tatemcallisterr-blog
I scrub and scrub until my body bleeds, convince myself I'm coming clean, forget and ignore who I used to be. That kid is never coming back.
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I am troubled and harsh and hopeless. Though I have love inside me. But I don’t know how to use love. Sometimes it scratches like barbs.
Clarice Lispector, tr. by Elizabeth Lowe, from Água Viva / The Stream of Life (via violentwavesofemotion)
knoxaf:
“A fan?” Oh boy, Knox did not have the heart to tell… the hell is his name again? Leaning over to check the paper work on the desk; Tate. How was he going to tell Tate there was only a crappy air system in the building and no fans… He’s got an idea. “Say no more, I got you,” Knox replies a bit too fast. Picking up a blank piece of paper from the printer at the desk and Knox gets to work. After folding the paper and taking a staple to the end of it; he made a fan.
Oh, this guy was gonna kill him. Knox knows it or he might get a chuckle; he’s taking the risk. “This should work for you,” he spoke while getting up from his seat. Walking towards the cell and presented his hard work; a paper fan. “There is plenty more where this came from.”
Tate’s eyes stayed closed while he heard the officer rustle around, not paying much attention as he assumed he was fetching a fan. His head was pounding, the whole act of getting arrested sobering him up way too much for his own liking. The feeling of the cold wall in that cell was becoming a little too familiar and he let out a rather loud sigh. At the officer’s words he opened his eyes again, squinting at him in the sudden bright light until he realized he had just made a makeshift paper fan. “This is what my taxes pay for. Perfect.” He mumbled, not making a move to retrieve the paper fan. Instead Tate reached down and peeled his shirt off, completely forgetting about the scarring he normally made sure to cover up carefully. He was too drunk and too hot to care at this point. Leaning back once again, his eyes closed. The bright lights in the cell were not helping his pounding head.
beautifulburnout:
Jonny hands tucked into his pockets and he hummed in thought. He could see the tiredness in Tate’s eyes and when it came to munchies Jonny wasn’t choosy away. He just gave a grin and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah man, I’m good with pizza. And if that’s not enough I’m sure I have enough junk in the house to get us by.” He took a couple steps and paused. “Don’t worry it’s a short walk.” After a couple short blocks they arrived at Jonny’s (and Pono’s) place and he pushed in through the gate rather than using the front door. The backyard was huge. The soft bubbling of the pond seemed to erase all outside sound. It was surrounded in plants, there was a turtle enjoying a leafy veggie and a dog sunning himself on the deck. He hopped up and ran towards them on three legs and came to sniff at Tate’s feet. “We can chill on the deck. What do you like on your pizza by the way?”
Tate nodded in response to Jonny, staying silent the rest of the way to his place. He was tired and he really wanted to sleep, but he knew that even if he tried a nap wouldn’t last long. He had given up on naps a while ago. When they arrived and went into the backyard, Tate could already feel himself relax a bit due to the surroundings. He had only been in the backyard a handful of times, but it only took one time to understand why Jonny and Pono liked it there so much. It was tranquil and quiet compared to the rest of Vegas. In fact, it felt like he had left Vegas and gone to a peaceful island somewhere. When he was greeted by Jonny’s tripod dog, a small smile formed on his face and he reached down to let him sniff his hand before scratching the top of his head. Tate nodded when Jonny spoke up again and started towards the deck, thinking for a moment before he responded. “Honestly, I’ll eat anything. But it’s the best when there’s a lot of cheese. So a lot of cheese and whatever you want, man. I’m not picky when it comes to pizza.” He replied with a shrug before taking a seat on one of the chairs on the deck, letting out a soft sigh.
knoxaf:
Watching the shoes fly across the cell only made the rookie cop snicker in reply. He could understand the aggravation to being sent to the drunk tank to sleep everything off. Knox even has an idea of how bad the hangover was going to be when it’s over.
“Right,” he replies with a polite tone. “I’ll be here– just be here. Let me know if there’s anything you need, alright?” After he gave the other a type of run down, be then started back to the desk not far. Returning to the game of Panda Pop. Yet, when it got too quiet, Knox glances from his phone. “The offer still stands if you wanna clean up!”
It was obvious that this guy was pretty new to station. Mostly because Tate was just there not too long ago and he didn’t recognize the male. He wondered if they always stuck the new guys with drunk watch. What a way to start your exciting career as a police officer. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that.” He mumbled, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. When he spoke up again after a few minutes Tate shook his head. “Again, I’ll pass on the wet wipe.” He paused. “It is hot as hell in here though. You wanna turn on a fan or something?”
knoxaf:
For the majority of that hour Knox was busy playing Panda Pop. The night was pretty dull for the most part; until he was notified of someone coming to sleep off the alcohol in their system. Knox sighs and starts to get shit ready for another cell to be occupied.
“You look rough– want a wet wipe or somethin’ like that?” Knox offered as he’s setting the small box of apple juice and crackers at an accessible area. “Uh, the fridge has been right fucked for the last couple days. Meaning we couldn’t refrigerate our drinks. Hence everything bein’ room temp.”
@tatemcallisterr
One would think having a very close friend that works in the police department would get him out of things like spending the night in a cell sleeping off the alcohol he had just consumed. And yet here he was, doing just that. Tossing his shoes across the cell he practically glared at the officer that was babysitting him for the night. “No, I don’t want a fucking wet wipe.” He had slept in far worse conditions than the state he was in now. Letting out a sigh Tate looked over at the provisions left for him. “Damn. I was really looking forward to my gourmet meal being nice and cold. This night is just full of disappointment.”
he can’t outrun the sentiments that poison his body. they make him sick, vulnerable, w e a k. they rot him inside-out.
( && )
how do you heal from such internal damage? in reality, he knows he can’t. ——— but there’s no way he’ll be eaten alive by his own conscience.
he resorts to drugs, to alcohol. to the numbness it gives him no matter how temporary.