottle of emotions locked away, somewhere in a cabinet. The emotions threatened to break through, penetrating the glass walls of the bottle and overwhelming her.

But Menzies was strong. In a way she could hold onto this bottle of emotions, keeping the lid shut. Some times she wishes she could open this bottle and let her emotions out, relieving her of years worth stress. Other times she jams the lid of the bottle, making sure her calmer emotions stay, and the teary ones remain in check.

It was at times like now that Menzies would simply bask in the misery, silently suffocating on the heavy sorrows that weigh down on her.

It was at times like now that Menzies would simply consume vicodin; the only that kept her from feeling the pain of the emotions she had bottled up for so long.

Oh, how she wished to escape this trap.