Addict

"You do anything long enough to escape the habit of living, until the escape becomes the habit."

Lost in the mull of euphoria, I rose up from the bed. The sky was grey; almost black and just as unforgiving. No, I wouldn't give in again. Caught me twice but never thrice, no. Not this time.

Rain was drizzling down the window down by this point and I sat on the windowsill - far out of trouble but still in full view of a bleak, grey world - in nothing but my underwear and his over-sized shirt. The windowsill was my favourite place to sit as it looked out of the city which I had come to know so well in the past few weeks. There was a fire inside my veins and the flames occasionally ghosted over my head, threatening to explode into flames. I'd done it again. Thrice.

Three. Two. One...one, two three. He was nothing but a drug; dangerous, bitter-sweet and offered nothing but a thirty minute high before sending my body into a state of lock-down, throwing me into the claws of addiction.

Three. Two. One. One. Two. Three. It hurt. My arm stung. It hurt so much so much to know he didn't love me as much as I loved him. In between the heartache and anger, I loved him; for his flaws and addictive nature. I loved him more than anyone and anything.

I shouldn't have loved him. He was dangerous, as sick addiction I had and amongst the pain, I wanted him to be mine and only mine.

Four, five, six...seven, eight, nine.

That's how many steps there were to the roof top. Yes, it was lashing it down now and I was soaked within two minutes, yet the fire in my body continued to burn, invincible to the moisture. My hair hugged my scalp. He hadn't followed me yet, not like he followed me every where else, always looming over my shoulder like a predator, something waiting to rip out my insides.

I teased fate and stepped closer to the edge. The rain stung now and made my skin look red in the waning light.

Tomorrow meant nothing. Yesterday meant everything...

Maybe I was too jaded by this point because I didn't care when he called my name. I didn't care when he yelled for me to move away from the edge. I didn't care when he voice broke with pain... And I definitely didn't care when I lost my footing.

I did care however, when he grabbed me by the wrist. I did care when I felt the most excruciating pain possess my shoulder. I did care when I heard a snap and felt my body convulse with shock. I cared when he laid me down on the bed and screamed at me while I writhed in pain, gripping not my shoulder or my wrist, but my arm. My arm stung. My arm really fucking stung. Why wasn't he doing anything about my arm?

Nine, one, one...they were the numbers he dialled desperately on my cell phone, the cell phone I bought with the money I made that week from my new business.

He screamed at me again after hanging up, words that I can remember clearly now, "Why can't you see what you're doing to yourself?"

Five minutes and the sirens finally switched off. The sun was coming up just as I was coming down. Words like "over-dose" and "addict" were thrown around. These people were crazy! It was impossible for me to over-dose; I didn't even take that much! I wasn't addicted. I could quit any time I wanted! Dull, deep voices shrouded me, telling me I'd be okay. He insisted I was a silly, silly man, but I knew to trust him. He was a doctor. I had to trust him.

And then it hit me again.

Three, two, one... that's how long it's taking for the morphine to run through my veins, reviving that familiar burning sensation. Dr. Kyouya Ootori has satiated my need for that unexplainable euphoria once again.

ad·dict/ˈadikt/Noun

1. A person who is addicted to a particular substance, typically an illegal drug.

2. An enthusiastic devotee of a specified thing or activity

Kyouya Ootori and Tamaki Suoh. AU.