Malignant [h.s]

Seventy Three

TRIGGER WARNING!! CHAPTER CONTAINS SUICIDE AND DRUG ABUSE. If you're not comfortable with this topic then please don't read.

Thank you.

(No Point of View)
May 21st 2018

Harry stumbles through the dingy door of the motel room in his half unbuttoned red flannel shirt, once again still on the high from the line he just took a half hour ago. Elizabeth always hates it when he comes home high. He kicks off his old ratty shoes on the stained carpet and instantly looks around the small two bed bedroom and see his sister nowhere in sight.

"Elizabeth." He tries to pronounce as he looks at the empty room through his bloodshot eyes.

His head spins vividly from the cocaine running through his bloodstream- a feeling he was so familiar with now. His eyes eventually adjust and he sees the washroom door is shut at the far end of the room.

Harry's tall body crashes on his junk of a bed, sprawling out on the musty motel comforters while staring at the ceiling, almost hypnotized. The bed of the motel always felt more comfortable when he was high- everything felt more comfortable when he was high.

Cocaine always did the opposite for Harry, it usually sped people up, but for him it slowed his body down. He would always feel more content when we was high on coke- it was by far the best drug for him. Ecstasy made him too paranoid, heroin was too much work and shrooms never had an effect on him. Cocaine was what made him feel right.

He stared at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes and a relaxed face, enjoying the artificial high that been becoming more and more normal. Harry felt infinite when he was like this- he truly felt like he needed no one in life but himself.

His eyes slowly shut, noticing they were getting heavy but he didn't want to stop it. He new he was drifting off into a sleep but even if he didn't want to- he knew it was inevitable. His hands started to go numb which was usual with him at the point.

His eyes shut and his breathing became more quiet and less bothered.

What felt like a twenty minute rest, turned out to be a two hours sleep. Harry laid emotionless and frozen for two hours- letting the images in his head whither him through his high.

His eyes snapped back open, looking at the same ceiling that now looks more dirty from when he was staring at it earlier. He blinks a few times and feels a overwhelming wave of reality wash over him- signalling he was now sober, and miserable again.

Harry sits his tired body up from the suddenly uncomfortable twin bed, adjusting his eyes to the gross room around him. His eyes narrow to the unmade bed next to his- realizing his sister Elizabeth is still not there. The bathroom door remains shut and he immediately feels his blood run cold. He knows he's been asleep for hours and the fact that she still is in their worries him to an unspeakable extent.

"Elizabeth." He says loud enough for us voice to carry through the small room. He knows she obviously won't respond- but he still expects for the door to open to let him know she's in there.

Harry sits for what feels like the longest ten seconds of his life, waiting to hear any type of movement. He slings his tired legs over the bed and onto the ground- fighting the massive headache that pounds at his temples.

His bare feet shuffle to the bathroom door- immediately pounding his fist on it.

"Elizabeth knock on something to tell me your okay." He says sternly- knowing that's how she always communicates when Harry gets nervous like this.