Thirium Heart//Reed900

Okay, Maybe There Wasn't As Much Healing As We Thought (17)

Gavin had the next day off, conveniently. Hank woke Gavin up before his shift, drove him back to Barry's the next morning, letting Gavin get in his car and go home. He had a pounding headache, and the morning light did nothing to help.

Gavin walked into his house, all the lights off and the scent of rot hanging heavily in the air. Empty pizza boxes and bottles of beer and bowls of rotting cereal covered every available surface. The TV was on, blaring some basic talk show. Gavin didn't think he'd turned it off once after Tina turned it on for him that accursed night.

His cats were all laying out on the couch. Well, besides Pants. He was sitting in a basket of clean clothes that Gavin hadn't the energy to fold. Conan bounded up to him immediately.

"Hey, buddy." Gavin leaned down to scratch the cat behind the ears. "You hungry?"

All of the cats perked up.

"Yeah, let's get you guys fed." The only clean space in the kitchen was where Gavin fed and watered the cats. He laid out five nice, clean bowls and filled them all with food. Then, he cleaned out the water bowls and refilled them with fresh water. He cleaned all six of the litter boxes, and almost felt a little motivated. He took a Tylenol.

"Maybe I should clean up, " he said to Pumpkin, who promptly rolled over on her side and begged for pats. Gavin obliged, kicking an empty bag of Doritos away. Surveying his terrain of rotting food and garbage, he decided to clean his room.

It was the cleanest spot in the home, all things considered. There were dirty clothes and empty bottles and things, of course, but it was much more muted and smelled a lot better in his room. Gavin sniffed his own clothes, the same ones he'd been wearing for three days.

Rain over jasmine.

He took them off.

When was the last time I shaved? The last time I showered?

Maybe Gavin wasn't going to clean his room just yet. Pants had already nested in the discarded clothes.

"You think they smell that good?"

"MrrrrOw."

"Me too, kid. I stink, though." Gavin smelled his underarm and immediately gagged.

He showered briefly, washing his body and hair as quickly as possible. Then, he shaved his unruly beard down to where he liked it. The gratification was instantaneous. He dried off, threw on some pajamas, and got to work.

He started by cleaning all the clothes from his floor. That would make maneuvering through the room much easier. He threw them down the laundry chute in the bathroom. His jacket was overdue for a wash anyway. He moved to his bedside drawer, removing the fast-food wrappers and an empty bottle of lotion. Underneath all of that, he found an untouched pack of smokes.

Gavin gave up smoking a while ago. A month before Conan's death, he thinks. Conan was encouraging him to be healthier, stealing his smokes and booze whenever he could. Gavin bought that pack February 15th. He never got around to smoking them.

To hell with cleaning. To hell with quitting.

Gavin dumped all the trash into the trash and grabbed the pack. He went straight out the back door, snatching a lighter on the way. His yard was all fenced in anyway, and if someone saw him in his pajamas, he wouldn't care.

What was the point of caring anyway?

He hated all his neighbors. Gavin sat on his single lawn chair. He took a cig out of the pack and lit it. Who gave a shit that it was nine am.

Gavin smoked the whole pack. He sat in his backyard for an hour and chain-smoked the entire pack in one sitting. What would Conan think? Who gives a shit. Conan wasn't here.