Addictions || Open Modern Starter
Sweat soaked the sheets tangled around his legs, constricting
more and more with each desperate kick. Acidic need burned
the back of his throat, along each rib bone and in the tips of his
fingers. His body twitched without ceasing, ranging from the
slightest tap against the mattress with his thumb, to complete
convulsions with an ARCING back and dramatic limbs.
occasionally the pain dropped away, fading into a lukewarm
irritation beneath his skin, lacking the aggressiveness that
otherwise c o n s u m e d him. The darkness of the room
isolated him and completed his depressive loneliness, but
paranoia and hypersensitivity were all that awaited behind the
curtains and out the door. Eyes rolling, sometimes between
clenched eyelids, sometimes visible to the ceiling, there wasn’t
an escape from the wretchedness that this need had
O V E R W H E L M E D him with.
There was a solutions, only ONE, and half way through a
convulsion, he rolled himself towards the edge of the bed, free
falling without any kind of grace, and landing sprawled on the floor,
attempting to seek out that solution. But the door creaked open, and
it was the suddenness and unexpected nature that jolted some
kind of clarity through the haze of withdrawal. Setting his palms
down against the cold hardwood floor, flattening all ten digits with
enough force to make them ache, he pushed himself up to sit against
the bedside table. He didn’t care who was approaching him, but he
was aware of the aid that they could provide to him. “You gotta help
me,” he croaked, struggling to push words through the i n f e r n o
in his throat. “I need a hit. Just one.” His body started to shake again,
but the prospect of acquiring his solution gave him the means to
suppress it more easily this time. “Just one. Then it’s done.” He was
trying to convince himself of that, more than anyone. “Just one hit,
just to get me through now. Please. I’ll fucking do anything.”
