𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝; byler

- ¢нαρтєя тωєиту -

WILL WOKE UP on the ground.

He didn't even have to open his eyes to know that- he could smell the dirt, felt the little blades of grass itching the sides of his body. He felt the sun, warm on his face, heard faint chatter around him- far, far enough it didn't bother him.

So he kept his eyes tightly fastened for another minute, not wanting to wake up and face the consequences of last night. Not wanting to face reality. 

Last night... As usual, nothing but flashes of memory. Bar. Mike. Bar.  Eddie. Kissing... Eddie? had he kissed Eddie??

Yes. He had kissed Eddie. FUCK.

 How could he have done that to Eddie- Eddie, who was in a happy (if strange) relationship- Who had done nothing but be a friend? 

How could he have done that to Mike?? Even if maybe they weren't together anymore (though the mere memory of that made Will's throat clench up and caused his eyes to sting with tears) How could he go around kissing someone the night they had broken up?

He stayed laying down, trying to absorb those last moments of blissful numbness: the last moments when even the pain of thinking of Mike seemed almost unreal,nothing but a faint nightmare, until finally, the last traces of sleep wore off, and the reality of his situation started to sink in.

He opened his eyes. Surroundings still unclear: bright morning/noon/afternoon sun (he really wasn't sure), some tress. Nothing identifiable.  

He rose to a sitting position. The pain this action inflected on him took him by surprise, and he couldn't help a slight whimper. His back was sore in a way he never thought possible; his legs were throbbing with pain from a million different places. He looked down and realized his jeans were torn, reveling black marks and scratched and bloody knees. The fabric still intact was smeared with blood... What had happened to him? A faint memory of leaving the losers' apartment- had he fallen down the stairs?

He stretched with a groan, grabbed onto a nearby boulder and stood up slowly.

Standing up, he could see where he was and finally recognize the big park a little ways from their school. The scene in front of him was so different from the way he was feeling, it was almost like it was in a whole different world: Little kids shrieking with laughter as they slid down the slides or swung on the swings, families enjoying a picnic on the grass, teens  just hanging out all around. 

A normal day at a normal park.

Will grabbed his bag (silently thanking god he hadn't lost it during the night), and started walking, slow and careful. His legs protested to the action, but the pain wasn't actually bad. It help keep his mind off everything. Every step, every sting caused in his knees, helped him realize he was truly there. That this wasn't some bizarre nightmare.

"Excuse me,"  a voice called behind him, startling him. He turned quickly to face a woman- probably in her late 40's. She was carrying a stroller holding a toddler, and her expression was full of sympathy.

"Hi, sweetie. Is everything okay?" She asked, her voice practically dripping with pity. 

"y-yeah," not even remotely.

"here. Get something to eat." She handed him a folded 20 dollar bill, and Will realized he must look... Well, homeless. He felt himself turn a deep red. He wanted to refuse the bill, of course- but realized he literally had no money. He did, but he'd have to go to the apartment to get his credit card... And that wasn't an option. Not right now.

And really, after everything he had done for money in the past, was he really above charity?

"Thank you," he muttered slightly, turning even redder as he took the bill and slipped it in his pocket.The woman smiled at him again, and just like that she left, the sound of the stroller's wheels on the pavement echoing in Will's ear long after she was gone.

✴ ⁕ ✴ ⁕ ✴

He used the money to get a room at the small motel, under a fake name- just in case Mike came looking. It was only enough for one night, and even that was under a discount, but it was better than nothing.

He spent the rest of the afternoon just lying on the dusty bad. Thinking of nothing, thinking of everything. He didn't cry- tears felt too normal, too routine for what he was feeling.

He wanted to drink -there was nothing he wanted more than to drink- but that wasn't an option. First, he had no money. Second, he still had that freaking party. And he couldn't afford to blackout before it, for the sake of his career.

When the sky outside his window started to darken he tore himself from the mattress and into the shower.

no more than 15 minutes later he was standing in front of the mirror, dressed in Beverly's outfit. High wasted black pants, with a white button down (to which a small note had been pinned instructing him to tuck it into the pants)a pair of blue suspenders, and a black tie. It was simple, yet formal and elegant.  Perfect- not that it mattered. 

All these notions about the attire barely even registered in his brain: He just wanted to get this over with. He turned a blank look to his reflection, flicked the lights off and left the room, into the now pitch black night.