Logs:Relapse

Relapse
CN: references to chaotic drug use and non-fatal overdose
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt	2021-05-30 "{It was under control. For a time.}" (Set shortly after the end of this retrospective)
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence, Greenwich Village
The upper floor of this apartment holds the bedrooms; one master bedroom and three smaller ones. One has been converted to a lounge, couches and more books and a large desk by its window. The other two smaller bedrooms upstairs, in strange departure from the rest of the house's style, seem decorated more with younger occupants in mind. One of them, styled largely in purples and blues with a strong butterfly motif, has a lofted twin bed and an antique writing desk. The other is very green, its bedspread green-and-black striped; the walls are covered with a host of movie posters. Between the two bedrooms stands a bathroom, cheerfully decorated with colourful mosaic fish in its tiles. The master bedroom, in contrast to the paler, earthy scheme outside, is warm and rich, decorated in deep reds. The exquisitely crafted furniture is dark, with reddish undertones to the mahogany wood. The king-sized bed is stocked with an overabundance of pillows, and more cushions rest in the windowseat. One wall holds a spacious walk-in closet. A table, low to the ground, sits on a thick rug between the bed and the entrance, the right height for kneeling rather than chairs; the checked pattern carved into its surface marks it as a chessboard, though the pieces are not in evidence. The master bathroom adjoins the bedroom; it is large, done in black marble, with an overly spacious glass-walled shower and a similarly large jacuzzi bathtub. Matt has lain still in his immense bed for some time now, tucked in comfortably beneath the lightweight black sheets with an additional plush dark red blanket spread over top. His breathing is finally steady, if still sluggish and weak, and he stirs intermittently for a while before waking fully. "Calisssssse..." The profanity comes out as a long hiss. He blinks blearily at his surroundings, momentarily not recognizing his own room. The disorientation only grows when he spots his brother. "What...?" His brows crinkle uncomprehendingly, then clear as his brain slams into gear. Even so he's still for a long moment, shoulders tense. Abruptly he tries to shove upright, managing only to dislodge the blanket as he pushes farther up the heap of pillows carefully arrayed around and beneath him. "Luci--" He swallows, then winces, eyes tracking jerkily to his night stand. Then at last he slumps guiltily, murmuring just the word "Sorry." Lucien has made himself comfortable as well -- nominally, at least, tucked into the windowseat with his own collection of pillows, a soft blanket, a thermos at his side. He's paying little attention to either the phone in one hand or the book (Alexandria Horowitz's On Looking) propped on his crooked knees, but instead tipped with his head against the window, eyes fixed blankly outward and his fingers brushing slowly against the back of a very small stuffed hedgehog held in his hand. He doesn't look up when Matt stirs, though there's a quiet shifting where his mind has been threaded through his brother's, dropping from some level of organization into only a careful watchfulness. From him nothing much spills back, save the thick-walled control locking his own feelings down. Flèche does stir, stretching languidly (heedless of the way her paws dig in to Matt's ribs) and then shifting again to curl herself up closer to his side. "There's tea. And water." He doesn't point to the nightstand, but Matt has already looked there. "Thank you." Matt doesn't immediately reach for either thermos or glass. He does reach for the dog, not to dislodge her but to stroke her glossy coat. It does not soothe the reverberations of his guilt and shame, nor the gnawing hunger still beneath them, so quiet now it might easily be ignored but for the sharp focus of Matt's terror. He does take a sip of water. Suddenly he glances over at Lucien again, confusion returning full force. "You don't need to do this, I'm fine..." He trails off, frowning deeply. "Marde." His fingertips probe the vein in his arm he had so expertly punctured earlier. He shivers at the mere contact, another shockwave of fear. When he finally speaks again his voice is faint and all but inflectionless. "How bad." "Fine." Lucien's echo of this word comes quiet, and though his head is tilted away his cadence is familiar enough to Matt that the quirk of eyebrow that accompanies it just bleeds through into his tone. "Mmm. Well. You are breathing. That is something." He sets the stuffed hedgehog down with an odd delicacy, perching it atop one of the pillows where it sits for just a moment staring back at him before promptly rolling off and onto the floor. His shoulders wilt more visibly at this than they had been before. "It was a near thing, though. When I arrived." Matt's eyes fix down at the blanket now. His mind is racing, a whirlwind of chaotic emotions--all the fear and guilt and and shame, and anger now, too--clashing with the bright sharp edges of more analytical processing. It's a while before this subsides enough for him to speak again. "{I knew it was a terrible idea.}" He shoves his hands underneath his crossed arms, shoulders hunching in. "{Hadn't meant for it to be this terrible.}" His breathing grows ever so slightly faster, held back by a fierce conscious will to keep it even. "I thought I had it under control. Didn't recognize it. Should have told someone, when I finally did." He swallows hard. "I was going to, but--" This breaks off, and he does not pick it back up. "{Thinking you needed to deal with this alone was a terrible idea.}" Lucien pulls himself away from the window, turning now to look at his brother. "{I am sorry. I ought to have noticed --}" He draws in a slow breath. "{It was under control. For a time.}" "Pride cometh before..." Matt huffs a soft, humorless laugh. "{...most of my fuck-ups, really. And shame, also.}" He glances at the tea again, but still does not reach for it. "{I do appreciate your consideration for my pride, but even if you 'ought' to have noticed in theory--and I think that debatable--in practice we both had a lot going on.}" His shoulders pull in further, the burst of his rage breathtaking, though he's trembling his expression does not change appreciably. "Granted, what I had going on was being an astoundingly massive prick." Lucien weathers the flash of rage with a bow of his head, and he does reach for his tea, taking a small sip and holding the thermos close to his chest after. "Astoundingly," he allows, "but I hardly think that's all you were juggling. It has been -- quite a year." There's a pause before, tentatively, the watchful reach of his power disentangles itself from Matt's own. "{I do not know where you want to go from here. But we can figure that out. Together.}" "Just another kind of relapse." Matt subsides again, heavy with exhaustion. "Having a shitty year is no excuse. {I am sorry.}" As if he's only just now remembered what the tea was there for, he finally does pull it over for a slow sip. His fingers tighten around the thermos. "{I--I want to recover. I don't know how yet but, yeah...}" He looks up his brother, eyes just slightly wide. "{Together.}"