My Own Worst Enemy

Archie Renner

🦁 Gryffindor | Father 🌈
 
Messages
895
OOC First Name
Anna
Blood Status
Unknown
Relationship Status
Engaged
Sexual Orientation
Homosexual
Wand
Straight 12 Inch Flexible Ash Wand with Phoenix Tail Feather Core
Age
35
[adminapproval=30224432]

Continued from here
The time between managing to nod at his best friend's statement they were going to the hospital and arriving there in an instant became a blur when Archie felt his feet return to solid ground. In a mix of the apparation, disorientation and the evident amount of alcohol still in his system, the nausea worsened causing him to fall to his knees and vomit on both Orwell and the ground in front of him. A few minutes later when his shirt was stained and his throat burned with acidity the vomiting subsided and Archie leant back on the ground with a hand over his face, continually willing the world to stop spinning and his stomach to calm down. Orwell told him it would be okay and Archie shook his head, alcohol still affecting his ability to form words or respond properly to his friend. He should have realized that sitting in front of a hospital and the sickness worsening that it wouldn't stop. That it was not going to stop on its own, and no matter how much he tried to plead to himself and control what was happening to his body, it was not going to be okay. That it was clear neither he or Orwell could fix what was wrong with him. But the only thought in his mind was not the reality of his situation and rather a simple want to feel normal again.

Nausea and subsequent vomiting came and went in waves while Archie curled up on the ground, completely unable walk into the hospital alone or to help himself apart from wishing the sickness to end. Archie all consumed by nausea did not even register when he began moving again, or rather when he was being dragged as dead weight until bright lights obscured his fuzzy vision making him squint his eyes shut and groan. It was then he felt his body slump into a chair while he listened to Orwell's voice in the distance and not soon after a bucket was handed to him. He hugged the bucket to his chest and vomited into it when the nausea again became too much. Shortly after vomiting for what he thought was the millionth time Archie found a moment of reverie and a slight break from feeling entirely sick, enough to manage mumbling incoherent words to Orwell, not knowing if his friend was nearby or listening, but wanting to express the heaviness in his heart which was the reason he made the irresponsible decisions that brought him to the hospital that night. "He's dead. Why did he have to die. He didn't deserve to die. It's stupid. I'm stupid. He deserved better." Archie soon vomited into the bucket again, leaning back when it stopped and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his ruined shirt. "I hate this." He mumbled again, wanting nothing more than to go home, sleep and hug his best friend for comfort but unable to express this and still unable to realize that being somewhere comfortable and familiar was an impossible expectation for someone that was currently sitting in a hospital, sick out of their mind due to their own stupid decisions and incapable of helping themselves.
Sorry that this is super late real life is intense ya'll
 
Orwell didn’t like having to carry his best friend like this, he couldn’t help but curse the fact that he hadn’t chosen to be a healer, where he could’ve helped him, or that he hadn’t manage to find Pia before coming, but he just focused upon dragging his best friend inside as quickly as he could, only stopping because Archie vomited. He couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose slightly at the smell of it, the strong alcoholic smell coming off it was pretty horrible. However, the activist pushed on through dragging him as he did, only putting him in a chair to call someone over to help. He told the first person he could that his friend was very sick, that he needed help. Orwell desperately needed someone to come quickly and help them, make him feel better. The boy was eventually able to get a bucket and placed it under Archie’s nose. He seemed to become a little more away, being sick again into the bucket, and knowing that someone would be with them as soon as they could be, but Orwell prayed to no god that it would be soon.

The man looked at his friend as he spoke. Orwell put his arm around his shoulders and held him close. Squeezing lightly as he spoke, he leaned his head a little against him, ”I don’t know, it’s not right, he was so young,” Orwell agreed with a little sigh. He missed Jean already, he didn’t understand why the older boy had to die. Quidditch was a ridiculously dangerous sport of course, but he knew that he couldn’t stop anyone from doing that. He just had hoped there would more things in place to keep it safer. But they hadn’t and of course he was now gone, and now Archie was in the hospital because of what had happened, unhappiness and dismay over what had happened drove him here. The former ravenclaw squeezed his shoulder, ”It’ll be okay, it’ll be over soon, a healer will come over and help us,” the boy tried to reassure him, while glancing about and hoping that someone would soon come and help them. He knew that there were likely people as sick who had gotten here first, but Orwell couldn’t help but want help for his best friend. He had failed him so badly in being unable to help him himself, but he knew that the healers could do it. He whisper quiet comforts to the other boy hoping that it might help him be a little soothed.
 
Jeremy glanced at the clock, startled by the number of hours that already had gone by and only slightly dismayed at the number of hours left in his shift. It had been a busy couple of hours, more than a few broken bones, a bite that thankfully had turned out not to be from a werewolf, and an assortment of other maladies that had led wizards to the emergency room. It had been non-stop. That was the emergency unit though, and Jeremy had long since grown used to it. He thrived in the environment, knowing that even if he was offered the opportunity to move on, he'd decline. This was it for him. So, when a nurse tapped his shoulder and nodded towards the front room, Jeremy only let out the smallest of sighs as he pulled on a pair of gloves and asked for a summary of what he'd be dealing with. Hearing it, he nearly grinned. It would likely be the easiest thing he'd deal with all night, and he knew it would have to be him. The other Emergency Healer on duty was pregnant, and he knew she was going nowhere near that bucket.

Heading to the front, Jeremy glanced at the two young men, glad to see he'd only be dealing with one and not drunk people. They ran the gamut of being unruly and difficult and being like this guy. Jeremy held his breath, using magic to quickly vanish the contents and freshen the air slightly before he continued walking. When he got closer, he crouched down, figuring it would be easier for him to get down to his patient's level than it would be for his patient to look up and listen. "Hi there, I'm Healer Thorne" he said, his voice loud enough to be heard by the two gentlemen. "I've heard you've had a few drinks this evening" he began, knowing that information from the nurse, steeling himself for a denial. This was typically when the belligerent patients showed themselves. "Do you think we can get you through to the back so I can help you out?" he continued, knowing that moving was probably the last thing the gut would want to do even though it was necessary. "I might be able to offer you a better seat than these plastic ones" he cajoled. He looked to the other guy, hoping he would prove helpful should there be any difficulties. He seemed to be a good enough friend to drag the guy here and stay with him while he threw up.
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Back
Top