Pt. 6 Will Power
Steve and Dwayne drove in silence the entire way home. Both still in shock over what just
took place. They finally pulled in the drive and Steve killed the truck.
"If he's still here, remember, you picked a fight with me."
"Yeah, and I won." Dwayne smirked as he opened the passenger side door.
"Oh, whatever. We'll just leave that part out." Steve grinned as they walked up the
steps and opened the front door. As they passed through the kitchen, Steve noticed Mick
on the couch. Mick looked up and immediately noticed Steve's swollen lip.
"What the hell happened to you?" Steve acted real tired and pointed to Dwayne.
"Son-of-a-bitch picked a fight with me." He made sure his tone carried anger. Dwayne
also looked upset and gave Steve a hostile glare as he passed by him.
"You deserved it too, you bastard." He paused to give Steve another glare. "I'm tired.
I'm going to bed." He 'limped' into the bedroom and closed the door. Mick looked
at Steve for a long time. Steve sat in the chair and felt his swollen lip. He noticed Mick
staring at him.
"What?!"
"He picked a fight with you?" Mick obviously doubted it.
"Yeah! He had a withdrawal fit and just went crazy!" Steve hoped Mick wouldn't go
confirm with Dwayne. They hadn't went over the details.
"A withdrawal fit?" Mick's tone was almost sarcastic. Steve was getting paranoid.
"Yeah." Steve was tempted to say 'duh' but knew it would sound childish. Mick ran his
eyes over Steve before nodding.
"I think I know who won." He got up and went to the kitchen before Steve had the
chance to argue.
****************************
Dwayne sat down on the bed and dug the bag out of his jacket pocket. He held it in his
hands, rolling it around with his fingers. He held it under his nose and took a deep breath,
closing his eyes as the familiar scent filled his nostrils. He exhaled sharply and looked at the bag.
This single bag has caused so much damage to his life in such a short while. He lost his
family, his job, and some of his friends. He wondered why he even started doing it. He
tried to think back to the first time. He couldn't. He remembered a fellow wrestler had
told him how to do it and wanted to know if he could buy some off of him. Dwayne
denied, knowing that the guy had a addiction problem and couldn't be at fault for his
firing. Now it was Dwayne with the addiction problem. That revelation hit him hard.
Addict. He was an addict. What does his wife think of him? She had seen him shoot up a
few times but never said anything. She probably passed it off as a temporary way to relive
stress. It was at first. But he always managed to keep his high private and away from his
wife. But he couldn't keep it hid for long. His uses were getting closer together and he
needed more and more each time. He knew he was starting to get emotionally abusive towards her
but she always forgave him. It wasn't until he arrived home one night and found his
clothes packed in the yard was when he realized that he might have went too far. He never
remembered hitting her, though. The thought disturbed him. He could have hit his wife
without even knowing about it.
How would he ever see his family again if he died because of an overdose? What would
the media do to them? His child would grow up without a father and his wife would be a
widow at 32. How could he let all this happen? He never meant for it to get like this. He
wasted half a year for a high. A non-realistic world that he couldn't even remember once
he sobered up. What the hell was he doing? He was stronger then this. He knew he was.
He endured countless injuries and hospital visits along with other wrestlers and they all
managed to stay off drugs. Why couldn't he? Was he weak? Hell no! Even if he couldn't
do it on his own, he sure as hell is going to try.
Dwayne's hands started to shake and his breathing quickened. A million thoughts were
racing through his head all at once. His stomach started churning and he felt like he was
going to throw up. He tightened his grip on the bag and made his way to the bathroom.
He took the scissors from the drawer and held them tight in his sweaty hand, watching the
metal glisten in the light. He quickly cut a long slit in the bag. Pausing briefly to look at
the white powder inside. He then tipped the bag over and dumped the contents in the
toilet. The tiny particles drifting up in the air. Once the bag was empty, he flushed the
toilet and watched as the drugs disappeared down the drain. He stood like that for several
moments until he felt his legs getting weak, his last ounce of energy giving way. He
slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, drawing his knees up an burying his face in
his hands.
End of Pt. 6 Review PLEASE!!!!
Steve and Dwayne drove in silence the entire way home. Both still in shock over what just
took place. They finally pulled in the drive and Steve killed the truck.
"If he's still here, remember, you picked a fight with me."
"Yeah, and I won." Dwayne smirked as he opened the passenger side door.
"Oh, whatever. We'll just leave that part out." Steve grinned as they walked up the
steps and opened the front door. As they passed through the kitchen, Steve noticed Mick
on the couch. Mick looked up and immediately noticed Steve's swollen lip.
"What the hell happened to you?" Steve acted real tired and pointed to Dwayne.
"Son-of-a-bitch picked a fight with me." He made sure his tone carried anger. Dwayne
also looked upset and gave Steve a hostile glare as he passed by him.
"You deserved it too, you bastard." He paused to give Steve another glare. "I'm tired.
I'm going to bed." He 'limped' into the bedroom and closed the door. Mick looked
at Steve for a long time. Steve sat in the chair and felt his swollen lip. He noticed Mick
staring at him.
"What?!"
"He picked a fight with you?" Mick obviously doubted it.
"Yeah! He had a withdrawal fit and just went crazy!" Steve hoped Mick wouldn't go
confirm with Dwayne. They hadn't went over the details.
"A withdrawal fit?" Mick's tone was almost sarcastic. Steve was getting paranoid.
"Yeah." Steve was tempted to say 'duh' but knew it would sound childish. Mick ran his
eyes over Steve before nodding.
"I think I know who won." He got up and went to the kitchen before Steve had the
chance to argue.
****************************
Dwayne sat down on the bed and dug the bag out of his jacket pocket. He held it in his
hands, rolling it around with his fingers. He held it under his nose and took a deep breath,
closing his eyes as the familiar scent filled his nostrils. He exhaled sharply and looked at the bag.
This single bag has caused so much damage to his life in such a short while. He lost his
family, his job, and some of his friends. He wondered why he even started doing it. He
tried to think back to the first time. He couldn't. He remembered a fellow wrestler had
told him how to do it and wanted to know if he could buy some off of him. Dwayne
denied, knowing that the guy had a addiction problem and couldn't be at fault for his
firing. Now it was Dwayne with the addiction problem. That revelation hit him hard.
Addict. He was an addict. What does his wife think of him? She had seen him shoot up a
few times but never said anything. She probably passed it off as a temporary way to relive
stress. It was at first. But he always managed to keep his high private and away from his
wife. But he couldn't keep it hid for long. His uses were getting closer together and he
needed more and more each time. He knew he was starting to get emotionally abusive towards her
but she always forgave him. It wasn't until he arrived home one night and found his
clothes packed in the yard was when he realized that he might have went too far. He never
remembered hitting her, though. The thought disturbed him. He could have hit his wife
without even knowing about it.
How would he ever see his family again if he died because of an overdose? What would
the media do to them? His child would grow up without a father and his wife would be a
widow at 32. How could he let all this happen? He never meant for it to get like this. He
wasted half a year for a high. A non-realistic world that he couldn't even remember once
he sobered up. What the hell was he doing? He was stronger then this. He knew he was.
He endured countless injuries and hospital visits along with other wrestlers and they all
managed to stay off drugs. Why couldn't he? Was he weak? Hell no! Even if he couldn't
do it on his own, he sure as hell is going to try.
Dwayne's hands started to shake and his breathing quickened. A million thoughts were
racing through his head all at once. His stomach started churning and he felt like he was
going to throw up. He tightened his grip on the bag and made his way to the bathroom.
He took the scissors from the drawer and held them tight in his sweaty hand, watching the
metal glisten in the light. He quickly cut a long slit in the bag. Pausing briefly to look at
the white powder inside. He then tipped the bag over and dumped the contents in the
toilet. The tiny particles drifting up in the air. Once the bag was empty, he flushed the
toilet and watched as the drugs disappeared down the drain. He stood like that for several
moments until he felt his legs getting weak, his last ounce of energy giving way. He
slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, drawing his knees up an burying his face in
his hands.
End of Pt. 6 Review PLEASE!!!!
