Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The first time that Aaron had used fentanyl, he'd thought that he was dying. For a moment, it seemed like nothing was happening and was waiting desperately for the high to kick in, sure that Leon had given him fake. And then it had hit him suddenly. Within seconds, it felt as if all of the atoms in his body were at war with the other and then suddenly, it had all gone silent. His breath was caught in his throat and Aaron was certain that this was it. Aaron had finally gone and done it. He'd succeeded in ending his life and only then when his parents would find him his body, empty and without life, would they realize just how far he'd departed from the boy they'd raised.
But Aaron had felt a strange twinge of a feeling, that if he dug deep enough, he could describe as joy. And he could not explain it. He'd been certain that he was finally a rest. But the feelings, the strange suspension had left just as quickly as it came.
And then, euphoria.
He was certain that he'd done it then. He'd finally found the high that he'd been chasing for so long. Aaron was finally happy. He was at peace. Until it had worn away eventually and the world somehow felt more unbearable than it had before.
Aaron could not go back to that.
There was no discernible way that Aaron was getting out of this without any consequences. Just as there was no way that his father would not find out that he'd skipped today's session. Aaron wasn't completely sure that he cared, not at this moment at least. Aaron could not bring himself to care about anything at the moment.
Aaron was there right on time. Fifteen minutes past three. His presence drawing the attention of flitting eyes that would soon pass over him just as quickly as they'd found him. Every so often, a pair of eyes would land on him with strange determination, nearly always as he had come to learn, attempting to figure out where it was that they recognized the boy from. Aaron had devised a strategy a while ago of simply staring back, just as unwavering as they were. Most often, they looked away.
The little boy did not. Never did, no matter how long Aaron stared at him for.
Aaron had been to this very café twice already this week. Initially, he'd stopped because he'd been hungry, being high did that to him. He'd seen the boy then too although he hadn't taken much notice. The second time, Aaron had only stayed because he liked the ambience of the café. The second time, he'd taken notice of the boy. Not much younger than him but not old enough to be on his own. Aaron couldn't be sure but he could safely assume that the woman with the hair neatly pulled back in a bun and exhaustion evident in her eyes was his mother.
The second time, the boy had locked his eyes on him, but it had not been in the familiar way that Aaron had grown accustomed to. The way that told him they might have recognized him from somewhere. The boy seemed to look past the hoodie that Aaron used to obscure most of his face and stared right at him. Aaron had stared back, and he'd broken eye contact first.
