![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
"You'll forever be my baby boy."
Jul. 1st, 2017 01:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
asskickingblahniksWho: Gen Hart, Justin Campbell and soon, Sasha Stanford
What: Fighting the battle
Where: @ Home, Upper East Side
When: this
Gen's nerves were shot. She had been in the middle of a Skype conference call with Directors from their London, Paris, Sydney and Japan offices when her cell phone rang with a distressed call from Amarlie saying Justin had fallen at the gym and he was unconscious. Amarlie was in hysterical tears, and Gen didn't give a fuck how important her work business was, she ended the conference call immediately and bolted down to the lower ground level of the apartment block where the gym was set up.
It was an exclusive gym, a franchise of one of the most elite fitness companies in the country. People who lived in the apartment complex had unlimited access as part of their strata package, but members of the public could join for a hefty price. Justin worked out there if he did got for a run in Central Park. Most mornings, he would take Dory on a run for him, but the gym was always a Plan B. Exercise was important, because it helped the healthy brain chemicals he still had. Many psychs would recommend exercise as part of a treatment regime. Justin needed it to stayed conditioned for his work too. The only time Gen knew he didn't exercise tended to be when he was depressed or physically ill.
Justin hadn't wanted to go to the hospital. When he regained consciousness, he was confused and disoriented, but his head seemed to clear a little. Enough to fight them on going and getting angry to the point he was forcefully extracting the paramedic's hand from his arm when the guy was trying to help him and yelling at him to stop touching him, that he didn't want to be touched. Gen knew that as one of the biggest, most serious warning bells, and no matter how worried they were about Justin, they had to stop touching him.
All Gen could do was assure them they would get Justin to the hospital if he got any worse. He had a cut at the back of his head that was bleeding, and he was so overheated that he started to vomit. They soon had him sitting up on the ground by the treadmill with a trashcan in front of him, but his agitation was escalating. Mark was at the hospital with his parents for treatment that morning, so Gen had to somehow figure out how to be the proxy next-of-kin and make the right calls, taking into account Justin's current state of mind. He wasn't psychotic. He was still lucid enough to understand he had passed out, and that he didn't want to go the hospital. But being touched and swarmed upon had triggered that trauma in him.
He was unsteady on his feet, but with Amarlie, Gen and a couple of guys from the gym helped to get him upstairs. Now, he was sitting on the sofa, leaning over a bucket on the floor between his feet but he was being sick. He probably just felt like he was going to be again. Gen hiked the airconditioning up to try to cool him down, and she sat beside him, holding an ice pack to his forehead after draping another around the nape of his neck. Amarlie was on his other side, nursing a large glass of water with ice in it and Dory was squished in between Justin and Amarlie, leaning right into him and licking his arm. The paramedics had dressed the wound at his head and applied a couple of stitches to stop the bleeding, but the blood was still caked in his hair. They advised to get him cooled down in a quiet place, and assess how he was then.
"Try and drink a little, baby," Gen coaxed, keeping her voice soft. He could have a concussion with the bump on his head, or heatstroke from overheating himself, so treating him like he did was the best course of action. She had left Mark a voicemail telling him what happened, but she hadn't heard back yet. He would be tied up with IVs, scans and examinations. She tucked her fingers in against his wrist, feeling that his heart was still racing. Amarlie had taken his shoes and socks off, and brought a standard fan through from their music/games room and set it up so it was blowing directly on him. Even with that tiny gesture, Justin was pulling his hand away from her touch.
What: Fighting the battle
Where: @ Home, Upper East Side
When: this
Gen's nerves were shot. She had been in the middle of a Skype conference call with Directors from their London, Paris, Sydney and Japan offices when her cell phone rang with a distressed call from Amarlie saying Justin had fallen at the gym and he was unconscious. Amarlie was in hysterical tears, and Gen didn't give a fuck how important her work business was, she ended the conference call immediately and bolted down to the lower ground level of the apartment block where the gym was set up.
It was an exclusive gym, a franchise of one of the most elite fitness companies in the country. People who lived in the apartment complex had unlimited access as part of their strata package, but members of the public could join for a hefty price. Justin worked out there if he did got for a run in Central Park. Most mornings, he would take Dory on a run for him, but the gym was always a Plan B. Exercise was important, because it helped the healthy brain chemicals he still had. Many psychs would recommend exercise as part of a treatment regime. Justin needed it to stayed conditioned for his work too. The only time Gen knew he didn't exercise tended to be when he was depressed or physically ill.
Justin hadn't wanted to go to the hospital. When he regained consciousness, he was confused and disoriented, but his head seemed to clear a little. Enough to fight them on going and getting angry to the point he was forcefully extracting the paramedic's hand from his arm when the guy was trying to help him and yelling at him to stop touching him, that he didn't want to be touched. Gen knew that as one of the biggest, most serious warning bells, and no matter how worried they were about Justin, they had to stop touching him.
All Gen could do was assure them they would get Justin to the hospital if he got any worse. He had a cut at the back of his head that was bleeding, and he was so overheated that he started to vomit. They soon had him sitting up on the ground by the treadmill with a trashcan in front of him, but his agitation was escalating. Mark was at the hospital with his parents for treatment that morning, so Gen had to somehow figure out how to be the proxy next-of-kin and make the right calls, taking into account Justin's current state of mind. He wasn't psychotic. He was still lucid enough to understand he had passed out, and that he didn't want to go the hospital. But being touched and swarmed upon had triggered that trauma in him.
He was unsteady on his feet, but with Amarlie, Gen and a couple of guys from the gym helped to get him upstairs. Now, he was sitting on the sofa, leaning over a bucket on the floor between his feet but he was being sick. He probably just felt like he was going to be again. Gen hiked the airconditioning up to try to cool him down, and she sat beside him, holding an ice pack to his forehead after draping another around the nape of his neck. Amarlie was on his other side, nursing a large glass of water with ice in it and Dory was squished in between Justin and Amarlie, leaning right into him and licking his arm. The paramedics had dressed the wound at his head and applied a couple of stitches to stop the bleeding, but the blood was still caked in his hair. They advised to get him cooled down in a quiet place, and assess how he was then.
"Try and drink a little, baby," Gen coaxed, keeping her voice soft. He could have a concussion with the bump on his head, or heatstroke from overheating himself, so treating him like he did was the best course of action. She had left Mark a voicemail telling him what happened, but she hadn't heard back yet. He would be tied up with IVs, scans and examinations. She tucked her fingers in against his wrist, feeling that his heart was still racing. Amarlie had taken his shoes and socks off, and brought a standard fan through from their music/games room and set it up so it was blowing directly on him. Even with that tiny gesture, Justin was pulling his hand away from her touch.
