I've always pondered on deaths door, but he's never opened. I could care less about the hell and heaven shenanigans, but death. I want it. The end of my life.
I want to be in my suit, in my coffin, in the ground and my soul to be gone. I've been wa...
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The withdrawal has already begun. I can feel it in my bones. The pain I'm feeling is making me nauseous and angry. I fucking hate it.
I can feel this pain all the time and I need it to be taken away. I feel drained. I just want this to all end.
I do often think about dying, I have no reason to live. Life has nothing in store for me other than a never ending misery that I have built for myself around the state of depression. It's a battle that no one seems to be winning no matter how hard we try. The worst part is... I don't know who "we" is. All I know is that they pollute everything they touch no matter how much they say it'll be different this time. For all I know, "we" is actually me in disguise.
I'm walking down the corridor of the rehab with the nurse who's taking me to my room. All the people on this floor are standing outside of their rooms, eyeing me up and down. A cold sweat runs down my neck feeling nervous.
My feet drag against the floor, my duffel bag pulling me down. "This is your room." My nurse, Holly says. She shows me inside a room with two beds, a bathroom and a roommate. "This is Jasper Marsh." Holly says. I lift my head up to see a dude with red strips randomly dyed in his dark hair wearing a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a Snoopy T-shirt. He leans against the doorframe, eyeing me up and down. "Jasper, this is Noah Duarte." His eyebrows raise.
My eyes move to my side to see people are still staring at me. I choose to ignore them when I stick my hand out for him to shake and he does. "You'll show him around?" Holly asks Jasper and he nods, jerking his head for me to enter.
Using my crutches, I limp behind him, getting a clearer view of the room. "So you're the Overdrive Noah Duarnte?" Jasper chuckles, sticking his hands into his pockets as he leans his back against the wall. "It's Duarte." I say, dropping my duffel bag on the bed that is further from the door and clearly mine as it is the only made one. "That's what I said." I roll my eyes at him as I unzip the bag, digging through my clothes to find my charger. "I heard you were blonde, twenty-one, short, enjoys the occasional glass of wine and absolutely angelic."
I freeze, twisting my torso to look at him. "Huh?" He looks to the side awkwardly. "I'm not blonde, I'm not short and twenty-one?" I exclaim, dropping my arms and completely turning my body to face him. "I've still got a good four years in me!"
He puts his hands up in defence, his lips parted, but not words leave his mouth. Where the fuck did he hear all that bullshit from? Blonde, short, twenty- oh. I pull my phone out of my pocket, ringing Dylan up. "Hey, man. How's rehab so far?" Dylan's voice lingers through the air.
"Are you going around and pretending to be me?" I ask, completely ignoring his previous question. Dylan doesn't say anything, but instead chooses to cut the call. I scoff, looking at my phone is confusion. "Dude, you should hide that. We're not allowed phones in here." I look up at him and down at my phone before I quickly stuff it back into my duffel bag.
