Chapter Text
Four pills of Panadol. 2000 milligrams, specifically. Exactly. Perfectly.
Calculated, rational. To calm down, make the monotony bearable.
Was it easy? Yes. SIM classes were long, but he got Monday and Tuesdays off, the workload light.
The problem was the pressure. In the cacophony of these boring ass, chicken-shit classes, getting anything less than a fucking B was a fail.
It's honestly quite mad. I used to celebrate when I scored distinctions, now I curse myself.
Kenneth popped another pill. Not Panadol, this time. He'd managed to scour some painkillers- found in a random corner of the library.
A wave of relief washed over him. A twitch in his feet, while his head cleared and he could feel the pep in his step. He leaned his head back- it suddenly was heavy and warm.
Divine. Splendid. Moments passed like syrup- smooth and thick and viscous and sweet.
Flopped onto his bed. Laid back against his pillow.
And the hours simply slipped away.
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Jonathan was about to actually fucking blow his brains out. Checked the Google doc again, nothing done. Sure- he's out buying booze, mixing vodka into a coke in a fucking hawker centre cup.
But at least, unlike that fucking pill-popping incel useless sub5 subhuman fucking chud teammate of his (he didn't know his teammate's name. He wasn't good with them- bad memory- and he didn't much care enough.), he'd done his part for the group project.
Does that K-bastard wallstreet hoe know that he has 7 days to live? I'm going to kill him. It's the weekend, sure, but we need to work, damn you.
Seriously, why aren't you doing anything? Economic essays need collaboration! I'm not doing this bullshit on my own? Fuck you!
Long sips longer. Tastes like shit, makes a face and shivers every time he feels a threshold passed. Tipsy? Check. Drunk? Check. Buzzed? Check.
Useless fucking bastard. I hate my stupid fucking chadlite life. I'm broke, fuck. Where does he get his pills? I swear he got Xanax. Isn't that a controlled substance? Whatever.
A cup emptied, refilled.
Haha, fuck. Well, well.. this tastes good, shit. Um. Fuck.
A cup emptied, refilled. Sight irrelevant to sensory input, a strange and foreign glee almost forcing a laugh. Lightened shoulders, a head held high.
A head devoid of thought. Just a cold, ringing emptiness, filled with some good fucking music.
“When it gets cold outside, and you've got nobody to love~”
Johnathan stopped drinking. Probably for the best.
Call me a star the way you'll never catch me being sirius.
“Bars, actually. They call me reserved the way only the chosen one can sit on me. They don't call me reserved at all they wish I was reserved lmao.”
Passive. Sarcastic. Smug.
I need this bitch to lock in.
__________________________________
Kenneth receives a Message. This is new, because no one in the class is remotely close enough for him to have given his number to.
And outside of school? Gone question.
He rolls over and checks the message. The pills were starting to wear off by now so it's not impossible to function.
“Hey! So sorry to disturb you, but just a reminder that you need to do Paragraph 3 by tomorrow so we can go through it without trouble. Thank you so much!”
… Who the actual fuck is this?
Terse reply.
“Fuck off.”
Immediate text bubble. Wasn't this text sent a while ago? Why is he still online? Does whoever this is have nothing better to do-
Kenneth runs through the list. One of two group project teammates. Annoying. On his phone.
Kenneth almost throws the damn thing. Fuckin Jonathan. He saves the number. “John”. Plane and simple. Doesn't deserve any better.
A reply.
“It's Jonathan! Haha! It's great to meet and work with you, what's your name again? I need it for the declaration.”
This shameless bastard.
Sure, Kenneth noticed the disdainful look on the bastard’s face, the vain walk, but seriously?
“It's Kenneth.”
“Thanks!”
And a… complete blank. Nothing.
A few minutes pass. Kenneth considers leaving. Knows better.
“We have a lot of work to do. Should we meet tomorrow instead? We don't have school, and we need to work- only if you're free.”
“I'll be there.”
It's insulting, quite honestly. Pretty open to the face.
“I have no idea who you are, and what I do know means I have to watch you work or you won't do shit.”
Pathetic.
Kenneth doesn't pop a pill this time. Not Panadol, anyway.
He'll need the spare ones for tomorrow. No, what he needs is something else. Something more potent, something that'll settle and make him feel…
It won't make him feel better.
But it helps. So much. So. Much.
Just a few swipes, to draw that beautiful rouge line.
And with that, he was all set for tomorrow.