A/N: MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR DRUGS AND SELF HARM. Do not read if this triggers you.
This may be a teaser but idk if its gonna turn out to be a fic. Happy reading.
Also another note, please get help if you have an addiction.
800-273-8255 is the national suicide prevention hotline in the US.
Love you all
-Pasta
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Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Blood dripped from Stoner's wrist, cut up from the everlasting cycle of self harm. It was often he turned to the blade and the shame that came with it. It was always painful for him but at the same time, he didn't care anymore.
Stoner sighed and cleaned up the cuts, bitterly laughing at the fact he was in this position. "I guess there was no happy ending after all. I'm doomed to this..."
There was no hope.
There was no hope.
There was no hope.
It was clear now, that to him, he'd
never be free. He looked at the dirty syringe he used so many times. He knew he should at least be using a clean one, but he couldn't find it.
"I made a decision and I made the price. Why am I complaining?" Stoner growled. "I used to be chill... I used to be good."
A few years ago, he wanted to end the pain. He wanted to self medicate and so he did. He did and he paid the price.
"Heroin wasn't a bright idea, huh?" Stoner mocked himself. He growls and sighs, going to his bed. He looks to his syringe filled with the black substance. "Maybe..."
He looks to his phone that went off, momentarily distracted. "Huh... A call..."
Bro was calling him. He answers, feeling his heart beat with nervousness. Stoner lets out a shaky sigh.
"Hey dude, are ya doin' okay?" Bro asks softly.
"...N-No..."
"Oof. What's wrong, bud?"
"...If I say it you'll hate me."
"I won't."
"...I'm dealing with addiction. T-To heroin."
Bro's sigh could be heard from the other line and Stoner hangs up our of panic. Bro makes a noise but was cut off.
Bro frantically calls Stoner back.
"What?! Don't you hate me now?!"
Bro made a distressed noise. "Dude no! I-I don't! I swear on my fuckin' cap!"
Stoner sniffles.
"There's hope dude. I'm coming over." Bro says. "You need help."
"...I'm sorry." Stoner then hung up and started to pace. He cringed at the shape of his run-down apartment. He sat on his bed, cringing at the hole a mouse ate through. "Fuck!!"
Bro was right though. He needed help. He needed it badly. This addiction took everything from him. He remembered the arguments with the others that led to him losing his job. Bro was the only one he had left.
But enough of that, Stoner thinks, It's time to get help.
Maybe I'm not in this alone.
