Yay, I'm back!! I couldn't log onto here for the longest time, so I had to make a new account, anyways, this is a what if after story
I don't own any of the characters in this story except for Matthew
No. He tipped his head back to swallow the vomit that had creeped up his throat. No. he wouldn't do it again. He leaned forward on the bare floor, his knees drawn up to his chin. No. he closed his eyes against the brightness of the room. He had to keep hold of himself. He placed two grubby hands on each side of his head, as if to hold his mind. He could keep control of his body, it was his body. He took a deep breath and felt the pain start to decrease. Just as he let a small, tight smile break free, the pain came back full force. A burning steel blade plunged deep into his gut, boiling his insides.
He stood up wobbily and the pain traveled throughout his body.
"Aaaaa" he let out a breath and fell to his hands and knees. One hand slid around his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut so tight he thought they may never open again.
But they did, just enough to reveal the concrete floor and lead him to freedom. He started to lurch across the barren apartment to a blanket near the corner. There was no controlling it, he had to do it. This thought bubbled up through the swamp of his mind.
"No!" he yelled out in pain and defeat. But he knew this was the way it had to be. He didn't protest as his body scraped and scuffed closer to the corner. Whimpers formed deep in his throat and came out high pitched but disheartened. Sweat trickled through his skinhead cut and mingled with his tears to burn his eyes. His teeth were bared against the blinding heat in his stomach.
His lanky, thin body finally hit against the wall beside the blanket and slumped down to the floor. He took in a shuddering breath then began to fumble with the instruments and chemicals on the worn blanket. He could almost do it with his eyes closed, almost.
When the syringe was ready he pulled off his belt. Holding back the urge to throw up, he tightened the belt around his upper arm. Then he feebly slapped the veins into appearance around his elbow joint. He didn't even feel the needle go in, but he knew it had worked.
He began to float away, his mind separated from his prison of a body and a sickly grin plastered to his face.
I don't own any of the characters in this story except for Matthew
No. He tipped his head back to swallow the vomit that had creeped up his throat. No. he wouldn't do it again. He leaned forward on the bare floor, his knees drawn up to his chin. No. he closed his eyes against the brightness of the room. He had to keep hold of himself. He placed two grubby hands on each side of his head, as if to hold his mind. He could keep control of his body, it was his body. He took a deep breath and felt the pain start to decrease. Just as he let a small, tight smile break free, the pain came back full force. A burning steel blade plunged deep into his gut, boiling his insides.
He stood up wobbily and the pain traveled throughout his body.
"Aaaaa" he let out a breath and fell to his hands and knees. One hand slid around his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut so tight he thought they may never open again.
But they did, just enough to reveal the concrete floor and lead him to freedom. He started to lurch across the barren apartment to a blanket near the corner. There was no controlling it, he had to do it. This thought bubbled up through the swamp of his mind.
"No!" he yelled out in pain and defeat. But he knew this was the way it had to be. He didn't protest as his body scraped and scuffed closer to the corner. Whimpers formed deep in his throat and came out high pitched but disheartened. Sweat trickled through his skinhead cut and mingled with his tears to burn his eyes. His teeth were bared against the blinding heat in his stomach.
His lanky, thin body finally hit against the wall beside the blanket and slumped down to the floor. He took in a shuddering breath then began to fumble with the instruments and chemicals on the worn blanket. He could almost do it with his eyes closed, almost.
When the syringe was ready he pulled off his belt. Holding back the urge to throw up, he tightened the belt around his upper arm. Then he feebly slapped the veins into appearance around his elbow joint. He didn't even feel the needle go in, but he knew it had worked.
He began to float away, his mind separated from his prison of a body and a sickly grin plastered to his face.