Last chapter :( There's still an epilogue, though. I've already written it but it might not go up until tomorrow. I want to post the epilogue and the first chapter of the sequel at the same time, so it depends on when I get that done. Thank you to every single person who has ever read this, especially the people who review. You all mean the world to me, even if I don't reply to every single one of you!

Breaking The Habit
Chapter Fifty: Instigate
Eric

I unconsciously begin shaking my head, even though the sight of the vial, one dose exactly, has made me realize just how deep into withdrawal I actually am. Smashing all my stores seemed like a good idea at the time, but all it actually did was make me weak just in time for battle. The pounding headache isn't just from a broken nose, the dry mouth not from nervousness, the heavy limbs not just from fatigue and injury. In truth, I need it to function, no matter how fucked up it sounds. And she is offering me the key, in the midst of rebellion, to feeling normal again.

"Where did you get this?" I stutter, taking it from her and holding it up to the light of a streetlamp. It's definitely Instigate, I would recognize it anywhere. The thought of her going to a dealer, especially some of the ones I've done business with, makes me sick.

"Don't worry about that." She definitely went to a dealer. I can only hope they didn't ask too much of her. "You need it. Don't pretend you're okay."

"I'm fine. I can handle it." It isn't a lie, exactly, but it's not quite the truth either. I've been through withdrawal stints worse than this. But then, I've also never had a broken nose and a hole in my foot while going through withdrawal. I could definitely use this vial right now. But then I remember Asher, and how I caused her death, and I'm filled with the urge to throw it into the marsh.

"Careful. You might break it." She uncurls my fingers from where they are clutching the vial tightly and takes it from me. "Where's your syringe?"

"I don't want it," I insist halfheartedly.

"Yes, you do. Don't lie." She glares at me. I feel terrible about refusing what was supposed to be a peace offering, but I'm so filled with guilt at this point that I fear my body might physically reject it.

"I do want it. You're right about that. But I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"Is this some guilt thing? You didn't kill Asher, you know." Her Candor bluntness is like a knife to my heart. I know she doesn't mean to hurt me, but she has.

"I might as well have. I was trying to kill myself, you know."

She stops and turns to stare at me. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I just couldn't take anymore. I don't know if I can now."

"I know you can. I mean, you've made it this far, haven't you? Even with that" –she gestures towards my foot— "and your mom and me and all the other shit you've been through the past couple weeks. But you can't keep doing this by yourself. You need help. Let me help you." She holds up the syringe from my bag—I didn't even notice her digging around in it—and this time I feel my resolve weakening. She honestly believes this will be good for me, and part of me believes it as well, jumping for joy at the thought of feeling like a human being again. But I hesitate, remembering Asher, and Christian, and all the other people whose lives I've irreparably fucked up, or ended. She reaches across me to my bag and pulls out the box, empty of my syringe. I feel my resolve weakening further still as she empties the vial into it and begins to tap the side, getting the bubbles out. Am I imagining things, or does the injection site on my arm actually burn? She looks up at me.

"Will you let me help you?" she asks.

Swallowing back all my fears and concerns about what a terrible idea this actually is, I nod. She ties me off expertly—I wonder where she learned to do that, because it definitely wasn't from my fumbling hands—and in minutes my arm is completely numb. I wonder if she figured it out from watching my clumsiness, or if there was more happening at her little Candor parties than she cared to let on. Slowly, she inserts the needle and pushes until the syringe is empty. I know that in a few minutes my head will stop hurting and I will wonder why I ever had second thoughts about this decision, but right now all I feel is sick.

"How are you doing?" she asks, untying my arm and putting the syringe and strip of fabric back into the box, which she then zips into my bag.

"Nauseous," I answer honestly. "We probably shouldn't have done this."

"It'll help. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but it will. You can't just quit cold turkey in the middle of a war." She may have a point, but that doesn't mean I have to feel good about it.

"I have to go now," I say, avoiding how I actually feel. I can't think about that right now; there are more pressing matters at hand. "You'll stay here?"

"For as long as they'll keep me. Maybe some of the others will show up." She shrugs and puts her arms around me. I stay still for a moment, letting her hold me, and then pull back. On instinct, I go to put the empty vial in my pocket—only to stop as it collides with another one. I frown as I pull it out and hold it up to the dim light. Grey liquid fills it almost all the way to the stopper. My hand begins to shake. It's a vial of the death-reversing serum, and it's perfectly intact.

"What's that?" Christina asks, and an idea pushes its way to the front of my mind.

"I can't tell you right now, but you have to trust me when I say it's important." I fold the vial into her hand. "You need to take it. Use it only when you absolutely have to."

"Okay, but seriously, what is it?" She looks down at the vial, squinting as though that will reveal its true nature, and I can't bring myself to tell her. If I do, she might try and bring Will back, and the disappointment in her eyes when I tell her we can't, he is too brain-damaged, would be too much for me to bear.

"Like I said, just trust me." A train horn blares, and I stand. I turn to look back at her and we kiss sadly, knowing that this could be it. After a moment we turn away from each other, and I face the tracks.

"Will I see you again?" she asks, a hint of desperation in her voice.

"Yes," I reply without hesitation. "You will."

Then I get a running start and jump onto the train.