Deposits for John (Solo)

There was no way on earth he could possibly drive his car right now, not even if he wanted to. Not an idiot, he knew when he could and couldn't drive, especially after crashing a few cars before he finally owned his very own car. His head just didn't feel right, there was something wrong with it, and he couldn't put his finger on it exactly. The sensation he felt was nothing like he had ever felt before, this was just unexplainable.

All he wanted was to go somewhere dark and just gather himself for a bit. Out of habit, his body slunk over the railing slightly as his feet tumbled one over another down the sets of stairs. His wits were mostly about him, but he felt like reality and fiction blurring together quicker and quicker. Was this real or fake?

Spotting the door to the bathroom, his body pushed forwards through the human traffic. Boy was he glad he wasn't a chick, they always seemed to have lingering lines. Crashing his way through the bathroom, he passed by the urinals to take one of the few coveted stalls. Not even bothering to lock the door behind him, his body crashed to the ground where his arms soon hugged around the dirty porcelain.

Never had his head hurt this bad. He had taken a few punches in his day and it wasn't anything like that. This hurt like hell, horrid. The throbbing pulsed between his ears like a giant sub-woofer for a stage band. The pounding of his head was one thing, but his stomach was ready to spill out his nose if he couldn't get the pain to ease from his head.

The convulsion of his body hacked up the contents of his stomach as his grip around the bowl of the toilet flexed. With a moan, his fingers searched out the silver handle to flush down nachos and hotdog he ate a few hours ago. A combination of the smell, the sound of the flushing water and the sight of what had been in his stomach, well it was just to much and his body started to purge itself again.

What he'd give to be at home right now, or just someplace else. With his head throbbing about this bad, he could tolerate someone else dealing with doing all the thinking and possibly babying him slightly. With a drizzle of spit hanging from his lower lip, his eyes closed while his head went to rest against his arm.

There was the option of calling Travis, but last thing he really wanted was the guy seeing him like this. With his luck some new rules would be thrust at him to go on top of the mandate for his education. This was killing him, honest to goodness the death of him. It was all Travis' fault anyways, why his head was throbbing so bad.....maybe he should call the guy to pick him up, if he could stop hugging the toilet and vomiting that was.