Storm, Meet Raine

The Rekindling of Hate.

Give me your thoughts. And read the description first.
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HIM.

     "Bro, sniff, inject, smoke, eat, or drink one more drug. Just one, and I'll have you drowning in self sorrow."

     He's a drug addict. And it's not your typical marijuana and ecstasy. He's on Krokodil. The world's worst drug, I mean that shit can break down your skin. Look it up, it's nasty as hell.

"Can't have me feeling sorrowful if I'm on the drug." He sings, making me sneer.

This is my roommate, Sin. His name is Simon, but it sounds like a pussy name, so we agreed on Sin.

"Cut it out, I'm not joking with you today." I grunt, folding my jerseys for our preseason tournament. When he first started it, I was wary of the whole thing, but he promised it was only going to be a one time thing.

I brushed it off, knowing damn well once you start doing drugs, especially shit like that, there's no going back. Oh, but he was so confident, the fuck up.

"Loosen up, tight ass." Sin waves me off, examining the needle. "Rumors say it kicks in like this," he snaps his fingers, "Two minutes and you're fucked." He grins excitedly.

"Are you demented?" I look at the three total needles scattered across his bedside table and I pick one up, inspecting it. "Two minutes—you should be expecting to kick the bucket immediately."

"Hey, it would be worth it. You only live once, you know." He shrugs, tilting the needle back and forth in awe.

"Did you stab yourself already? Because what just left your mouth was so idiotic..." I look at him condescendingly, much to his annoyance.

"Would you stop being a dad, and let me do me?" He sighs.

"When you die, don't expect me to come to your funeral." I spit, and he recoils slightly, as if I my words hit hard.

"Look man, I just lost my girl." He says quietly, his eyes trained on the needle as he plays with it between his fingers. "It's just this one time. You know me, I have self restraint."

Grunting, I leave the room and slam the door behind me. I wouldn't give a fuck if his mother died a tragic death, there's no need for that kind of grieving.

Kick a wall, fuck another guy up, but don't tell yourself this bullshit about how it's just one time, and you won't get addicted because you don't know how the hell your body will react to it.

"I'm not joking with you either, man." Sin brings me back to reality. I chuckle humorlessly. It was funny back then, when I came back into the room and found him doing a fucking headstand.

It was funny when he jumped around, skipping across the room like a Mexican jumping bean, screaming about how he was going to get laid.

It used to be funny.

Now it's just disgusting. "You look fucking repulsive. I keep telling you to consider rehab and you're shrugging it off like you're not about to die."

He rolls his eyes before injecting himself, his way of telling me he's done listening to me. He doesn't understand how serious this is, and as of now, I'm done bitching to him.

I sound like my mother.

I throw in hygienic things from my bathroom and I pack extra clothes because I'm definitely looking forward to finding a good lay after this tournament.