#a smashing start

Stepping into the train, Ronan observed the sleekness of it all. It was fucking perfect, metallic to the point where everything in it became a machine. Already missing the forest and the sea, Ronan took a deep breath. It was an automatic reflex for him. Something he did when he was close to snapping. Instead of breathing in the fresh forest air, he breathed in chemicals. He hated it with a burning passion, one that matched the heat one would feel whilst burning in hell.

Navigating his way through the train, Ronan came upon a lavish bathroom. Locked himself inside it. Took delight in the fact that his nose was still bleeding and was staining the otherwise pristine white facade of the small room. Downed what remained in terms of alcoholic beverages in his bag. Opened the small window. Dropped all of the evidence outside. Heard the bottles break. Examined his nose. Realized that it was broken. But not out of position. Held it until the blood clotted. Shot up his last vial of morphling. Threw the evidence outside. Decided that he should probably use the bathroom for its actual purpose. Washed his hands. Decided to leave the dried blood on his face. Exited the small room and headed into the area Kiya and the woman occupied. 

Heading to a lavish couch, Ronan moved all of the throw pillows out of the way. Took a seat. Hoped to hell that no one would try to converse with him. And they didn’t, which was the only fucking blessing he’d had bestowed upon him all day. Hours went by, and Ronan felt progressively shittier as time marched on. Unsure of whether it was because of what he had put in him already, or whether his body was beginning to go through withdrawal, he decided that the best option would be to ignore it for the moment. Sat as still as possible. Observed the conversation between the woman and Kiya. Lay on the couch and glared at the ceiling, upset that it wasn’t creating the canvas he was used to. Ignored the woman when she called him to dinner. Even if he wanted to eat (which he didn’t, because it would probably only make him feel worse), he wouldn’t be able to taste any of it. It might as well be oatmeal instead of salad that had fucking goat cheese of all things on it. Listened to the conversation between the woman and Kiya again. Glared at the ceiling more and began absentmindedly playing with a frayed edge of his jacket. Heard the conversation stop.