Contagious
.09
--Present--
Vic looked at all the scribbled sentences on his notebook, damp with tears.
He had just poured his heart onto a piece of paper, that had meant nothing to him before.
He clenched his jaw as he went over the words, crossing out a couple words and circling others.
The aftershock of Hilary's death was worse than the moment she had died, right in front of him. Vic looked up from his editing, remembering the darkest moments of his life. He fell into a deep hole, and for a moment he didn't want to get out. He wanted to lay there motionless and never even breathe again.
--21 months ago--
Vic placed his bottle down for a moment as he took another long drag of his blunt.
He sat alone in the corner of his room, drapes closed, door locked.
It had been thirteen days, eight bottles of Whiskey and a pound of marijuana since Hilary had passed away.
Vic wanted nothing to do with the outside world, he only left his room for a couple necessities and went back in.
Mike had tried cornering him in the kitchen, telling him that their mother was deathly worried about him. Vic had shrugged and walked back into his room to continue his dinner of weed and alcohol.
Tony had tried going inside of Vic's bedroom, only to find a severely wasted Vic Fuentes. He started yelling at Tony and even pushed him against the bedroom wall. Jaime had to go in and break the two up.
Vic knew they were allowing him to grieve, and the fact that he was taking it over the edge... He didn't care.
Vic felt the kush fill his lungs, he slowly closed his eyes as he let the smoke rest inside his lungs.
He finally exhaled when Hilary's face came to his mind. He didn't want to forget her, but he didn't want to think about her.
He nodded off, feeling his head grow cloudy.
He gripped his bottle again and took another large swig of the alcohol. He loved the way it burned as it went down his throat.
The rawness made him feel so alive, yet so damn weak at the same time.
A quick knock came from Vic's door, he didn't answer. Instead he took another drag of his blunt and closed his eyes.
"Vic!" A voice came from behind the door, "Vic, it's almost been two weeks. You need to get out of there." It was Jaime's voice.
Vic exhaled again, feeling even higher than he did from his first drag.
He didn't answer Jaime, instead he finished his blunt and flicked the roach into a tin can.
"Vic" the voice came to his ears again.
Vic sighed heavily as he pulled his piece and another baggy out, "What?"
Vic's voice was harsh, raspy. His tone was annoyed, pissed off by just Jaime's voice.
"Vic, we're going out tonight. Maybe it'll be good for you to come out for a bit."
Vic packed his piece as Jaime spoke, "No."
Jaime sighed, "Vic, we're worried about you. You should just come out, just for an hour."
Vic set down his piece and picked up his bottle. He made his way toward his door as he took another swig, "Fuck off." He said once he opened his door.
Jaime scrunched his face, "You look like hell bro. You really need to get some fresh air."
Vic looked down, he was wearing boxers and a ripped up shirt. His usually combed curls were thrown into a low bun. His eyes were bloody, halfway closed.
But he didn't care, the only thing he cared about was gone. He had nothing to live for anymore. The only thing in his life that mattered wasn't there anymore.
"I don't care." He attempted to close his door. A foot stopped the movement, being placed between the door and the doorframe.
Vic looked up, it was Mike's foot, "You're getting out of there right now." Mike's eyes were fiery as he pushed into Vic's bedroom, "You need to snap the fuck out of it." He pressed against Vic, pushing him back, "We let you grieve Hilary, but do you think she would have been fucking proud of you for doing all this shit." He pushed his brother against a wall.
Tony and Jaime rushed in, hoping they didn't have to break up a fight.
"She would have been so fucking pissed at you, she would have shoved her finger into your damn chest and yelled until her face turned red."
Vic looked at Mike scared, his brother had never talked to him this way before.
"You're gonna cut this shit out Victor, or I swear I'll call Hilary's mom. She fucking thinks you're okay now, I have to fucking lie to her every time she calls. I'm not fucking lying to her anymore!"
Vic looked down, Mike's tattooed finger was bouncing off the center of Vic's chest as he yelled.
"Shape up!" Mike finished, ripping the bottle of whiskey from Vic's hands and throwing it across the room. Causing it to shatter in hundreds of different pieces.
For a second he felt Hilary's presence there, almost like she took over Mike to get her word across.
Vic looked at all the scribbled sentences on his notebook, damp with tears.
He had just poured his heart onto a piece of paper, that had meant nothing to him before.
He clenched his jaw as he went over the words, crossing out a couple words and circling others.
The aftershock of Hilary's death was worse than the moment she had died, right in front of him. Vic looked up from his editing, remembering the darkest moments of his life. He fell into a deep hole, and for a moment he didn't want to get out. He wanted to lay there motionless and never even breathe again.
--21 months ago--
Vic placed his bottle down for a moment as he took another long drag of his blunt.
He sat alone in the corner of his room, drapes closed, door locked.
It had been thirteen days, eight bottles of Whiskey and a pound of marijuana since Hilary had passed away.
Vic wanted nothing to do with the outside world, he only left his room for a couple necessities and went back in.
Mike had tried cornering him in the kitchen, telling him that their mother was deathly worried about him. Vic had shrugged and walked back into his room to continue his dinner of weed and alcohol.
Tony had tried going inside of Vic's bedroom, only to find a severely wasted Vic Fuentes. He started yelling at Tony and even pushed him against the bedroom wall. Jaime had to go in and break the two up.
Vic knew they were allowing him to grieve, and the fact that he was taking it over the edge... He didn't care.
Vic felt the kush fill his lungs, he slowly closed his eyes as he let the smoke rest inside his lungs.
He finally exhaled when Hilary's face came to his mind. He didn't want to forget her, but he didn't want to think about her.
He nodded off, feeling his head grow cloudy.
He gripped his bottle again and took another large swig of the alcohol. He loved the way it burned as it went down his throat.
The rawness made him feel so alive, yet so damn weak at the same time.
A quick knock came from Vic's door, he didn't answer. Instead he took another drag of his blunt and closed his eyes.
"Vic!" A voice came from behind the door, "Vic, it's almost been two weeks. You need to get out of there." It was Jaime's voice.
Vic exhaled again, feeling even higher than he did from his first drag.
He didn't answer Jaime, instead he finished his blunt and flicked the roach into a tin can.
"Vic" the voice came to his ears again.
Vic sighed heavily as he pulled his piece and another baggy out, "What?"
Vic's voice was harsh, raspy. His tone was annoyed, pissed off by just Jaime's voice.
"Vic, we're going out tonight. Maybe it'll be good for you to come out for a bit."
Vic packed his piece as Jaime spoke, "No."
Jaime sighed, "Vic, we're worried about you. You should just come out, just for an hour."
Vic set down his piece and picked up his bottle. He made his way toward his door as he took another swig, "Fuck off." He said once he opened his door.
Jaime scrunched his face, "You look like hell bro. You really need to get some fresh air."
Vic looked down, he was wearing boxers and a ripped up shirt. His usually combed curls were thrown into a low bun. His eyes were bloody, halfway closed.
But he didn't care, the only thing he cared about was gone. He had nothing to live for anymore. The only thing in his life that mattered wasn't there anymore.
"I don't care." He attempted to close his door. A foot stopped the movement, being placed between the door and the doorframe.
Vic looked up, it was Mike's foot, "You're getting out of there right now." Mike's eyes were fiery as he pushed into Vic's bedroom, "You need to snap the fuck out of it." He pressed against Vic, pushing him back, "We let you grieve Hilary, but do you think she would have been fucking proud of you for doing all this shit." He pushed his brother against a wall.
Tony and Jaime rushed in, hoping they didn't have to break up a fight.
"She would have been so fucking pissed at you, she would have shoved her finger into your damn chest and yelled until her face turned red."
Vic looked at Mike scared, his brother had never talked to him this way before.
"You're gonna cut this shit out Victor, or I swear I'll call Hilary's mom. She fucking thinks you're okay now, I have to fucking lie to her every time she calls. I'm not fucking lying to her anymore!"
Vic looked down, Mike's tattooed finger was bouncing off the center of Vic's chest as he yelled.
"Shape up!" Mike finished, ripping the bottle of whiskey from Vic's hands and throwing it across the room. Causing it to shatter in hundreds of different pieces.
For a second he felt Hilary's presence there, almost like she took over Mike to get her word across.