Addict
i
The easiest way to kill yourself is to look in a mirror and smash it.
Yohji's hand faltered on the diary page he was currently writing on. Said quota had seemed to gain purpose from the back of his mind to fresh, ink-formed words. If he remembered correctly it came from the ramblings of a guy like himself who ended up in front of a bar, more than ready to spill his guts on opinions ranging from ice cream to pollution.
The blonde was known for a more or less hidden skill of drawing, something that surfaced when his hands decided to move of their own accord. However lately he had taken to an old-fashioned method-a journal, used mainly in the sleepless hours of his nights.
Blank, faded pages of a book long overdue in its usage seemed to taunt him forward.
His sense of smell randomly returned to him in a rush, and like a cascade of sensation his nose was awash in the results of chain smoking and wafts of spilt liquor on his clothing.
"…stupid…stupid clock-bastard even….yeah."
Again the book pulled at his dormant thoughts, and in his world it was literally speaking in a soothing yet urging tone for him to explain this hatred of time.
A lump of nausea rose within the assassin's throat and dangerously near a mouth void of saliva. Perhaps a physical reaction he himself triggered at the mere thought of considering his problems at the moment.
No, it just couldn't be done.
You see the hatred has more than one legion. The manipulator of wires would be more than willing to turn his own weapons against himself…to fall into pieces like his shattered reflection would do.
Another question soundlessly screamed up at him. Why so down in the dumps? Why give a shit? Do you even feel emotions right now? They always said reality was a cold, harsh place.
He decided to start questioning it back. What do you do when, instead of losing your mind like you would when gazing up at the stars, one is forced to wander throughout thoughts scattered against one's will?
The echoes of a humid Tokyo city drifted towards him on a breeze through a single, open window, and this breeze whispered to him mentions of her. What would she think if she knew what you were up to these days? Would she judge you? Would she even look at you?
With a splintering sound the pen broke a split-second later in the blonde's clenched fist. Ink slowly leaked out, eating up his current diary page. Emerald-green eyes roved over the last few paragraphs he couldn't remember writing, pupils dilating as if the creeping liquid was an oncoming predator.
I'm the play boy, right? Everyone's favourite party boy…fuck boy…hell boy. That empty shell who tries to escape from the tainted being that he is by drowning himself in booze and cigarettes, right? When I'm sober I'm sure I laugh at people in my mind, 'cause this fuck-up gets so much worse.
I'm Yohji Kudou and I'm addicted to cocaine.
A/N:
The kind of thing you can expect from the continuation of this fiction is a closer look on a problem that I myself have experienced before and got over and figured that Balinese of Weiss seemed a perfect target for my experiment. I want to give as best a description as I can of the effects this drug has on an individual and to show the downhill inevitability it leads to.
Disclaimer:
I do not own any of the contents or characters of Weiss, I'm just using them 'cause they're that god-damned cool.
