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Summary
Pupils restricted, breathing labored, vision spinning. His concentration is slipping, slipping, slipping. He moves his head like the giant school bell from the academy he attended. No more pain, no more flashbacks, no more Lucy, no more pain, no more blood, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy—
He stares at his reflection as cold tap water melts off his face. His eyebags are getting ridiculous, not to mention his perpetually bloodshot eyes. He rubs them as if that helps, then washes his hands numb.
When did he lose control? He hasn’t and fuck you for suggesting it. His back hurts, his anxiety, his sleep… he needs them, and he was prescribed them. He was prescribed them, and he is a fucking doctor and can handle himself.OR
John struggles to ask for help after the accident. So he doesn't.
Series
- Part 1 of The Road to Recovery
