Sections of Kaylon's torso and arms were covered in vomit, the repugnant smell's fingers up into his nostrils. But he just kept walking, carrying the injured David back to his bedroom in his arms. He laid him softly on the side of the bed, pulling from the bottom of his shirt and inverting it inside-out when David raised his arms. The former outstretched his hand moments later with an ice Ziploc and the wolf slightly grazed smooth skin 'fore taking it. He then went into the bathroom and washed off the acid-laced froth from his arms and got his towel to wipe off the rest from his torso and a bit from his jeans. He threw it in the washer, poured in some Tide and pressed start.
Luca, on the other hand, began to fortify herself in the guest bedroom out of the emotional 'reasons' for concern and worry. Her head was spinning round and around. The door was closed, the shades were opened. She was just laying there, just asking a personal question to herself that always bothered to show up late. Always bothered to never show up on time or at all.
David just looked up at the ceiling like an insane or schizophrenic person, not moving a muscle or even twitching. Every move brought a reminder of why it hurt to move, so he tried not to. An ice pack against his ribs, where every breath brought a reminder of why it hurt to breathe. A breath equaled a cold press of pain. Then the head for a few minutes, afterwards switching to the abdomen and then back to the ribs.
His breathing was shallow, it pained to breathe as every breath brought a reminder of why it hurt to breathe. The bruises were reddish now - blood forming around the points of impact. Somewhat-introspectively blanching at this pain around his organs, he inhaled in very slowly to fill in his lungs with the bedish atmosphere and exhaled once the pain reached a fever point. And he did so a second time and then a third time.
Even though he had also vomited on Kaylon, he commended himself for puking all over his body like a little child. Disgusted, he got his pants and underwear off, closed the door to the bedroom and looked through the drawer. He decided to remain shirtless, only getting a clean pair of underwear and shorts and putting them on. David threw himself on the bed, but instantaneously regretted it when he jumped and later on when the impact caused the pain to flare up again. He grabbed the ice pack and just placed it on his stomach.
It's interesting to note what was on his chest, arms and abdominal area. Scars and wounds that were not much, but said enough. There were a couple of cigarette burns on his right shoulder, as well as his left and his back. Several knife scars on both of his arms that varied depending on which one. There was something of a contracture scar on his stomach and some scars on his back as well, along with the cigarette burns. Maybe there was a bit of flogging, but who could tell? To him, it didn't really matter. He sometimes played around with them and looked at specific ones. They would trigger some memories but that would be it, nothing too much.
Now? He didn't play with them because he was in pain, if it was obvious enough by the emphasis on pain.
That, and he also forgot the fact that his phone and other items were in his acid-speckled shorts. Thankfully, he extracted them unscathed. He stopped the current cycle in the washer, throwing those in and restarting it. David returned to the bedroom, closed the door and slowly placed his torso on the bed, then one leg and another. Bored, he got out his headphones, plugged them into his phone and dug around Spotify looking for someone to play. A distraction from the quiet solace the apartment now held.
An old favorite, The 1975, pulled up in his list and he started to play some of their songs. It reminded him so much of why he listened to them. Something he could get lost in. It reminded him of something else, like the heavens and interstellar thoughts. Astral projection. Why those thoughts? Wasn't he supposed to think about how to connect to someone? Wasn't his other half fragmentary? He didn't postulate these thoughts and instead, at his behest, his mind was cleared. He grew tired of the songs and yanked on the headphone cords, turned on his phone and paused the music. He put it on the desk in his bedroom, plugged it in to a spare cable connected to a power strip and went back to his bed.
He just stared at the ceiling for minutes. But time passed on without him, just an object who is stuck somewhere in the passage of time. Someone who was behind in the race towards Death. Someone who seemed dead on the inside, the physical matter rotting away into the air and nothing else. And they closed their eyes but didn't sleep. Couldn't sleep. And all they could do was 'sleep' as it all fell quiet. The room was still dimmed because of the shades and the fan wasn't even on. His hands were cold and his body was still warming up under the sheets.
—
Kaylon was taking a shower alone. With warm water, the vapor surrounding everything and giving droplets of water to various surfaces. He enjoyed the warmth of the water and just a shower out of everything that he could do calmed him down and gave him equanimity, distracting him from obstructions. Plus, with David wounded and in his bed, he brought over a T-shirt, underwear and shorts in the bathroom so he could change there instead of in the bathroom.
Something about that just felt normal.
But something, however, bugged his hollow mind enough to rush the conditioner in his hair, quickly scrubbing it in before sousing under the shower stream. Thereafter, Kaylon shut off the water and exited onto the mat laid out in front of the curtains. Dripping wet from being subjected to some kind of torture, he got his towel, drying his hair first and then his arms, chest, back and legs. The white towel was blemished with some of the liquidated dye from his hair, undone by the heated embrace of the water and shampoo.
It's also worth noting that even if so, you couldn't really see that much because it was white. So he didn't really mind after one look, but still thought about it frequently.
He folded the towel vertically and evened it out on the towel bar, snatching the underwear from the toilet seat. Slowly, he put one leg in and then another and pulled up till it reached his waistline, then the shorts. After some internal hesitation, he opted to wear a shirt instead of the usual shirtless stunt. Even though it would be a little uncomfortable, but he could pull it off. He parted the long hair down towards the sides, but didn't want to comb it. Irregardless, it conserved the tousled and unkempt appearance when he came out of the shower.
Everything was quiet – not a sound came forth towards Kaylon's ears. Albeit being able to see where he was, he activated the hallway light. The sound of the light switch reflected off the walls and desolate containment in front of him. And the steps of his raw feet also happened to sound when he walked toward the door to David's bedroom. Thought it was weird that there was nothing from the guest room when he eyed at the door, yet nothing in his mind seemed to care.
He saw David, asleep, when he accomplished a push and one footfall into the bedroom. He still thought that he looked adorable sleeping, as though he were a cat or a wolf or something else. Everything was quiet everywhere else, the door to the guest bedroom remained closed and no sound leaked from there. And, of course, he did want to sleep there again since it was so, socomfortable. But Kaylon, generous to let David have his own space for the setting sun, got his phone charger and headphone. Then he went.
He looked in the closet and pulled out the creased blanket, wrinkled from old age, and the squashed pillow that was there. Laying the sheet and pillow, he rested on to of the sheet and curled up into a rudimentary burrito.
Looked delicious.
Parallel to David's actions, he tossed and turned with the unapologetic behavior of the sheets and almost fell down. Kaylon continued to fight them - the latter continued its offensive plan until it relented and obeyed the former's commands. The iron fist slowly retreated it's adamantine defense and wrapped Kaylon cozily in its arms. He turned to his right, burrowing his face into the space between the couch and pillow. A thermal pocket of air to sweat and breathe in.
Fuck it. He got his phone from the end of the cable and watched Reservoir Dogs.
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