Color Blind

Chapter Nine

AN: It's throwback time! Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb is this chapter's song.

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Cole lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He knew that he should feel guilty, or at least disappointed in himself, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He felt too good to care right now. The pain had stopped. He could leave the safety of the bathroom and get a proper nights' rest. What was not to like?

The needle finally fell from his fingertips and made a ping-pingity-ping sound when it hit the floor. He didn't bother to look for it. He'd get it later. Maybe. Or, more likely, it would roll under the bed and be forgotten for the next six months.

He took a deep breath and reached for his cigarettes. Smoking was one of the few things Sean didn't get on his ass for, mostly because he did it himself. As a result, the house smelled like smoke, among other things.

He held the smoke in his lungs for a long minute before letting it out in a smooth stream. It spiraled upwards, forming strange images, before dissipating. He watched it lazily before taking another drag and holding it again.

His wrist twinged, but it wasn't a really painful one. He moved it so it was lying across his chest and closed his eyes. Watching smoke was boring now. Now all he wanted to do was sleep. The cigarette in his hand teleported into yesterday's coffee mug and he closed his eyes and slept.

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Cole slept through the rest of the morning when he woke up with one thought in mind: I want vanilla ice cream.

That was a strange thought, really. He hadn't craved anything for a long time and on the occasions that he forced himself to eat, the food tasted bland at best. He doubted they even had vanilla ice cream. All the same, he dragged himself out of bed and shuffled downstairs to see.

He was in luck. At the back of the freezer was a very old, possibly expired, half-gone container of vanilla ice cream. He dug out a spoon without a burned bottom and took the container back upstairs.

He got a brain freeze within seconds, but it was worth it. He'd forgotten the taste of vanilla...although this batch was ancient. Hopefully he wouldn't get food poisoning or something.

Hell, who cared? That would be a good laugh in his obituary: 'Cole Martin dies from eating rotten ice cream'. Or the epitaph! 'Cole Martin was quite a fella, 'til he was done to death by the vanilla'.

Yeah. Maybe no more poetry for him.

He finished it off and threw out the carton. He needed to go back to bed before he threw it all back up.

His bed was soft and rather warm and he figured he probably wasn't going to be sick. He hugged the long pillow he'd found at a thrift store and closed his eyes. The pillow was lumpy, he thought absently. He'd have to start looking for a new one soon. Maybe. Or maybe a wash would help this one out.

Oh, it didn't matter. Not right now. Right now he wanted to go to sleep. He yawned and snuggled into his mattress.

If he ended up dead from food poisoning, that vanilla ice cream had been very worth it.

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Nancy sat on the bed and stared at the rain. She couldn't see past it, and she didn't really care to. Her stomach hurt. It felt like she was going to be sick. What time was it? Had she eaten today? Apparently not-she was still wearing the band t-shirt and ratty sweats she'd gone to bed in last night. It was very quiet in here.

Too quiet, she decided a few minutes later. She wanted radio.

"...committed suicide with a shotgun earlier this week..."

Not that kind of radio. She wanted music. She fiddled with the knob a little bit until a sludgy guitar came up. That was better. Angst was fine as long as it had music! Besides, she liked this band. She'd seen them when they were babies playing in coffee shops. At the time she'd thought their drummer was cute.

The rain kept coming down. It looked like the city was crying. Maybe it was crying for the suicidal musician. That made sense, in its own weird way. Yes. The raindrops were tears.

Nancy sighed and curled up on the bed with her teddy bear. The sludgy guitar on the radio gave way to urgent screaming. That band was good, too. She'd stick with this station for a while. They played all the local bands, not just the big ones.

The rain kept coming. Nancy scrunched up into a small ball, listening to the tapTAPtappitytapTAP of water on glass. It was a soothing sound, very familiar. She appreciated the subtle rhythm it was making.

Eventually, the rain and the music lulled her back to sleep. She stayed asleep for the rest of the afternoon.