"Please...No more...No more..." I could remember every whimper, every scream that forced it's way fro my chest. They al did. It would never simmer down into a healthier dose of abuse and anger.
"No...No...NO! PLEASE! NO! AH! PLEASE!..." It haunted me sometimes, inflicting some serious fucking case of insomniatic fits. I would shudder at times, knowing that this is what I'd become. Some, 17-year-old, motherfucking...Prick from Slytherin, to a 20-year-old man who is afraid of sleep, can't live without the blunting drugs of...Well, drugs and alcohol, and can't get a girlfriend. Still. This is what I succumbed to, what I fell to. And no ones there to push me back to the top...
'Jet' was blasting in my ears. I wanted to block out everything, Every thought. Every memory. All the fucking shit he put me through. I swear to whatever force is still keeping me alive, I hope he dies.
I sucked gently on the fag hanging from my lips. The smoke drifted through the air like ribbons.