A/N: I usually don't include names in my work, and since this one doesn't include physical features either, you get to choose who is who. You're welcome
"I think I'm…addicted to you. Addicted to chaos, yes?"
Poison words curl like smoke around my ears. Lips at my neck, lips that are used to being twisted around a venomous white cigarette. Hands, palm, fingers splayed on my waist. Fingers that are long and thin and nimble like a syringe.
(Tap the bubbles to the top.
Slide beneath his skin.
Push.)
(The only way to kill an addiction is to kill an addict.)
"Addicted to chaos, yes?"
Chaos, abuse, love. Side effects may include sweating, shivering, chest pains, or death. That's a lot to risk.
Is it worth it for the high you get? I think.
His arms snake around my tiny body.
Would you die just to be right here, right now?
Syringe fingers, pianist fingers drum on xylophonic ribs. Lips pressed to my sternum.
My arms behind my head, I say, "What would you do for me?"
"Anything."
Anything.
(The only way to kill an addiction is to kill the addict.)
Addicted to chaos, he had said, but he was wrong. Addicted to abuse. Addicted to love. Addicted to me.
The side effects list forgot lapse in judgment.
Anything, he had said.
"Really?"
Closes his eyes, smiles and nods. Runs a flat palm over my abdomen.
Control the substance, control the addict.
"Even this?"
Open his hand, place a gun there. Sleek and black. Mechanical.
"Don't worry, I already emptied it." Smile sweetly. First lie I've told all day, and it's already evening.
"Go on."
(The only way to kill an addiction is to kill the addict.)
Close my eyes. Smile again.
Teeth click against metal.
Gun in his mouth, cocked.
Pull the trigger.