earned it [h.s.]

3.

TW: use of drugs

The next morning was anything but a treat.

I blinked my heavy eyelids open, lashes clumped together from all the ugly tears I had cried in the late hours of the night. The opened box of Xanax on my bedside table was enough memory of the route I had taken again.

The pounding in my head was another, the shaking of my limbs was a third and the hammering of my heart was a fourth.

I forced myself not to look at the sinful box of pills and instead dragged myself out of bed. The floors of my apartment creaked under my step and they felt cold against my burning skin as I made my way to the bathroom. The shower was lukewarm and made me shudder as I held onto the walls for stability.

Was I still high?

Possibly.

After coming back from Derek's place last night, I felt like the orgasm worked as a distraction for about thirty minutes. After that, I started toying with the skin around my nails again, my hands already full of deep indents of my moon-shaped nails from fisting my hands so hard. The second I broke skin and blood seeped out, I decided I needed more.

So I started smoking. With the window open and goosebumps on my skin, I smoked. First cigarettes, then a joint. Thick, hazy smoke clouded my space as I shakily brought the self-rolled blunt to my lips. But I was antsy and impatient, and when the pot didn't kick in after three minutes, I resorted to my worst enemy and my very best friend at the same time.

Xanax.

Laying down on my bed, I felt like I could see the shapes behind my closed eyelids. I opened them and found the beautiful imagery on my old ceiling. Different colours swirling together into one another, almost making me gasp because of how beautiful it was. My fingertips grew numb as I laid on the mattress, tears falling from the corners of my eyes and leaking down my temples as I stared at the ceiling in awe.

And then I just laid there, wide awake, feeling nothing. I didn't know for how long, maybe hours. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

A large, huge space of just nothingness. Void. Empty. Nothing. The numbness was very welcomed after experiencing the high levels of anxiety for the entire day. It was better than feeling the burning feeling in my chest, the tingling in my fingers, the pain in my head.

This was definitely a weekly occurence for me, sadly enough. I needed to work, I needed to be at Lotus and I needed to be Sloane to feel okay. I hated being myself because being myself meant this. Pathetic, sad, empty. Disappointing. Worthless. Sex, alcohol and drugs.

That familiar pain in my head was now overpowered by a much more prominent pounding behind my eyes. The comedown of Xanax. I sighed in the shower as I ran a hand through my wet hair. The droplets falling from my lashes reminded me of the many tears that I cried. I tried to focus on the cherry smell lingering around me from my body wash, a scent that normally calmed me down. It was familiar, it was comfort.

With closed eyes, I counted my breaths until I felt more or less calm. I hadn't even checked my phone yet to see if Ezra had texted me, to let me know if Mrs. Hilton contacted him. I needed her to, I needed the approval. Even from this ridiculously random woman who I had no connection with whatsoever, I needed her approval. Pathetically.

More than anything. I thrived on it. Approval and recognition gave me the highest highs before I dropped down to the lowest lows when I didn't receive it. Like last night.

With the towel around my body, I exited the shower cabin. One towel balanced on top of my head, the other covered up part of my body as I walked back into my bedroom. Takin a deep breath, I checked my phone.