Participants:
| Scene Title | Aaron Can't Even OD Right |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Aaron's attempt at punishing himself for what he did to Wendy fails, miserably. |
| Date | August 11, 2009 |
Peyton's Place - Upper West Side
Morning comes, same time as it always does. To some people, it comes sooner and others - it comes later. For Wendy it's come when it's come. Her mood .. artificially enhanced to be positive thanks to Aaron's abilities means she wakes up happy. Forget that she remembers that the fucker stabbed her with what seems like Refrain and sent her on a bad trip. That she seemed to relive her rehab so many years ago.
Away from Peyton she carefully slipped when her eyes finally opened. Artificially induced happiness can't cover up that she knows she should feel angry, that she should feel livid. Not giddy and joyful. The sun is up and shining in and Wendy wants to find her purse and get the hell out of here and away from the two of them. She's convinced Peyton was in on it. Some friends.
Some friends indeed. That purse may seem a bit lighter, although it's unlikely that Wendy would notice from the weight alone, but if she inspects it, she will surely notice that there are three items missing from it. Those three items are now in the bathroom with the person who stole them. Of course, self-inflicted torture is rarely thought out particularly well, so if anyone happens to walk in on him, well, it looks worse than it is. One arm has a full mini-syringe sticking out of it, with one empty at his side and the third, unopened beside him. Karma, or something, saved his life.
Peyton is curled up in an armchair, but she hears the movement, as she's been drifting awake for the last hour or so. "Wen?" she asks, sitting up, rubbing her eyes. "Are you okay?" she murmurs, her voice still husky with sleep. She glances around, looking for Aaron, and not seeing him. She stands, barefoot but still in the dress she fell asleep in, and heads toward Wendy, though she stubs her foot on the coffee table.
"Fuck," she cries out, hopping on one foot, her hand grabbing her other as she looks up at her friend, imploring her to stay. "Do you want coffee? Breakfast? Advil?" she asks, trying to help since she couldn't do much last night.
"I want to go home and get away from you jerks" Wendy shoots back. "ha ha, funny, shooting up your friend because I didn't shut my mouth a bit. ISN'T IT AARON!" Wendy bellows out. he's here, his shoes are still here. They're tossed beside her red soled stiletto's. "What if it hadn't been Refrain Peyton, what if it had been something else" That and she knows where Aaron is and she starts heading towards where she can feel the evolved pull from him. "I could kick you right now you asshole."
Peyton's mouth drops open when Wendy screams at her. "I'm a jerk? I didn't do anything but try to get you home safe, Wendy!" she shouts back. The neighbors are used to loud noises from this apartment. Luckily the walls are thick. She flops back onto her butt, pulling her knee up to her chest as she holds her toe, which is bleeding. "Son of a bitch!" she yells, though she's talking about her toe, not Wendy or Aaron.
"My beef is with Benji not really you, but thanks for getting me someplace safe" She follows the hallway till she comes across the bathroom and the sight of Aaron.
Aaron with.. oh for the love of god. In Wendy steps with bare feet, snatching the filled syringe from out of his arm. Great, wasted dose. She depresses the plunger into the sink, caring very little that Aaron is on the floor. Awake or hallucinating, who cares and knows. But the needle is bent on the counter and then capped for safety and the third syringe is snatched up and put away. "Fucker! Hope it's worth it!" And then there's a kick with her bare feet to his leg before she turns away to walk off. "Benji's shot up in the bathroom. Give him a slap to the face when he wakes up."
There's a wince as the needle's pulled from his arm and a grunt and a bit of movement as he's kicked. Otherwise, Aaron remains still as the dead. He was awake for a very long time praying and singing for Wendy's safety, after all, and only recently did he get to sleep. It'll take more than a kick to rouse him, that's for sure.
Peyton frowns and jumps up. Was it a punishment, or an attempt to escape from the guilt that made Aaron shoot up, since she knows he doesn't like the drug now. "Sorry, Wen. Call me, 'kay? I had nothing to do with it, and I don't know what the hell got into him." She hobbles toward the bathroom, little drops of blood on the hard-wood floor marking her path. "Aaron?" She kneels next to him. "How much did he take? Is he ODing? Should I call 9-1-1?" she asks Wendy, looking up imploringly.
"Just one. He didn't get the second, I had to empty it into the sink cause I'm not using someone else's needle and I have the third" Wendy leans against the door, looking down at Aaron. "BENJI! WAKE THE FUCK UP ASSHOLE!"
Peyton's quiet voice isn't enough to rouse him, but when Wendy starts screaming bloody murder, that gets him moving. "What the fuck?" No, the language is not characteristic of Aaron, not that Peyton would know that at this juncture. His left arm, where he injected himself with once and failed the second time is killing him from having a needle sitting in it for God knows how long. He's not quick to move, but he does have something to say. "Do you have to be so loud?" This is not a situation he ever desired to wake up into. His eyes open, and they're still bloodshot and red rimmed from crying and from being awake so long tending to someone he doesn't even like.
"What the hell are you doing, trying to commit suicide, you jerk?" Peyton squeaks at him, her face pale and her eyes filling with tears. "In my fucking apartment? God! What the hell are you thinking? How selfish are you?" She stomps one foot, which makes her wince, as it's the one with the stubbed toe, then rushes out of the room.
What the hell was he thinking? Aaron has a few ideas, but frankly, none of them sound good enough to say aloud, so he just takes the verbal abuse in silence. Once both women have left the bathroom, he sits there and collects himself, if that's even possible at this point. His throat is still killing him from using his vocal chords to their absolute limit, which means he'll be unable to perform at Old Lucy's until he's rested them for at least a week. So much for going in to work there….
It's with care that Aaron stands, the room wobbling on him just a bit, still rather light-headed from having what little sleep he had disturbed. He splashes cold water on his face, dries it, and proceeds immediately to the exit. There are a lot of things he wants to say, a lot of things he should say. Unfortunately, none of them seem appropriate or sufficient. He ties his shoes.
Peyton has curled up in the chair she slept in. Tears stream down her face as she stares at the wall full of family portraits, artistically arranged in a collage of frames of various shapes and sizes. A small family — red-haired father, blonde mother, dark-haired and dark-eyed Peyton at various ages. She blinks as she hears the others enter the room, but doesn't turn to look at either of them.
Wendy grumpily sets herself on the floor, both glowering and happy - thank you Aaron - and with a gentle grabbing of the other woman's foot, sets about to peroxiding the stubbed hurt toe and getting a bandaid on it. The woman had gotten her to safety after Aaron's stupid act. "Thank you Pey, for getting me some place safe. I can't thank you enough for that"
No fond memory could ever make Aaron feel better after this. He had hoped for a bad trip, or worse, for what he did, and all he managed to do was cause more pain, more suffering. More guilt. The sixty dollars he pulls from his wallet and drops on the floor won't even begin to cut it. He's still partially angry at Wendy, and is half-tempted to tell her he hopes the money will buy her more happiness, but he doesn't. He hasn't the energy to be cruel. Hell, once upon a time, he never would have been. He pulls out a notepad and begins to scribble his address on it, in case anyone wants to come and yell at him, or have him arrested or something.
"Aaron helped," Peyton says in a flat voice. "I couldn't have done it without him. He carried you into the cab. You'd probably be in the psych ward if it weren't for him." She's still angry at Aaron, but she isn't going to take all the credit for helping Wendy. She winces and flinches at the use of the peroxide. "I'm okay. Worry about you." She glances over at Aaron. "Are you okay? Like… you're not going to go Sylvia Plath yourself or something? You shouldn't be alone. I'm sorry I said you were selfish." Her voice is still flat, but her eyes look sincere.
Wendy doesn't even look over. Right, Aaron helped. That's because Aaron dosed her up. And now she knows what the two Asians were talking about a bad trip. She didn't know whether she'd be taking another trip down Refrain lane. She want to, she's addicted to it, but the bad trip… The money is ignored, as is Aaron as the sticky plaster and gauze are secured. She's feeling like crap, and good. And she just wants to go home and curl up. Go somewhere and curl up. She also wants to down about fifty vials of Refrain to make the bad trip go away. Wendy's lips are pursed thin and there's bags under her eyes from her bad night, the communal bad night.
And Aaron's tired. A few hours of sleep after being up for a day, singing for six hours, and carrying a grown woman around is enough to make anyone tired. It also impairs judgement. It's a good thing Peyton still has hers intact. He can only look down as he puts his notepad away, pocketing the pen and leaving the torn out sheet to slowly float down to the three twenties at his feet. "No," he says, with what's left of his voice. "You were right. Both of you." He tries to leave, he really does. His hand is on the door and everything, but all he can do is rest his head against it. There's no energy left to him. He's spent.
"Go sleep," Peyton says. "There's three bedrooms in this place, pick any of them," she tells Aaron. She looks up at Wendy. "You can sleep more if you want, too, but I get if you want to leave. I'm sorry last night sucked." She stands and hugs Wendy, then kisses the other girl's cheek lightly. "Want me to call a cab for you?" The door man will too, of course, if asked. "I think we all just need … more sleep."
"I'd rather go home Pey. I'm more comfortable some place I'm familiar with" And she doesn't want to stay near Aaron right now. Really, she'd likely be at his throat right now if he hadn't been singing himself hoarse all night. Her shoes are plucked up, held in hand after the kiss is returned half-heartedly and she heads for the door. Her hand closes on Aaron's, forces the door to open - who cares if it will force him to shuffle back or get a face full of door and slips out. "Another day Pey" No Aaron, no goodbye for you from Wendy.
"I'm sorry," says the hoarse voice from behind the door, after Aaron allows his head to get whacked with it. It's clear he means it, but face it, words are never enough. Frankly, he deserves more than a door hitting him in the face, but he'll settle for the punishment he can get. He gently closes the door and continues to lean against it. This? This is shock finally settling in, and utter exhaustion. She's OK now, he can sleep. Shouldn't he be able to sleep?
"Go sleep," Peyton says again. "You'll feel better after you get more than a couple of hours of sleep in you. There's Tylenol in the bathrooms if you need something, if your head hurts." She yawns and takes a few steps toward the hallway. "I'm going to go crash in my own bed. Take the second door on the left for the guest bedroom, if it creeps you out to sleep in my parents' old room. Sheets are clean." She heads down the hallway, disappearing into her room. She really should sell the apartment. A single person doesn't need this much space.
A place with three bedrooms for one person? Yeah, it's a bit much.
It takes Aaron a few minutes just to get moving, but once he does, he manages to carry himself to the guest room. He doesn't close the door, he just walks straight at the bed and falls onto it. Lights out. The fact that he's fully clothed, save for his jacket, which is still where he left it the other night, and has his shoes on doesn't phase him. Aaron's gone to nightmareland.
