¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
—
tw: this chapter has mentions of overdosing and suicide.
—
the door creaked quietly, as Mick pushed the handle down, and slightly opened it. he had no idea, what Joey was doing in there, and he really didn't want to disturb him, but all the others were waiting for him, and they started to get tired of it. Joey said he left something there — it was his bag, maybe, Mick hadn't been paying attention to him enough to remember — but that was so long ago. he started to get bored, and he would have never admitted it, no matter what, but he was also worried deep down. but honestly, what could go wrong with picking up your bag from the dressing room?
apparently, everything.
"Joey, what the fuck is taking so damn long?" Mick asked impatiently, behind the door, not looking in the room, just in case his brother was doing something he did not want others to see. "Joey?" he said after a bit of time, to remind the man that he has to reply. no answer, not even the slightest sound that would make him think that something is even happening in there. "Joey, if you won't say something in the next five fucking seconds, i'm going to come in," he warned him and started counting back from five.
after he got no reply, he started counting another five seconds while taking big and slow breaths. not like he didn't trust Joey and his sense of time, it's just that he was so extremely upset and concerned, that he had to try and calm himself down, before starting to talk again while pushing the door, so he could get in the room.
"Joey, look, i understand if you need personal space, and some time alone, but you can get that at home," he explained while wandering around with his eyes, taking a few steps inwards, "so could we please— FUCKING SHIT!" he yelled, as he jumped back.
his heartbeat was double as fast as it should have been, he felt like he was going to throw up or faint or scream because of the pressure. he felt pain in his chest, and could barely get any air inside his lungs. his legs started to feel like they were giving up, and he was afraid he'd fall on the ground, unable to do anything.
but he didn't.
if it would have been dark enough, someone could think he was some kind of sculpture, when in reality, he was just a man, frozen into a position, while trying to deal with what he had just seen. he couldn't get his eyes off it. he couldn't get his eyes off him.
because right at his feet, there was Joey, lying on the floor, in his own vomit, and Mick really really fucking hoped he was only unconscious. not far from him there was a jar of who knows what kind of medication fallen on its side. Mick grabbed it and took a look at it. it probably rolled away from Joey after he collapsed. because even though Mick didn't witness what happened, he was almost certain that he did. it felt like he was there. he could see Joey taking out those fucking pills from his damn bag, he could see him open the jar, he could see him swallow more and more, then he could see him falling on his knees, grabbing his stomach as he was vomiting on the ground, he could see him struggling to stand up, and finally, he could see him collapse and fall on the ground.
