desperate minds mean desperate measures, CALEB

[roman a. pierce]

don't know what you need ,

Roman needed to do something. He was on edge today. He was fidgety, and couldn’t sit still, for more than a second. He sat on the edge of his seat all through therapy, his leg bouncing and constantly shifting in the uncomfortable metal chair. It was one of those foldable one’s that people always had laying about, one’s that were always really cold and made your butt hurt if you sat in them too long. When therapy was over he hopped up immediately and practically sprinted back to his room. He needed to go for a run or something, or just do something, or else he’d probably go insane. He got changed into a pair of black basketball shorts and a long sleeved dark gray shirt with his favorite football team on it, with his running shoes. He grabbed his iPod and walked out of the room. Maybe he’d go run around the gym or something. He doubted they had any workout equipment, like a treadmill or an elliptical. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it slightly before letting it fall back into place. He chose a song on his iPod, putting the ear buds into his ear. He could think and listen to music while he walked down to the gym.

Roman had learned a lot since he got here. He learned why he was here for one, why he was what he was, how to officially overcome the death of his brother. He was making a lot of progress, according to his therapist, but he didn’t feel that way. He still lied, a lot, but his therapist said that was ‘natural’ or something like that. It didn’t feel natural to lie about everything. It felt good, of course, but only at first. The guilt came later. He wasn’t sure when it would come, but it always did. It usually always came when he was sleeping, so he would have horrible nightmares about his lying slowly suffocating him, or something along those lines. He should probably tell the therapist about his nightmares. Next therapy session he would. The one he had today, he could barely focus in. He said maybe two words before the session was over, and then he was out of his seat and out the door. He was too restless today.

He walked to the gym, pushing open the big doors and stepping in. There really wasn’t much here. He sighed, and ran his hand through his hair again. He could risk looking like an idiot and run in circles around the gym? It would help burn off some energy, and it was better than nothing. He knelt down to tighten his shoelaces, stretching out his legs and his arms quickly before taking off at a quick pace.

TAGGED; Caleb&Aimee~ || WORDS; 465 ||OUTFIT; clothes! || NOTES; this is bad.

Bitter.Sweet.Sundown.@caution

[caleb j. mosher]

Satisfied and empty inside
Well that's alright, let's give this another try;

Caleb was not having a good time. His body was in constant pain, and his mind was in a panicked state. He needed to calm down, but without the aide of his pills, that was not going to happen easily. He had become so reliant on those damned little pills, he hadn't even realized it was this bad. Not until he was waking up in a hospital bed after having a seizure. Even so, he just knew that the drugs weren't his biggest problem. After all, they kept him from stealing from the people around him. That couldn't be a bad thing, right?

Everything since his dad dumped him off at rehab was jumbled into a blur. He didn't want to do anything. He didn't feel like he had a drug problem. The only problem he had was that just that one time, he took too many pills. He'd just have to be more careful in the future. If he made it through this rehab to that future, anyway. He really felt like he could die at any time. Like, his heart could give out and just leave him cold dead. It had been almost three weeks now, and the withdrawal symptoms weren't as bad as they had been when he'd first gotten to the center, but they were still there. Still a constant bother to him.

Caleb needed to get away from the orderlies and nurses. He needed to get away from therapists who tried to convince him that this was necessary. It was not necessary. He had already started taking things again, and he hated it. The Xanax kept him nice and relaxed. When he was relaxed, he didn't steal. Not as often, anyway. But when he was stressed, like now, he couldn't help himself. It was the only release he had, the only thing that made him feel a sense of euphoria, or even just a temporary sense of ease.

To get away from all the pressure and all the stress of people watching him, Caleb slipped out to the gym. He figured he could hide out for a while, away from most of the people who he felt pressured or tempted by. Except when he got there, he noticed a bag laying unattended. When he walked by it, his eyes trained on a shiny smiley face pin, he couldn't help it. Caleb looked around, then reached down and quickly undid the pin. He slipped it into his pocket, and kept moving to the far corner. Once there, he laid down on the cool floor and stared up at the ceiling, wondering why he had just done that.

[words: 443][notes: sorry! he's not very talkative right now.]