I woke up in a world of hurt this morning. My head hurt, my ass hurt, and when I cracked open my lids and the sunlight hit them, my eyes hurt. My neck was stiff, my stomach was queasy, my tongue was furry, and did I say my head hurt?
I opened my eyes wider—very slowly, very carefully.
I was in the kitchen. More specifically, I was on the floor in the kitchen, leaning up against the cabinets. In front of me was a bunch of empty beer bottles, some burned-out candles... and a Monopoly board.
Oh. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe against a whole 'nother kind of hurt.
After a while, I shifted so I could get off of the plastic houses and dice that were poking my butt, and realized why my whole body felt like one giant cramp. It ain’t easy to get comfortable when you've got 180 pounds of solid partner pressed up against you.
Even in sleep and despite the teddy bear cradled in his hands, Hutch looked about as rough as I felt. Not surprising, I guess. He lost a friend too, and he was mourning for both our sakes, even as he held me together and kept me going.
Memories of Terry and how she died will always be a part of me. Maybe they won't always be painful memories, but the way I’m feeling right now... I don't know. I do know she never would've wanted them to be. 'Love him, and don't let him change,' she asked of Hutch.
And it's not like she needed to ask, you know? Hutch loves me, and has for years. He's my touchstone, my rock. He can't stop me from changing—no one can—but he'll be here with me every step of the way: through the pain and, eventually, hopefully, through the healing.
I should probably be getting us up off the floor. There's still some hotels or something poking me in the ass, I need to take a piss, and Hutch will be waking up any minute now, anyway.
Waking up to a world of hurt.
Instead, I scoot over a little so his head is on my shoulder. Then I rest my head against his, my hand against Ollie’s, and close my eyes again.
Maybe like this, when we wake up, the world won't hurt quite so much.