Bailey Quinn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rollingontoanywhere) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2013-11-18 01:25 am
rollingontoanywhere) wrote in muserevival2013-11-18 01:25 am
Entry tags:
042.1. Muse prompt
"I've had a wonderful evening - but this wasn't it." ~Groucho Marx
The hotel sucked. It had to be one of the shittiest hotels New York had to offer, but it was all he could afford. His money was quickly running out and the only possible lead he had to his brother, he had crapped all over from great heights when he had been so unbelievably embarrassed at his sex fail, he just ran and hadn’t looked back. He felt like he didn’t know his own body anymore. Or maybe ever would again. What if he never found Grayson? What if he did, and the guy told him to go fuck himself, just like his father had? It could mean his illness just got worse and worse rapidly when he didn’t the treatment he needed to slow it down. He could very really end up in a wheelchair for life before he hit his twenty-fifth birthday.
The thought made him feel ill. Or that could just be the disease too. He had gone back to his hotel and hadn’t moved since. It was now the day after. All he had was water from the tap and a couple of bags of Doritos he had stashed in his bag from the trip here. He remembered Michael’s kindness when the guy had tried to help him with directions of an address that had smeared into nothingness. He had Michael’s number, but too much pride to call on him for help. Suddenly, he was homesick and missed his mom. He was tearing up just thinking about it, but he didn’t want to give up just yet. He was fearful to move too much. He hand numbness in his arms and legs, and pins and needles in his fingers. He probably reeked and needed a shower, but he didn’t want to end up passing out cold in it. He had no one to help him or find him if he did. He could drop dead in there for all anyone would know.
And he hadn’t even gotten to the point of getting Corey’s number. He couldn’t call or text him to apologise for being an epic fuckface and probably making the guy feel like he fucked up. Corey hadn’t done anything but be a nice guy, a hot guy, an open and honest guy. Bailey had been the one to fuck up. He was stuck here in this city alone with no help, little cash, and a body that could literally betray him at any moment. All he wanted to do was feel better, and feel normally, but it was a concept so far out of his reach right now and he wasn’t sure he had any options left.
He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stave off the urge to cry that was getting stronger and stronger. And why the hell did this room smell like dirty feet? It was disgusting. He had checked it wasn’t him that reeked, but it turned out to bed the bedspread he was lying on. He had shoved the train of thought far away and quickly before he began to really wonder what might have been in those sheets before him that left such a disgusting and lingering smell. He didn’t feel well. He was tired, he was scared, and he was lost. If he called his mom, she was just going to tell him she missed him, and then he would have to pretend he was fine so she didn’t worry. Right now, he couldn’t pretend anything of the sort.
So, he just rolled over onto his side and let the tears come quietly, the only sound filling the room beyond the city noises somewhere in the distance below were his soft sniffling as he covered his face with his hands and wished like fuck he would wake up tomorrow healthy at college with nothing to worry about, and this had all been some horrible nightmare.
Bailey Quinn || Original Character || 649 words, follows THIS
The hotel sucked. It had to be one of the shittiest hotels New York had to offer, but it was all he could afford. His money was quickly running out and the only possible lead he had to his brother, he had crapped all over from great heights when he had been so unbelievably embarrassed at his sex fail, he just ran and hadn’t looked back. He felt like he didn’t know his own body anymore. Or maybe ever would again. What if he never found Grayson? What if he did, and the guy told him to go fuck himself, just like his father had? It could mean his illness just got worse and worse rapidly when he didn’t the treatment he needed to slow it down. He could very really end up in a wheelchair for life before he hit his twenty-fifth birthday.
The thought made him feel ill. Or that could just be the disease too. He had gone back to his hotel and hadn’t moved since. It was now the day after. All he had was water from the tap and a couple of bags of Doritos he had stashed in his bag from the trip here. He remembered Michael’s kindness when the guy had tried to help him with directions of an address that had smeared into nothingness. He had Michael’s number, but too much pride to call on him for help. Suddenly, he was homesick and missed his mom. He was tearing up just thinking about it, but he didn’t want to give up just yet. He was fearful to move too much. He hand numbness in his arms and legs, and pins and needles in his fingers. He probably reeked and needed a shower, but he didn’t want to end up passing out cold in it. He had no one to help him or find him if he did. He could drop dead in there for all anyone would know.
And he hadn’t even gotten to the point of getting Corey’s number. He couldn’t call or text him to apologise for being an epic fuckface and probably making the guy feel like he fucked up. Corey hadn’t done anything but be a nice guy, a hot guy, an open and honest guy. Bailey had been the one to fuck up. He was stuck here in this city alone with no help, little cash, and a body that could literally betray him at any moment. All he wanted to do was feel better, and feel normally, but it was a concept so far out of his reach right now and he wasn’t sure he had any options left.
He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stave off the urge to cry that was getting stronger and stronger. And why the hell did this room smell like dirty feet? It was disgusting. He had checked it wasn’t him that reeked, but it turned out to bed the bedspread he was lying on. He had shoved the train of thought far away and quickly before he began to really wonder what might have been in those sheets before him that left such a disgusting and lingering smell. He didn’t feel well. He was tired, he was scared, and he was lost. If he called his mom, she was just going to tell him she missed him, and then he would have to pretend he was fine so she didn’t worry. Right now, he couldn’t pretend anything of the sort.
So, he just rolled over onto his side and let the tears come quietly, the only sound filling the room beyond the city noises somewhere in the distance below were his soft sniffling as he covered his face with his hands and wished like fuck he would wake up tomorrow healthy at college with nothing to worry about, and this had all been some horrible nightmare.
Bailey Quinn || Original Character || 649 words, follows THIS