Misc.

breaking bad 2

they had only briefly mourned the empty bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table. they pouted momentarily, rather put out that they had finished the only alcohol they had before jesse remembered he had half a bottle of vodka left in the freezer, and got up to go get it.

they passed the bottle back and forth. it was Absolut, and when mike asked where jesse had got it, the boy had shrugged carelessly.

"traded it with some transvestite looking ass for a teenth. she wouldn't shut up about how that's the brand they advertise on rupaul's car race or whatever the fuck that show is called." 

"drag race. it was rupaul's drag race." mike told him.

"whatever. fucking gay if you ask me." 

it went quiet for a while and silence settled back into jesse's living room. mike broke the silence.

"hey, aren't you gay?"

"what? no, what the fuck are you- no! jesus." jesse groaned, rubbing his face. mike wasn't sure if he was genuinely offended or just embarrassed.

"alright ok, sorry, didn't mean to step on your toes. i don't care, i was just wondering since i see you hanging out with those guys sometimes."

"what guys." jesse asked, deadpan.

"the guys. the tall one and the little one."

"wh- badger and skinny pete?"

"yeah. those bastards."

"mike? those are called friends." jesse explained to him slowly, like he was speaking to a child.

"hey, kid, pass the bottle would you? stop whining." 

jesse did as he was told. 

another two shots passed before mike broke the silence again.

"yknow...gus had a guy." 

"for someone who tells me to shut up every five seconds you talk a lot." jesse said. he was so drunk he kind of just wanted to go to sleep. he'd already slid down the side of the futon and was laying on it horizontally, ready to go to bed. mike was in a chair across from him, leaning on his hand. the bottle sat in the middle of the coffee table, nearly empty. 

"no but gus had a guy." mike said, thinking out loud.

"gus has a bunch of guys." jesse complained.

"but he had a guy. his own guy."

"so? didn't you say yourself you didn't care about that kind of thing?"

"i didn't, but you're right, i don't," mike shrugged. "but it's sort of sad, don't you think?"

"what that gus lost one guy? god forbid the drug lord kingpin screwing us both over lost one guy." 

"no- jesse, i don't think you're hearing me." mike tried explaining, rubbing his head. "gus lost his jane. he invited me over for dinner once and told me about it. said they shot him. right there. infront of him."

gus lost his jane. 

that made jesse understand. 

it went quiet again.

"what, do you think that justifies doing what he does?" jesse asked. mike shrugged.

"i don't know and i don't really care. as long as i get payed."

the two men said nothing for a brief moment before breaking out into childish snickers, quietly laughing at the remark. liquor swirled through their heads and everything was warm and hazy.

the next time anyone spoke, jesse had shifted so that he was laying on his stomach with his head resting on his arm, blinking lethargically. mike hadn't budged, the soles of his feet pressed together and his chin bowing down to his chest, dozing off. 

"mike," jesse said. mike didn't stir. "mike!" jesse said louder, pushing himself up. 

the older man startled, lifting his head. 

"what." he asked, grumpy.

"can i have the bottle?" jesse asked, and mike begrudgingly slid it over to him. jesse took a drink, grimacing at the burn. he thought about jane. "yknow, i still miss her." 

"what?" mike said. the conversation about gus and jane or jane and gus was already a million light years away in his head.

"jane. i still miss her." jesse said, staring off into space.

"oh. yeah. losing someone will do that to you."

"how long does it take? before it stops hurting?" jesse asked, more annoyed than upset. 

"i don't know kid, it's different for everyone." mike shrugged.

"it's like, i know she's gone, like i know, but every time i think about that it hurts. im like "oh yeah right" yknow? and it's the worst, because you dont want it to hurt, you dont wanna think about it, but you do, because she did so much for you, yknow? she was so cold...mike. ive never- i've never touched anyone that cold before." jesse trailed off. 

he hated talking about this, even thinking about it, even though he knew he had to or at least- he probably should. but every time he tried he just ended up feeling lousy and sick, like he had to throw up. on top of that, no one really understood. no one really understood what it was really truly like. but the alcohol helped, and with his head up in clouds that were probably made of vodka at this point, he was able to process it a little bit. even then, there was still an aching void in his chest, right behind his diaphragm. it bled up into his lungs, wedged itself in-between his heart and his ribcage and burned softly, like a shouldering piece of paper with singed edges and a thin orange line that ate away at it more and more by the second. 

"kid?" mike asked, snapping jesse out of his thoughts. he was surprised to find his eyes and cheeks wet with tears. 

"what? sorry, i didn't mean to..." jesse frowned, sitting up again and touching his damp face like it was a foreign entity. 

"listen, it'll pass eventually. not to be a dickhead, but you'll get over it in time." 

"lot of time." jesse said, his breath hitching and another sob finding its way out of his mouth.

"yeah but it'll happen. would you rather it not? would you rather bottle it up and just hurt more people? you wanna become like gus?"

"no- god no."

"so, just let it happen, feel sad, kid. now- when i say that i dont mean on company time. i dont want you blubbering all over my car seat you hear?"

jesse nodded, which turned into a yawn and he rubbed his face. the tears dried and his thoughts moved on from jane, they went to walter, to combo, to badger, to pete, to his family, they floated past addiction and high school, and they drifted to cooking and carpentry. jesse pinkman fell asleep to golden tinted fantasy's where he was covered in wood shavings and sawdust, and his hands were rough and calloused from filing and sanding. he was asleep quicker than he could realize he was actually falling asleep. 

when he woke up a solid twelve hours later, his head ached like someone had smashed a sledge hammer on it and the day was far too bright to even think about opening the curtains. there was a blanket over him, which he chocked up to mike being a decent soul. mike, naturally, had vanished overnight. 

the vodka bottle remained on the table, nearly empty. 

jesse's house was painfully clean.

life was tolerable.