Addicted

Chapter One: Addicted1

John Broderick shook two pills out of the bottle, swallowed them with a glass of water, then turned off the bedside lamp. He lay back on his pillow, staring up towards the ceiling as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He counted the seconds off in his head.2

Two hours later he repeated the process. He felt hot as he lay back against the warm pillow. Yanking his shirt roughly over his head, he flipped the pillow over to the other side and lay back, snuggling into the coolness.3

Two hours later. Repeat.4

John walked the halls of Hennessy College, carefully watching the tiles as they slipped by underneath his feet. He had slept well last night - finally - but he hated that a night of blissful unconsciousness always came back to bite him in the arse the next morning. The commercials lied. They always depicted some Lady waking up; looking fully charged as she stretched her glorious arms above that equally glorious face and gave the camera an award-winning smile. And normally something about butterflies.5

He sighed. The commercials never showed the side effects. They never showed the Lady staggering into work the next morning looking dazed and confused, or vomiting up five mugs worth of coffee.6

Of course, the Lady in the commercials probably didn't take three times the recommended amount every night.7

But what could he do? If he wanted to be a good student he needed his sleep. And if getting a good night's rest meant chugging six or eight or ten pills then so be it. It was that or spend the night tossing and turning until the alarm went off. Either way he ended with the same results - staring at the tiles as he trudged a path through the school.8

John shook his head and straightened up. No, he decided, it wasn't the same. The side effects of a night without sleep were far worse than the residual side effects of taking a couple more pills than what was prescribed on the side of a bottle. In fact -9

*Woah.*10

John threw out his arms as the hall began to twist and tilt. He braced himself against a wall until the hall stopped shifting underneath his feet. Taking a deep breath, he turned his eyes back down towards the ground and continued on his way.11

John growled at the ceiling in frustration. He was drowsy, but he wasn't asleep. What the hell? Sitting up he snatched the bottle from his bedside table and dumped the contents out on his blanket, then threw the empty bottle across the room for good measure. He picked one up and examined it in the dim light filtering in through his window. He wondered if these were real pills or if someone had switched them out with something else. They looked real enough.12

He popped the pill in question into his mouth. Tasted like a pill. If these were fakes, they were pretty convincing. Picking up another pill he tossed it into his mouth and took a sip of water.13

Pill. Sip. Repeat.14

His father had to bodily haul him out of bed this morning. He stood under the lukewarm spray of the showerhead, bracing his arms against the wall to help balance his weight.15

John looked down at himself. He felt slimmer than usual. Odd. He entertained the idea that he might be coming down with something. 16

He'd have to ask his mother if she had any Panadol. Or Paracetamol. This time of year was always hell on his sinuses.17

Turning off the water, John grabbed a towel and stepped out of the shower.18

John gripped tight to the toilet as he leaned over it, expelling his lunch into the bowl. He gasped for air and praised his stomach for the slight reprieve it gave him. 19

*Gotta take the good with the bad . . .*20

The bathroom door opened. John sighed into the bowl, looking at the mess he had created. 21

*The bad returns.*22

The distinctive voice reached his ears and made him cringe. 23

*Why must the bad always return with a vengeance?*24

John sat silent on the cold tile floor, hoping that he could keep what was left of his lunch down and also keep from alerting his father to his presence. The painful churning in his stomach disregarded his pleas and told him he didn't have much time.25

The sound of gurgling near-by had him gasping in relief. His father turned to the sink and began washing his hands.26

*God, he's taking his time, isn't he? I mean, I know he’s a doctor and all, but come on . . .*27

*Just go*, John thought as he rocked back in forth in what he hoped his stomach found to be a soothing motion. *Go, go, gogogogogo* -he could feel his stomach clenching. He wasn't going to make it.28

John cried out in pain as his stomach expelled the rest of his lunch into the toilet.29

The tap abruptly stopped.30

John gasped loudly, choking on the aftertaste - *never as good the second time around* - and ran a hand through his damp hair. He felt relieved that it was over, but he was left utterly exhausted. His stomach still churned angrily, looking for something else to throw at him. His throat burned and he had a brief thought of his tongue attempting suicide to escape the horrid taste. He hardly heard the soft footsteps as they made their way towards the bathroom and he missed the sound of the door squeaking as it opened, but his fathers voice was crystal clear.31

“John, what have you done this time?"32

Weakly John reached up to flush the toilet while wiping the back of his other hand across his mouth. He turned to look up at his father and smiled weakly. "Nothing. I think I'm done here."33

Dr. Broderick crossed his arms and stared down at his son. "What's wrong? Stay up too late partying with your friends again?"34

John nodded, playing along. He braced a hand on the toilet paper dispenser and attempted to haul himself to his feet. "You know me, dad," he said, his words slurring a little. "I like to have fun-fun-fun." His knees buckled and he fell backwards onto the toilet seat with a soft thud. "Ow …"35

Dr. Broderick lurched forward and grabbed Johns’ arms as he fell backwards. Holding tight to him he hauled his only son to his feet and watched disapprovingly as he swayed for a moment before regaining his balance.36

"I think we've already discussed my feelings on drinking," his father said, his voice treading the line between angry and disappointed. "What was it I said?" his father asked, searching the air with his eyes as if the answer was floating somewhere above Johns’ head. "Oh that's right -" he zeroed in on John again "- I said don't."37

John shook his head and grabbed his father’s forearms. "I'm not drunk," he stated, yanking away from the other man's powerful grip.38

Dr. Broderick stood back and crossed his arms over his chest again. "Well, you could have fooled me,"39

John sighed and sat down on the toilet. The two fell into an uncomfortable silence - John staring off into space, his father staring down at the young man. He took in John's pale skin, his thin frame, the way his hands trembled as he wiped them against his jeans.40

Dr. Broderick sighed. "You look like hell," he said.41

"I feel like hell," John concurred. He looked up at his father and was startled to see that the man actually looked a little concerned. "I think I'm just coming down with something," John said. "I've been a little out of sorts these past few days."42

Dr. Broderick nodded. "Yeah, I've noticed," he said. John perked a little at that, but said nothing. *He notices me?*43

"It's just a stomach bug," John said, trying to sound convincing. "It's not a big deal." He waited; tense, for his fathers’ response.44

"Well," he said after a moment, "best get that checked out before you start falling behind on your school work."45

John smiled a little. "Thanks," he managed. His father frowned at his smile, and in three long strides he exited the bathroom.46

John sat still and closed his eyes. Carefully he eased himself off the toilet and took a seat next to it, leaning up against the stall's wall. His stomach seemed to have settled down, but he wasn't taking any chances.47

John stepped up to the cash register and handed the clerk a box. The clerk, an elderly gentleman, smiled at him as he scanned the barcode on the back of the box and handed it back to John. John wordlessly handed the man a 20.48

"Second time this week. You sure do go through those fast," the elderly clerk said, his smile wavering a bit.49

John looked up from the box. "They're not for me," he lied. "They're for my mother. She has trouble sleeping."50

"Poor thing," the clerk said, a line of sympathy crossing his brow as he pulled out John's change. "Well then, you make sure you keep an eye on her."51

"Sure," John muttered. He wasn't paying attention to the clerk. His mind was wandering. He felt listless. He just wanted to go home and go to sleep.52

The older man handed John his change. "Don't want her taking too many," he said softly. "Could be dangerous."53

"Of course," John said. Taking the money and the box, he left the store.54

John sat on his bed.55

Pill. Sip. Repeat.
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Chapter Two: Coma57

"John Broderick was unconscious when they found him. They suspect he'd been like that six or seven hours before being discovered . . ."58

Dr. Broderick didn't reply. He stared down at the pale figure lying on the hospital bed. His dark hair hung limp over his eyes. His face had slimmed, to match what was left of his malnourished body. His chest rose and fell at even intervals with the aid of the machines sitting off to the right.59

Intern Something-Or-Other was still talking, droning on about Johns’ CT scan results. Dr. Broderick felt the muscles in his throat constrict. He had a sudden urge to whip around and punch the man. After all, this was his son lying before him, completely incapacitated.60

Totally unresponsive.61

*Not quite dead. But close.*62

Instead, he reached around and snatched the chart out of the Interns’ hands, silencing and dismissing him with one swift gesture. Intern Something-Or-Other closed his mouth and sheepishly backed out of the room.63

After waiting until the sound of his retreating footsteps could no longer be heard. Dr. Broderick lifted his eyes away from the bed and let out a long, shaky sigh.64

Ten days and no change.65

Dr. Broderick dropped the chart into his lap and closed his tired eyes. He'd read Johns’ information so many times over he could practically repeat it word for word. He hefted his feet up onto the corner of Johns’ bed. Scooting forward in his chair, he attempted to recline against the hard metal back. It was drawing close to midnight. He’d been here for hours, but he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet.66

The doctor looked over at his son through the half light. An over dose on dextromethorphan and diphenhydramine. Dr. Broderick couldn't believe it. He knew John could be impulsive, but he never suspected he could be so careless. He should have known better -67

*Don’t underestimate him. He did know. He did it anyway. He knew what he was doing and he did it anyway. Why don't you get that?*68

Dr. Broderick pounced on the thought and quickly tossed it away. He wouldn't allow himself to go down that path. Not yet.69

*Then when, hmm? When will you open your eyes and see this “accident” for what it really is?*70

He shook his head. The kid loved life. He really did. He had lots of friends, was president of the student council, he was going to be a doctor; they’ve been planning it since he was a kid. Things couldn't be so bad for him right now that he'd want to go and off himself.71

*Difficult to tell. Every time he wanted to talk you had to work or refused to speak about anything but his studies.*72

Dr. Broderick ran his hands over his face then shoved them into his hair. He grasped and tugged a little, feeling a soft twinge of pain in his scalp. He had a sudden desire to talk to John, really talk. It was an odd feeling to have, after years of dodging any conversation not to do with school and work; John had always talked to his mother about other things. But now he had things he wanted to say, questions he wanted answered. John lay still, ignoring them all.73

He smirked at the air. "You're going to be sorry you missed this, kid," Dr. Broderick said. "I finally find the need to talk to you - of my own free will - and you sleep through it." His smirk died as he dropped his hands to his lap.74

"I hate seeing you like this," he murmured to himself. He sat still, letting his mind wander. He lost track of the steady beeping of Johns’ heart monitor in the background noise of the hospital. "On second thought," Dr. Broderick stated, "maybe it's good you're asleep. I'd never say it right anyway.”75

Dr. Broderick kicked his feet off Johns’ bed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He rubbed a hand over his face again, feeling the stubble that had begun to grow across his chin. John had become such a reliable son in the few years since he started high school. It was difficult to think of him being so still, so quiet . . . so lifeless. 76

He missed the thundering of Johns’ footsteps when he was a young boy as he rushed down the hallway at home and the inevitable crunch as he slid and slammed into the TV or couch. He missed the way he used his utensils and upturned plates and bowls as a mini drum set. He missed the sound of his voice. He missed how responsible and agreeable he was, so different from most moody teenagers.77

Mostly he missed his eyes. Big, bright, blue, and painfully honest . . .78

Dr. Broderick had the urge to chuckle at himself, but he knew there wasn't anything funny about the situation. He chanced a glance up at John. The young man lay still, just as he had the day before.79

And the day before that.80

Reaching around behind him, Dr. Broderick pulled his lab coat from where it sat draped over the back of the chair. 81

John would wake up eventually, Dr. Broderick reasoned. His son was a fighter and highly ambitious - a formidable combination. He'd come around. And when he did, Dr. Broderick wanted to make sure he was right there for it, so he could be the first to demand why John had decided to throw away all his years of hard work.82

Dr. Broderick checked his watch. It was time to go home. He glanced up at John, then looked back down at the coat in his hands.83

Sitting back, he swung his feet up onto the corner of Johns’ bed and tried to ignore the metal armrest as it dug into his side. He covered himself with the coat and crossed his arms beneath it, hugging the chart to his chest.84

"Goodnight, son."
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Chapter Three: Awake86

John looked around at the darkened room, confused. The pillow was cool beneath his head. His hands fisted in the crisp hospital sheets. He blinked and settled his eyes on the cracked ceiling.87

He took a deep breath. It felt good. It felt amazingly good, like he'd never breathed before. No, more like he'd been holding his breath since infancy and he was now finally allowed to breath again.88

He took another deep breath just for the hell of it. *Breathing is fun.*89

He turned to his left and let out a shrill yelp of surprise. His father was standing beside his bed - well, more hovering really. His hands were shoved deep in the white pockets of his lab coat; his face was drawn and tired. John stared up at him, concerned. He looked horrible.90

"Hey son," Dr. Broderick murmured.91

"Hey Dad," John said, keeping his tone light.92

Dr. Broderick attempted a smile. He failed. "What's up?"93

John eyed the older man critically. "Are you asking me because you really want to know, or are you asking me so you can interrupt me half way through with a ‘Great, now get back to work’ remark?" John asked. "Because if it's the latter, then -"94

Dr. Broderick shook his head. "Never mind."95

"Oh," John said. *Crap.*96

Dr. Broderick tried for a smile again and managed to fix one to his face. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "Look, John," he began slowly, "I'm not entirely sure what to say to you." Turning his back to the younger man, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, making sure to keep some distance between them. John propped himself up on his elbows. "I guess I just need...need to be with you" He scowled up at the ceiling. "And while I know that most of this mess was a result of your own carelessness, I need to be here right now."97

John attempted to hide the smile that bloomed across his face. "It’s funny how you try to mask your compliments with insults, you realise you’ve never spoken so openly to me before" he said.98

"And its funny how you take being told off as a compliment," Dr. Broderick returned, “that’s because you never been is such a dumb position before”99

He glanced at John over his shoulder. John grinned. Dr. Broderick sighed and turned away.100

John watched him for a moment, the smile slowly fading from his face. "Dad -" *oh, what the hell* ". . . What's wrong? You look like hell."101

"I feel like hell, son," he stated. The two smiled at the shared memory. "You look like you're doing better though."102

"I am," John said.103

Dr. Broderick nodded his head but said nothing. John watched as the muscles in his jaw clenched and relaxed as if he were debating to comment or not. In the end the older man bowed his head and opted for silence. Standing from the bed, he walked to the window and looked down at the dark parking lot. It was nearly empty at this late hour. A blond woman sat on a bench, talking energetically on her mobile phone.104

John watched the older man's back. His shoulders were hunched with a weight John had never noticed before. Pushing aside the blanket, he stood and moved to stand beside the doctor. The tile floor was cool beneath his bare feet. It sent a shiver up his spine. John loosely wrapped his arms about himself.105

"Cold?" His father asked.106

"Not really," John countered. He dropped his arms and let them hang limp at his side.107

Dr. Broderick inhaled sharply. He raised a hand to his face and rubbed at his tired eyes. "There's something I want you to know," he stated. "There has never been a soul to grace the wretched, hate-infested halls of this hospital that I haven't immediately and absolutely despised."108

John interjected. "If you want to know the truth, I actually already knew that -"109

"Case in point," Dr. Broderick said, raising an eyebrow in Johns’ direction. "But," he continued, crossing his arms over his chest, "for what it's worth . . . coming home after, to you, that’s what made it bearable."110

John wasn't sure how to react. "Really?" he asked, hoping his voice didn't sound as pathetic and needy as he thought it did.111

"Yeah," came the curt reply.112

"Why would you tell me that?" he asked softly, mentally kicking himself for not being able to let this wonderful moment be. Dr. Broderick glanced at him, then turned his gaze back towards the window. "I mean," John added hastily, "not to say that I don't appreciate the kind words - I do! - you know, every time you open up to me I feel we get a little closer and -"113

Dr. Broderick turned to face him fully. John cleared his throat. He was glad for the darkness. He hoped it hid his blush. "I just didn't think I'd ever get to hear you say anything like that. To my face, especially," he joked.114

"I'm not doing this to pull you closer," Dr. Broderick said, his voice hushed. "I'm trying to let you go."115

Dr. Broderick stared at his still young son. "You know you're not really here, right?" he asked, his tone almost hopeful. Whether he was fishing for an agreement or a contradiction, John couldn't tell.116

John lowered his eyes. "Yeah," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. The older man didn't respond. The silence in the room suddenly felt oppressive.117

It was a long moment before either moved. Then the older man shoved his hands into his coat pockets and turned towards the bed. John turned with him to face the body lying where he had been moments before. He took a step, and another, until he stood leaning over the figure. Dark hair fell softly against a pale forehead. A dry IV line still clung to dead skin.118

Blue eyes remained forever closed.119

"I just don’t understand," John said, looking down at his lifeless body. "Why did this happen?"120

An eternity passed and neither of them said a word. And then, finally -121

"Goodbye John," His father whispered. Stepping past, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.122