A Life Worth Living?

5 weeks. It had lasted 5 whole weeks. It wasn't as long as he had expected, but it still felt like an eternity. As soon as they had sent him away he knew it wouldn't last, he wouldn't stay on the tracks. How could he? When his mind was clear he could think, he could see the world for what it was and feel the guilt clawing at him. The guilt of not doing more to make the world a better place, for failing in what he had set out to do a long time ago. But most painfully of all, his conscience bit at him for no longer caring.

There comes a time when you can simply do no more. Jack knew he had passed that time and place long ago, and there was no going back. After he took the Salazar's down he was beat; he'd had enough of the fight against terror. But still he'd fought on, to prevent a deadly outbreak, to save lives. He didn't like to admit it, but at time he often wondered if the lives were worth saving.

The people would never know what he had done for them, never appreciate his sacrifice. They would go on living life, complaining about the government which did so much to protect them. Was it worth it?

When he was thinking straight he had to deal with the voices which would question the worth of his sacrifice, and that scared him. He wasn't supposed to ask such questions, he was supposed to act and not think, be detached. Only he didn't want to be detached anymore. When he was high the voices never came, he didn't have to think about his guilt, he didn't have to convince himself he should care. He didn't have to do anything.

Why should he pretend to be something he wasn't, he wondered? Rehab had been hellish, and then only thing that got him through it was the knowledge that he would never have to do it again. And of course, knowing that the next hit would be so much sweeter and last so much longer due to the wait. The fog would be thicker than ever.

CTU wasn't for him anymore, but then nothing was. He had started up the pretence of wanting to work when he had returned. Why not, the rehab had to have been for something, and if he didn't work, didn't feel the guilt or pain of this world the drugs wouldn't provide such satisfactory escapism. Each mans freedom has its price and he was willing to pay it.

He had shot up at home, that very first time after being clean. He had rode the waves of ecstasy in a comatose state, not wanting to come round, he wanted to dream forever. But eventually he did and like a hangover from alcohol, he felt the itch beneath his skin, the needle calls quickly. He fulfilled it too, and soon was on a tighter rota with the junk than ever before.

He was coming around from his last hit one morning when he realised he would have problems concerning CTU. He wanted to work there to make the hits worthwhile, but the weekly drug tests would reveal his secret immediately. He had been confused as the thoughts had sluggishly filtered through his mind, it was a no win situation.

The answer had hit him moments later and made him giggle like a little child at the circus. Why do the drug test at all? Why submit himself to explanations and excuses for his habit, his friend? He wouldn't, he didn't want to hide away, he didn't want to feel the self hatred he used to feel as the needle slid into his vein. The hits would always be worthwhile as he would always be plagued with guilt and pain. He should freely enjoy the only thing he could trust, the only thing which would stand by his side no matter how hard things got. Surely he deserved that?

He had packed up the few things needed with a grin on his face as he fought through the clouds of the drug. Why live a life not worth living, why live a lie? He should go, run away from LA and the shadows that followed him. Why stay? There was no answer worth giving, he had nothing here. Nobody could save him, and he didn't care. He wanted to embrace the darkness that lay ahead. It was all he needed, and in truth, all he deserved.

He had planned to run, just drive away but now he realised even that wasn't necessary. He was alone, he wouldn't be bothered by anybody. They could take his God damn car for all they cared, he'd already removed his hidden stash from underneath the drivers seat so it wasn't needed. Everything he needed was right there with him. A few clean syringes, a big case of his friend and a lock on the door. He wouldn't be disturbed as he ran towards an eternity of ecstasy.

Kim would never know, hell, he wasn't even certain of her location right now. CTU would worry when he didn't turn up, but even that didn't matter. He could email them his resignation and he would never have to speak to another agent again. They couldn't make him come back, he thought with satisfaction, he would never go back there.

It was the thing which had killed him inside, but still presented quite a paradox. CTU had took his wife away, ruined him, taken him to places he never wanted to see. But by destroying his humanity it had given him the only thing he could live for, the only thing worth living for. Heroin. He couldn't condemn it for that.

Given the choice, of course he would give up the drug to have his wife back, and a loving daughter. But it wasn't going to happen. Heroin was the only thing which could give him peaceful dreams of his family from another time, another world almost.

He had learnt long ago that things aren't always as they seem, to look for some hidden agenda. But now alone, nothing but himself and a needle, nothing was concealed. He had everything he wanted, everything he had lost. Heroin could reproduce the happiest moments of his life, and the bad ones, the dark ones were never seen. He would live and die in bliss.

Life meant nothing to him, but with the drug it was everything. It was the only thing he wanted, and in truth, it was the only thing he had left. It wouldn't desert him when the times got hard, and it wouldn't betray him. It would kill him eventually, but what did that matter, when he had no life to live without it?

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