ALL YOUR SCREAMING — WHAT’S IT WORTH?

or call it a duet. (because mr. white is still here, still cowing him into submission, still nagging and hounding and banging hard enough to rattle the hinges— junkieloserimbecile— hard enough that jesse wonders if chemo could’ve given him superpowers—)  “the fuck’s your problem?” he hisses, zipping up his fly. frantically pushing the handle. the ensuing gurgle does little to drown out johann’s temper tantrum. “what, now i can’t even take a leak without you perving on me?”

dialogue.

i’ve never done anything so stupid in my life.

i wanted the job, i was so afraid of the loans coming through.

how come you never eat anything?

you could fly to hawaiʻi or france in less time than it took to do that drive.

i just knew that if i didn’t start driving, i wasn’t going to see you again, and i didn’t want that.

you’re doing that spacey thing again.

you think i don’t know who corrupted me?

i’ve seen the way they look at me.

no one can drink like that forever.

i don’t remember anything. it’s like a big eraser came through that part of my brain.

there are other ways to get money.

is that why you didn’t want me?

when you see her, would you tell her to knock that shit off?

slow down, you’re going to hurt yourself.

we’re not fighting, we’re talking.

there’s no gene for bravery that you have and i don’t.

you can bait me or you can protect me, but you can’t do both.

i think she’s always known about the bad things.

you act like i want to push you off a cliff.

you’ve done enough for one lunchtime.

you think you’re always right about everything, but you’re not.

we should do this every year.

i wouldn’t imagine it if it didn’t seem true.

there's nothing i can do to you to match that.

you have no heart, you're rotting. do you see that?

there will be enough danger in your life without you seeking it out.

are you going to ask me in?

i don't want to impose, but do you have room for me?

i'm going to rake them over their proverbial coals.

i've been so unhappy in your house.

what news do you bring me?

i'm very much alone, these days.

i know exactly how difficult my work is.

i'm not strong enough to be alone and hated.

oh, please stay for dinner.

you should be more selfish, like i am.

i never would have asked you to do it.

your heart's going crazy, i can feel it.

what do you do when you wake up?

you seem very calm now.

do you have to talk about this here?

say you won't go.

actions. switch sender and receiver’s places as you please.

squeeze. sitting in a car, the sender crawls into the receiver’s lap, squeezing into the space between their body and the steering wheel.

climb. the sender goads the receiver into following them onto a rooftop.

diner. the sender and receiver dine at a cheap restaurant for a late night meal.

last chance. the sender unexpectedly shows up at the receiver's place of work.

saddle. sitting on a steed, the sender helps pull the receiver up to join them.

respite. right before a social event, the sender and receiver take a moment to talk privately.

afternoon tea. the sender and receiver prepare warm drinks after a long day.

hotel. the sender and receiver rent a room for the evening.

stranded. the sender and receiver can’t find the car they arrived with, a heavy snowfall coming down.

lecture. the sender stands in the back of the room as the receiver gives a presentation.

boil over. the sender and receiver end up tumbling down a hill together as they physically fight.

grill. the sender stands before and looks down at the receiver, who remains seated.

surprise. the sender shows up at the receiver’s residence despite the sender being dead on paper.

breakfast. the sender attempts to make breakfast for the receiver using the meager means of a motel room.

                   but he's merely hypothesising, not jumping to conclusions. all medicine boils down to is a sophisticated guessing game. while he's an exceptional guesser, he's no oracle.

                   abbot briefly wishes samira hadn't given up night shifts entirely. he's confident she'd have a decent guess or two, not to mention the means to get jesse to open up.

god, he should’ve gotten some of that morphine. he should’ve delivered an award-worthy performance, all downcast eyes and shallow inhales and expertly timed sniffles. (where does it hurt, an imaginary version of abbot asks, guiding him through the usual script. i don’t know, man, an imaginary version of jesse admits — ‘s kinda, like, everywhere.) but becoming a regular at the emergency department has its downsides. as far as any competent medical professional is concerned, he’s nursing a death wish. as far as jesse is concerned, he’s having the time of his life.

❛❛　Dumbass.　❜❜　Unimaginable.　Like they’re two dipshit progenies at a summer birthday party,　indulging in foul stench of over-chlorination after a long afternoon of decadent chocolate cake and tearing through the dinosaur-patterned paper embellishing the latest and greatest gifts.　This is no such celebration,　no.　Respite more than anything else,　hours after his blade-sharp stare has torn through soft tissue of his mind.　An ache,　throbbing,　exacerbated by the water too artificial in its coloration for comfort.　Action carries out in hurried motion,　its playback doubled in post-production of doubt and insecurity:　hand dips down into the pool,　with all the precision of robot off the assembly line,　and he scoops up just enough of the water to splash at Jesse.

cutting a small figure against the glimmering blue backdrop, he could almost be mistaken for a porcelain statuette. a thing that’s coveted precisely because it’s breakable. because noticing it on someone’s shelf is bound to spark a conversation. (believe me, this item is pricier than it looks.) to compensate for his fragility — his coltish limbs, his perpetual slouch, the mottled bruises circling an old injection site in the crook of his elbow — he levels dae-ho with a defiant glare. “watch me, bitch.” without further ado, jesse cannonballs into the pool.

he looks away, gluing his eyes to the marble in that kicked-dog hang that probably stirred something in most women. olivia remains where she was, arms faintly tightening for every ounce of irritation she wouldn't permit anywhere else. it won't be much of a fight, not really, but even the performance of it is exhausting.

"I'm not your guidance counselor, jesse. I don't want honors, just results." it's a business deal. she studies him—the proverbial ball in what ultimately amounted to a daedalian game of keep away—and exhales an overcooked sigh. "can't say I'm not a little disappointed, I really see something in you... but if you really don't think you're up to it," she trails. lifts her shoulders in a whatcanoyoudo shrug.

jesse wills himself to re-establish eye contact, somehow resisting the urge to shrink inward.   “i can, um, think about it.”   but the suggestion is followed by the humiliated flush in his cheeks.  the tense set of his jaw. the persistent tap-tap-tap of his foot, like it would kill him to stay still.