CHAPTER 9
With an hour before the event, Neal pierced his skin and sent the drug in.
The high transcended all for him, it was a beautiful moment of chaos and order, of light and dark, of yes and no. He didn't know how to decide what it was because in the moment, he knew nothing at all. It wasn't worth it for him to think that hard, it didn't matter. He just was.
Then, after the initial, glorious high that he had grown to both hate and love, he settled back into the sofa, dressed to the nines with his sleeve rolled up and a small pinpoint of blood on the inside of his elbow. He sighed, then stood, staggering to the bathroom and grabbing a bandage to place over the wound. He rolled his sleeve down and buttoned his cuff, then stared at himself in the mirror for a moment. He didn't recognize the man looking back at him, and it took him a minute to pinpoint what it was. He still dressed fabulously, his hair was perfectly styled to be just so, his features remained the same, he was even still the same weight. Then, he got it. His eyes. They used to shine with a dewy brightness, and now they looked dull and dark. His pupils were nearly gone as they diminished into pinpricks, and there was a slight shadow under his eyes.
Just his eyes made him look like a completely different man. This fact made him realize if he kept this up, other things would change, and then he would be completely unrecognizable. The transformation would be complete. Perhaps even then he could pretend he was someone else, someone who hadn't lost everything, someone who hadn't abandoned control and was alone in a world where he was scorned for who and what he was. No matter what he got himself into, he was a criminal. This made him sad, for he realized no matter what he did, he would never change. He couldn't. He was an old dog. No new tricks. It just didn't work that way. It never would.
He stared at himself in that mirror for twenty minutes, just staring, studying, analyzing. What went wrong, how he could fix this, how he could fix himself. Was it even worth it?
Who did he have to live for, to be better for? Why should he even try? Kate was gone and it all seemed pointless.
Once he was done contemplating this, at least, for the time being, he wandered back out to the sofa, eyes glazed over and unfocused. He sunk into the couch, staring ahead as he waited for Peter to arrive.
He didn't move until he heard a knock at the door.
Then, he stood, and had evened out for the most part. He wasn't visibly high anymore, and that fact was on his side. He opened the door to a grinning Peter. "You ready for this?"
Neal plastered on a fake grin. "Born ready."
"Let's do this."
They entered the facility, standing in the doorway and staring around. Neal took a deep breath, and entered, holding himself high. Shoulders back, chest out. Perfection. A force to be reckoned with. No one could compare when Neal Caffrey was doing what Neal Caffrey did best. And at that moment, he was his best. Because he had shot up relatively recently and for once, felt complete.
Until two hours into the event Neal was feeling rough around the edges. People, people everywhere. And her, he could swear he saw her every time he turned around. It was making him anxious, it was making him sweat. He found Peter and grabbed onto Peter's arm to stay standing, panting as the dizziness overcame him. "Peter, I need... I need to go."
Peter looked Neal over. "Hey, Neal, you don't look so hot, you should probably take the rest of the night off."
Neal nodded, swallowing, and shutting his eyes. "I'm really sorry, I'm just not feeling myself."
Peter studied Neal, then sighed. "Get outta here, kid. Feel better." He squeezed Neal's shoulder, then watched the young man walk away.
Neal left. And as soon as he arrived home, still shaking and sweating, he reached under the sofa for the gear and worked with it, preparing and setting the syringe against his skin. Neal took a deep breath and slid it in, sighing as he pumped himself full of the drug. He shut his eyes and let the needle fall from his fingers, sitting back and moaning.
His body temperature returned to its normal place, his muscles stopped writhing and contracting, he no longer felt the need to scratch his skin down to the bone. He felt normal. And that felt good. So he let himself fall asleep that way, without cleaning up the evidence.
In the morning, with his good fortune, he woke up alone. No one had dared enter his place of living, no one had discovered his secret. He was alone, completely. And for that, he was thankful.
He sighed as he rose, stumbling to the shower and washing off, washing off the pain and misery from the night before.
When he emerged, clean of dirt and sweat and clean of the drug, he managed to get dressed and head into the office in a slight daze, but managed to do so sober as well.
He first went to his appointment with Jake.
"Neal."
"Jake."
"How's it going?"
"I'm good today, Jake. How are you?"
Jake sat back and studied Neal. "I'm doing great. I see you're sober today."
Neal nodded once. "I am."
"Glad to hear that. Was that difficult for you?"
Neal sat back, mimicking Jake's actions. "Not particularly?"
Jake leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "I don't appreciate being lied to, Neal. There is no point to you being here if you're going to lie to me."
Neal took a deep breath, and was quiet when he replied. "It was hard."
"How long have you been using?"
"A few months."
"And what's your method of administration?"
Neal cleared his throat, looking away. "I used to smoke."
Jake nodded at this. "But now you inject."
Neal nodded, looking down. "Yeah."
"It wasn't working anymore, and that's why you switched, isn't it?"
Neal swallowed. "Yes."
"You use a lot, don't you."
Neal looked up at this. "What?"
"Do you get withdrawal symptoms if you don't use?"
Neal kept his eyes down. "I'm starting to."
"You use a lot. That's why this has happened to you so quickly. You're trying to get somewhere far away."
Neal challenged Jake with this, trying to be casual. "You saying I'm the worst case you've ever seen?"
Jake didn't miss a beat. "Yes, actually."
Neal shut up at that, sitting back on the couch and threading his fingers together. "I'm not that bad."
"But for how bad you are, you have gotten there extremely quick. This is a process that takes a much longer time for most."
Neal looked away. "I understand."
"I get it, you haven't hit bottom yet. But do you really want to have to? Or can we change this now? Before you get that far?"
Neal swallowed. "I don't know."
Jake nodded. "Okay, Neal. When you're ready, let's work this out and get you well again."
Neal nodded, still looking away.
"Thanks."
"No problem, man."
Neal left, heading up to the WCU, and noticed Peter sitting at Neal's desk. He approached cautiously. "Peter?" he began.
Peter glanced up. He smacked the desk once, and smiled. "Neal. How are you today?"
"Feeling better, thank you."
"That's good. You look good."
Neal swallowed, then pointed to his desk. Peter stood, stepping out of the way and letting Neal in. Neal sat, whirled around once in the desk, and sighed, looking back up at Peter.
"What are we up to today?"
Peter nodded into that. "Well, actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. I want you to go home."
Neal blinked. "What was that?"
"You were a wreck at the opening yesterday," Peter explained. "Just get home and get some rest."
"Peter, you can't keep sending me home just because you're scared of what I might do." He leaned in to whisper to Peter. "I'm clean, okay? You can ask Jake."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "Jake... isn't allowed to tell me anything, and you know that." Neal sighed, looking away. "Go home, Neal. And don't do anything stupid."
Neal did anyway.
