Hiya. I know it's been awhile since I've last posted anything but life has been a mess as of late.
So here's something I played around with a bit. Tried a different point of view yadda yadda. It started of as swapping POV but reading back over it, it was a mess, so I twigged it into soemthing more readable.
Actually wrote this during my lunchbreak at work, guess who loves their job.
I haven't had any personal experiences with drugs myself, except for a few friends, so I apologise for any inaccuracies. I also apologise for my spelling in advance.
I don't own anything.
He sat and observed. The way the light hit the uncovered pane of glass and spread though-out the expanse of the room, illuminating the sparse area. The shadows cast created a striking contrast, adding depth to the bareness.
A breeze made it's way through the open window, tussling the occupants long mess of hair.
Probably could do with a wash, he thought to himself, knowing that by now he must look a right state. His deduction was further proven when he caught a wiff of himself. There was one problem though, saying and doing are two completely different things.
He brushed his matted hair out of his face, only to have it flop back down in defiance, his arm once again returning to his side.
He went back to watching. Even when the light dimmed, leaving the shadows to spread and embrace every surface. He watched as the bare branches rustled in the cool, evening breeze.
When the moon was high, and the night was still, he eventually pulled himself to his unsteady feet. He'd much rather return to his spot on the floor, but his stomach had other plans for him. After he pulled on a pair of ratty, old jeans, he stumbled out of the room.
It seemed he wasn't the only one who had decided that they were in need of a midnight snack, as his brother was half in the fridge, his frame illuminated by the fridge light, show-casing his muscular build.
Alfred turned around, cold pizza in hand, "Hey Matt" he mumbled, slouching over the table before commencing to shovel the leftovers into his mouth.
Matthew hummed in response, shuffling through the contents of the fridge before pulling seemingly half of its' contents into his arms.
Alfred's eyes watched him as he nudged the door shut with a boney hip. and continued to as Matthew dumped the food onto the table.
Matthew failed to recognise the look in his brother's eyes, his attention now solely on the feast set out before him.
The silence was punctured by chewing and the occasional chuckle, courtesy of Alfred.
"Jeez Mattie, where do you put all that?" he commented, gesturing to the spread in-front of the skinny teen, which had already diminished to under half its original size.
Matthew finished chewing whatever it was that he shoved into his mouth, and after swallowing rewarded Alfred with a response. "A magician never reveals his secrets Al, didn't Arthur teach you anything?" Matthew laughed, remembering he and Al's childhood friend who'd always had such a fascination with magic and the occult. He was oblivious to the sudden plummet the mood had taken, the previous content replaced with a one-sided tenseness.
Usually the silence would've bothered Matthew, seeing as this was Alfred, the boy who couldn't sit still and who didn't know the definition of the word quiet. This time though, he didn't care, not even registering how out of character his twin was being.
"How is he by the way, doing well?" his brother asked with false cheer, his meal long forgotten.
Pulling the remaining pizza towards himself, Matthew shrugged.
"Well he's still with Francis, and they're the same as ever, fighting and fucking, as per usual." he finished with a smile, fondly recalling memories of the 'happy' couple, and times he had shared with them and the rest of their group.
Alfred flinched at the news, still sore by the fact that his best friend had left him for the French boy and the lifestyle that the foreigner had dragged both him and his brother into.
"That reminds me Al, what day is it?" Matthew asked, picking up fallen pizza toppings before eating them, waste not want not.
"It's Thursday Matthew." Alfred replied monotonously, staring at his brother who had burst into laughter.
"Man I'll have to let Lars know about that, he'll be proud of that mix." Matthew wheezed, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye, he noted the confused look his brother now sported.
"Why would it matter if today was Thursday or not anyway?" Alfred enquired, though eternally cringing, being all to aware of the answer and knowing that he wouldn't like it.
"Well, I guess I've been in my room since Tuesday, or at least I think it was Tuesday," he pondered, "Anyway, I've been totally out of it since then, courtesy of Lars, whose been experimenting with some new blends. Man he grows and mixes the best shit, you should give it a shot sometime." he added fondly, smiling sadly as Alfred shook his head in answer.
Alfred wanted to add something, say anything, he was the hero for Christ sake. Though he knew as hard as he tried, and he had tried, more than anyone else had with the what was happening to his once upon a time friends and brother, his efforts were all for naught.
Seeing the gaunt figure in-front of him, covered in filth and grime, a sickly shadow of his former self, yet in utter contentment and even happiness that he now oozed, he knew that some people didn't want to be saved. Not his brother, not Arthur, not any of them who'd become the crowd that parents warn their children about.
It made him feel like a failure, like he couldn't accomplish anything.
As Alfred was trapped within his internal monologue, Matthew had cleared up the discussed plates and refuse in the kitchen and was now heading up to the bathroom.
Matthew's eyes skimmed over his reflection. Over the protruding ribs, the bruises, hickyes and tattoos that marred his previously pristine, pale skin. He peeled off the bandages clinging to his flesh, revealing partially healed burns, needle marks and lacerations.
Standing under the steaming shower-head, he let the water wash away the second skin that clung to him. Lathering and rinsing, he washed his hair until the tangles were all but gone. Satisfied with his new state of cleanliness, he lent back and let the warm water cascade over his worn body til it ran cold. He wrapped a towel around his waist, and made his way back to his room.
He pulled on some clothes, not really putting much effort into it, ran his fingers through his wet hair before pulling it back into a low pony tail, climbing onto the branch outside his window and clambering down the tree.
Matthew hummed as he walked down the darkened street, having successfully smashed all street-lights within walking distance with Gilbert and Arthur the week before.
He skipped and glided down the middle of the road, dancing to his own private symphony.
Contemplating whether to leave this as a one-shot or to continue, so FEEDBACK PLEASE!