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One more medicated, peaceful moment.
The oxy breaks apart underneath the powdery outside of an orange pill bottle.
Give me one more medicated, peaceful moment.
All he asks is for this to go away. The relief is worth it, just one more time. This time, this time he will throw every last pill away when he's finished. One more time, once. How bad could once be?
Gritting his teeth, the powder burns as he inhales every bit of dust from that pill. The faster it gets into his system, the better. Anything for that shrieking in his head to go away. One more time isn't bad.
I don't want to feel this overwhelming hostility.
The promises he broke won't matter when he can finally fall asleep. Angry words, raised voices and slamming doors will be there when it's done. That's his burden for later. Once this is all over and he can see straight without the agony of his own body trying to kill him, he'll deal with the rest of it. It's just one pill.
No more, he tries to force the thought into his mind. Yet, his hand lingers over the rest that toppled out of the bottle and he barely manages to push himself away from the counter. No more. There's no one to save him again, especially not on top of breaking every promise he made.
He wants to. God, he wants to do it. What's one more? His hip presses against the side of the counter top as he looks down at the mess he's made. A second one wouldn't be enough to kill him.
One more medicated, peaceful moment.
All the weight on his shoulders might finally go away if he takes it. As long as the pain stops and his brain finally shuts up, it's just one more. His jaw clenches as he goes to swipe the pills into the container, leaving just one pill in the palm of his hand. One more…
This time, he'll be good. He won't keep pushing his luck. It's two pills. That's it. the rest is already in the bottle. He may as well… It's only one.
Give me one more medicated, peaceful moment.
He caps the bottle, the last pill sitting on his tongue as he tosses the container god knows where. That's the goal; If he can't find it, he won't take any more. The problem will go away, he won't walk into work fighting the aftermath. No one will have to see him like that. His daughter won't have to see that.
Maybe that's why it felt so easy to take the pills out. No one would come home to see him. Dharma won't walk through the door, Bear won't shake him awake in the bathtub. It's just him. Thank god it's just him.
The aftertaste of the bitter pill on his tongue fades as he downs sink water. He barely wipes his chin of the drips before he lets himself stumble to the couch. Every step he takes, the more it hits him. Floating in his own head as he walks, until he inevitably collapses onto the couch. It's softer beneath him than before.
That's okay. It'll all be okay. Let the pills do the work and he'll be just fine.
No one will come for him this time, it's just two pills. He can rest. The weight crushing his chest and making his head throb settles further and further into the background the more the couch pulls him in. He can sleep like this, knowing it'll be fine tomorrow. If no one finds out he broke a promise, did he really?
His body sinks into the sofa, head lulled to the side while he huffs in short breaths. Tension melting off of him every blink. It's okay. He lets his head swim in the euphoria as he closes his eyes. Everything will be there tomorrow. No one has to know.