Consequences

Shattered

Chapter 10.

Justin POV

Thank god I had to work after that extremely awkward rest of breakfast, but as soon as I got off Scott had immediately dragged my ass over to his cell, saying that we needed to 'talk'. That was a lie, obviously. Once we had entered the room he immediately had started yelling at me and the guy hasn't stopped since. He was now pacing cirkels through the tiny space, whilst I was sat on the lower bed. I didn't even dare to look at him right this moment so I just had been staring down at my feet with my head in my hands, waiting for him to hopefully calm down somehow.

Suddenly he had stopped pacing and was now standing in front of me. "Look at me", he ordered. I hesitated a bit but then did as I was told and looked up at him, making me instantly notice the disappointed look on his face, the look I had desperately been trying to avoid by looking down this whole time. He shook his head at me. "5 fucking months, Justin...", he mumbled, voice sounding low with emotion, causing my stomach to drop.

I bit my lip and nodded. "Yeah... I know, baby", I spoke softly. "I'm so sorry...". The only thing I've been doing for these last couple of minutes is listening, agreeing with him and apologizing, in hope he would somehow forgive me. I know I've fucked up. Scott has every right to be mad at me. Hell, I'm fucking mad at myself too. I never should've gone to that fucking de la Cruz kid. What the hell was I thinking?! I should've known that so much as talking to that guy already meant bad news.

I don't even know why I went there in the first place. I just knew him and his dad have been dealing for a while now and I really wish I didn't because for some reason my brain had decided to use that knowledge against me. It was as if I didn't have the control over my body anymore. Before I knew it I stood there, begging for them to sell me some heroin. Or anything to do the trick really. I know... how pathetic right?

"I can't believe you! We worked so hard for this!". Scott had started pacing again. He always does whenever he's upset. If he hadn't been this angry with me, I really would've thought he looked kinda cute whilst doing it. But to be honest, he's scaring me a little right now. Not that he'll ever hurt me or anything like that, but still... Scott can get extremely angry sometimes. Extremely happy or excited about something too though. Every emotion is just a lot with him. Unfortunately that also means that if he really does get mad, it's best to agree with him or you'll get burned to the ground. Scott's just really good with words, some skill I seem to be lacking most if the time, especially when talking to him. It's like at those moments my brain freezes and words never seem to come out right, always causing him to get even more pissed off at me.

"I-... it's like... I'm sick, Scott", I then admitted softly. Even though everything I do is still my own decision, I really do believe that an addiction is something genetic. At my house, doing drugs was as common as having dinner or brushing your teeth. It was basically part of the day. I've started doing drugs when I was around 14 years old I think, just out of curiosity. My mom was a junkie herself, so we basically had drugs laying around the house 24/7. One day one of her many unhealthy boyfriends had left some cocaïne on the kitchen table and so, out of pure curiosity, I took it. I had seen him and my mom do it all the time together, so that's how I knew how to use it. Not long after, I was high as a kite, seeing all kinds of wacky shit. I remember that particular feeling as if it happened yesterday. It felt like I was on top of the world. All my problems had faded to the background for a second and it was just me in my bedroom with a thousand imaginary stories around me. I truly loved the little escape from reality. Unfortunately the rush it gave me was only temporary, so after that I kept needing more and more and before I knew it I had developed an addiction.

Thinking back at it I really wished my first time wasn't as great as it was, because then I wouldn't have gotten myself addicted. But what can I say? The apple doesn't fall far from the three. Drugs seems to be running my DNA. At least on my mom's side. My dad, I wouldn't know. I don't remember much about him. The man ran away when I was only two years old. Since then it has been just me and my mom. Oh... and her thousand different boyfriends hanging around the house all day, basically doing nothing important to contribute to society.