Hopeless Prisoner of Loneliness

Title: Oil Chapter Title: Chapter VI- SIX
Posted: Monday 24th, March 2014 Author: GlassesG33k
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis Pairing: John/Rodney
Chapter Rating: PG Chapter Category: Gen
Word Count: 1,242
Chapter Summary: Rodney's current pains and situation.
Cross-posted:  http://archiveofourown.org/works/1347706/chapters/new  and  http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/3782.html
Disclaimer: Refer back to the top of the page on the Prologue or First Chapter, here: http://glassesg33k.livejournal.com/
Special Thanks: TT, or TactlessTruth for all of her help. :-)
A/N: Since I'm not going to be able to post this Wednesday I decided to go ahead and post Chapter 6 today. Enjoy =-).

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It had started the night before.
Another night spent too hot or too cold, bits and pieces of him were shivering ice while others were burning hot. All the while the bed was uncomfortable and his mind was blank with worn tiredness. This was the second night in a row where he couldn't sleep.
The second night in a row where his nerves were firing off, his whole body caught in a shower of sharp painful pinpricks. Except these weren't pin pricks as in pins and needles when a leg falls asleep no, this was more like trillions of itchy, irritating to the point of raw pin point knives stabbing with the force of a train into each and every one of Rodney's pores.
The now rather thin professor rolled onto his side and tried his damnedest to actually get back to sleep. For whatever reason he'd gotten tired very early on and had been able to lay down and snooze for about two hours while in his office at school, but now that it was the middle of the night sleep was eluding him. Rodney sat up and sighed, there was no reason for this, no reason at all. Giving up he put the light on and tried for some light reading, picking up War and Peace he went to work. So far he'd found that after a good two, maybe four pages on his more stubborn nights, he'd be out like a light. The author truly had a talent for putting people to sleep, it was unrivaled from all the other items Rodney had read, even his old college textbooks which initially had been real snoozers. He hadn't gotten very far in War and Peace and was barley an 8th of the way into the book. In all honesty he wondered if anyone in history had been able to suffer through reading the whole of this piece and why in the world it had been deemed a classic, maybe it was because the guy had friends in high places which definitely seemed to be the case from what was written. That is, if this authors book was anything to go by when it came to his personal life.
Sadly it took a bit longer than Rodney had expected, several times over he had been nodding off the book drooping in his hand and he'd shut the light off, slip down into the covers, relax and; his eyes and whole body would wake wide up. It wasn't until 7 a.m. that he finally managed to doze off only being ripped from sleep when the 10 a.m. alarm went off. Granted he didn't have to go in till 10:30 a.m. but still not being able to sleep, or even call in sick was just too much.
Granted by this time he was able to set his own hours and had ample privacy which he was more than relieved for, so at least there was an upswing that no one else would have in his position. It still didn't get him the much needed sleep though or the ability to lay back down and at least doze during the day, even though it'd turn his hours all around and make him feel even worse then he already was.
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When he woke up there was the tell tale sharp ache like a massive knife flaying him from his spine outward. The whole of his body was pain and when he got up he was blind from it.
He went through his regular routine gingerly doing everything, cranky as all get out. Even getting dressed was beyond agony, the clothing itself a weight that rubbed and prickled his skin, rough and pure red to the point of raw, chafing.
He'd gone into work not able to think of anything, the pain overriding everything, and had ended up staying late again, or what was late for him now, thankfully.
By eight o'clock he was on his knees begging a god he'd never even given the merit of existing to just let his agony end.
He pleaded and made deals, all of which he knew from psychology was what most people who were faced with death went through. Then it hit him that he might be dying and just not know it … it sure as hell felt like it.
His mind and memory had been shot all day, concentration was zero and being able to even take in information was not gonna happen, even through he'd waited all day for the torture to subside. Usually at some point it did but his original ongoing back problems coupled with his new nerve problems set him on edge.
By the time Mrs. North directly across the hall was ever so kindly wrapping that damn box with as much packaging tape and love as she could manage Rodney had had enough.
He'd been doubled over elbows on knees, rocking back and forth, hands over his ears the very sound like tin foil fingernails scraping against the chalkboard of his nerves.
He'd had no sight and no idea he'd been doubled over in the first place till it suddenly dawned on him, after the initial shock of his realization, that he was standing in Mrs. North's office and had nearly outed himself.
It was the need for his job and control again that had forced him to turn on his heel and literally run out of there. He'd grabbed his keys and driven down to the one place he'd been sticking his nose up at every time he'd had to pass it.
He'd even changed the route he took to work just to avoid this area after it had become legal to use the stuff for recreation. He'd voted against allowing Marijuana to be sold for medication and had even written a few letters to several publications about the evil dangers of allowing the drug to be sold as open and frivolously as liquor.
Now he stood, despite himself and what had been left of his better judgment, outside the one place that seemed to be open.
He looked at the sign again, it said that the place was open till 10p.m.,10:30 on some nights and it was barely nine o'clock, what could be keeping them he had no idea. When he'd arrived the whole place was empty and looked like it had been closed up for the night. He tried the door again hoping he'd pulled on the wrong one, then tried pushing thinking it was like that Far Side cartoon with the “smart” kid, but both doors were locked. He cupped both hands around his eyes and peered in, the lights were still on and the whole of the place was rather warm and welcoming looking. It was just empty, very empty. He craned his neck and saw that the large flat screen up in the corner had on some wanna be “news cast” like 60 Minutes or something. One of those “info-tainment” episodes displaying images and talking about some obviously dumb subject with a skewed perspective.
Rodney glared at the whole of the place wishing that the damn pot heads would quit getting high for one damn second and actually serve a possible customer when he started knocking; loudly.
After a few seconds he found himself yelling at the top of his lungs pouring out the whole of his pain, worry and life.
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