To Be or Not to Be | hamilton

twenty-five : alexander

{hey guys- go check out KatherineKubi 's lams fic! its called In New York You Can be a New Man, and shes totally wrong in thinking its better than mine. theres no triggers! go give it a few likes and prove her fic is better! :) we may or may not be talking about this right now :/ BUT DO BE NICE PLEASE SHES ONE OF MY FRIENDS ON THIS SITE AND I LOVE HER}
{drugs}

Alexander had never been in so much pain in his life, and not all of it was because of his poor physical condition.

What had he done?! He felt like a monster.

He had hurt John. He had hurt Angelica. God knows who else he had hurt.

He thought he could control it.

Thought it wasn't an addiction.

Thought it was just fun.

Alexander was so stupid! He was addicted. It wasn't fun, it was the worst dysphoria of his life. He could only get his euphoria back when he was high.

He had to get past this. He had to fix it.

Angelica and John had been a splash of cold water, a rude wake-up call. The invocation he needed to make a change. He had to wash the water off, and be productive with it.

But what could he do?

Alexander was to die in a month's time.

He could at least make his last month alive clean- not that that would be hard, considering how he had no access to drugs and couldn't leave the hospital.

Well, the first part was a lie. Lafayette and Thomas were more than happy to give him drugs.

Alexander just had to learn the word no to drugs.

That couldn't be too hard, right?

}{

Wrong.

"No," was a very complicated word to say.

You know that feeling when you eat too much peanut butter? How everything gets sticky and uncomfortable in your mouth, and your throat feels lumpy?

That was how Alexander felt the next time he was offered a cigarette.

It was Lafayette.

"Just one," he had promised. "One to hope for your recovery."

And oh, Alexander had wanted it. He wanted it more than he ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted the warm, burning feeling in his lungs, the fire that lit his lungs in-between his index and middle finger. He wanted to feel the warmth of the lighter on his lips and cusped hand as he lit the tobacco, the glorious, glorious pick-me-up. He wanted to have the tan-and-white poisoner in his hands, knowing with every artistic puff of smoke he released through his pursed lips he was creating a wondrous masterpiece of death. His own death, at that.

He struggled to swallow the peanut butter. "I..."

"The nurses will not know," Lafayette grinned.

That only made Lafayette's offer more tempting. Alexander loved to live in secrets- it was as if he was in an action movie. "I..."

"Alexander, 'ze clots are getting worse. You have less than a month. Live a little!"

Alexander realised he had a point. He willed himself to shake his head, even though his heart was nodding.

"C'mon. I'm your friend. I am trying to be a good friend!"

Ah, the peer pressure. Alexander couldn't let his friend down, right?

His hand reached for the cigarette his friend was offering him, as if on impulse. Then he shook his head. "I promised John I wouldn't."

Alexander had swallowed the peanut butter.

}{

The second time, it was Thomas.

"I need money," he had begged.

Alexander thought of all the times he could get high, get happy, with even fifty dollar's worth of drugs.

Even one hit would take away his misery. He only had twenty-seven days left, and like Lafayette said, he needed to make the most of his time left.

"What drugs do you have?" Alexander found himself asking. The peanut butter was gone, but replaced with cotton balls. His mouth felt dry, dirty, incapable of speech.

"Everything."

And oh, it was tempting.

But Alexander was stronger than cotton balls. "I can't. I'm sorry."

The worst part? He was sorry.

}{

The offers got easier to turn down after that.

}{

John was pleased to hear the story, too.

"A-Alex," he exclaimed through sniffles when Alexander finished retelling his story, "y-you did t-that? F... for me?"

Alexander nodded. His throat was clear. "I love you. Will you... will you forgive me?"

John nodded. "I love you too."

They kissed then. A slow, sweet kiss. It was passionate, but not intense. Alexander was keenly aware of how John smelled like cheap Kroger-brand soap and detergent, a blend that normally would not have pleased Alexander's nose. He was aware of how John's lips were chapped from being bit too much, of just how curly and thick John's hair was. He felt how soft John's skin was, how everything about him seemed to contrast Alexander. He loved how the kiss tasted of hope, as if the two men were signing the promise of recovery. John's bitter past was on his chapped lips, but there was hope in the smooth spots.

Mostly, Alexander was aware of how right it felt.

That was the man he loved, and by God, he was going to love John until October twenty-eighth, the day he was supposed to die.

None of them really realised the importance of that date.