28 July 2009


Sydney Thomson is kicking himself cuz he can't sleep. He's fumbled around the house twice, noticing offhandedly what a shambles it is, checking through empty beer cans to see if there is something to salvage, wondering why he is so obsessed.

Jake's just a kid. A kid who's already completely fucked up his life, and how can he even be thinking about trying to track him down anymore. Why? He's gotten him fired, interrogated by the local police who suggested not to subtly maybe he move to another town, and that freakshow bulldog of a man who belonged in a serial killer movie. With barely any effort the boy has completely derailed his life.

He needs a drink, that'll help him sleep, but there's nothing left so he forces himself to choke down some awful-tasting cough syrup before noticing his sister bought it so there's no alcohol in it. He's starting to think about vanilla before he stops himself, at least for now.

"Let him go," he says aloud, hoping that will work. "Just let him go."

But he's tossing and turning still and fuck it, he hits the vanilla which almost makes him puke, he'd imagined it might taste like vanilla ice cream but it's nothing close, but the alc in it works a bit, calms his nerves.

Sleep starts to come to him, slowly, and he hopes the hellspawn will leave his dreams alone, leave him alone forever, but somehow, he's not sure he's being completely honest with himself there.

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