Damien: the people I turn toMature

Kyle and Danny are gone. And despite myself, I actually end up missing them. About two days after Danny's let out, I just pick up my stuff and go. Well, I discharge myself first. But that sounds less dramatic.

Campbell calls home the moment he hears I've discharged myself, to find out what's going on and lucky for him, I'm the one that picks up.

"Damien, why have you discharged yourself? Your observation period isn't over yet."

"Because that place was making me feel worse. I was on my own, and I had nothing to do. I'll be fine. I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"Listen, Damien-" but I'm not listening. I'm hanging up. I don't know what to do with myself now I'm free from that bed.

Heroin is the first thing that springs to mind. I didn't take any methadone out with me, so heroin seems like the logical conclusion.


I slide the needle in my vein and wait for that orgasmic rush, the safe, warm feeling of the drug comforting me as I sit there on my dealer's floor. I feel his eyes on me, but I ignore him.

There's nothing.

I wait.

Nothing happens. Nothing at all.

I look up at my dealer like he's just betrayed me.

I could cry.


I find myself knocking on Kyle's door. I don't know where else to go. He takes forever to answer, and when he does open the door, I'm greeted, not with the "hey, faggot," that I would normally expect, or even just a "hey". I get welcomed by a thoroughly miserable looking Kyle.

"Um..." I hesitate. He might be miserable, but fuck it, so am I, "can I come in?" he nods and I hesitate again, following him through to the living room. He flops on the sofa and I watch him. He's gotten thinner. And he really doesn't look so good. "What's happened?"


"You look like you've not seen the light of day for a week. Something happen?" Actually, I think he just looks like how I feel.

"He left me," he mumbles. Again? I sit down next to him.

"How comes?"

"'Cause I'm disgusting," he still mumbles, and I kinda strain to hear him.

"You're not disgusting." At least, I don't think you are. Not that my opinion really counts for much.

"I am, though. I'm all the things he said." I bite my lip a little. I might have lost my heroin, but even in this state I can kinda tell that he's the one who really needs the hug. He doesn't react as I slide my arms around him.

"I don't think you're disgusting. He was just hurt, right? I think it's pretty obvious that he's not a rational thinker." He still doesn't do anything and I sigh, burying my head in his shoulder. Sure, he might not appreciate the hug as much as I thought he might, but even if he doesn't need it, I fucking do.

A few moments of deafening silence pass. And then they're broken by the sound of his stomach rumbling. I lift my head enough to speak. "...Have you eaten?" that's a pretty stupid question, now I think about it. Of course he hasn't eaten. He wouldn't be so skinny and sick looking if he'd eaten.

He shakes his head.

"Want me to order a pizza or something?" He shakes his head again and I frown a little. He curls up.

"I don't deserve it."

"Sure you do. S'up to you, man. I'm not gonna force you to eat."

"Don't deserve it," he mumbles and I close my eyes, trying to ignore the cravings that are slowly building up inside my skull, rattling around like those sharp stones you get in your shoe. Why are the only people I have to turn to all as fucked up as me? Do I just attract fuck ups, or something?

"I'll be back in a minute," I mutter, getting up. I wander into the kitchen and get out my phone. Pizza and some methadone from my dealer, if he still has any. He fucking better. 


The End

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