/A/N/ Please reveiw this.. I've worked really hard to get it to work.. I
kept messing up. I know there is only about one author who likes Brad,
please read this anyways.. maybe you should only read it if you don't like
Brad..Oh yeah.. I couldn't think of any New York rehab centres Brad could
afford, so I made one up. oO; I see you shiver with antici..... pation./
Addiction. It laid it's grasps on Brad long before he would've expected.. but being a regular, clean cut kid from Denton, he knew nothing about narcotics, so he knew not what to expect. But a new world had been opened up to him; with all it's heightened elation, and intoxication. He spent less and less time in Denton.. it reminded him of Janet.. and Frank. He held his knees to his chest, as he sat in his parked car and felt himself shaking, he was in withdrawal.
"Where is he?" He mumbled to himself, surveying the streets for his dealer, his skin crawling in anticipation. His disheveled hair hung in his eyes, making him look purposely rugged. The truth was far from that, but he hid it the best he could.
His body shook, but he saw a dark figure turning the corner. Brad shook still, but tried his hardest to appear normal.. healthy. The thoughts were quite humorous.. him, healthy? Who the hell did he think he was kidding. He glanced down at his arms.. scarred and red. His veins were now visible.. purple and bruised. Thoughts of detox.. or rehab were ever lingering on his conscience.. but he couldn't bother with things like that, and they would make him face reality. Brad sighed, but just then, the figure was beside his car, black trench coat covering him almost completely.
Brad opened the door, letting the man in. He glared at him, snarling like an animal. "What the hell is this? You were supposed to be her forty minutes ago! Fuck!"
"Look.. I was tied up at a club.. it's not important, how much y'want."
Brad still kept his eye on the other, but glanced into his wallet quickly. "I've only got eighty bucks... so gimme that much."
He had never really noticed how his grammar had deteriorated in the last month. But it was understandable.. the only real talking he did was short and unintelligent.. but he had no need for intelligence, only money.
He took the black tar like liquid, and started to prepare it. It was amazing he could even maneuver his hands despite his shaking. The man left his car, glaring at Brad this time.
Minutes seemed like hours in the close confinement of the automobile. He watched the drugs bubble, before letting them cool. He was tired.. he wouldn't go out tonight.. just sleep in his car, waiting for morning to take a hold of the city, before he left.
He didn't intend to use everything he had bought, but in his haste, he poured it all into the syringe. He was shaking, and close to tears. He cried all too much these days.. perhaps it was because he knew he was sentencing himself to an early demise. Perhaps it was because this was Brad Majors, voted most likely to succeed in life in his senior year of high school. He just didn't know.
He injected his arm, and waited for a wave of intoxication to hit him. He smiled slightly as it did, his muscles loosening and the tension the riddled his back seemed to evaporate. Checking to see if he had locked his door; he had not lost all of his sensibility; he climbed into the back seat and slept.
!----------------------------------------------------!
When Brad awoke, pale blue walls greeted him, as well as a woman robed in light green leaning over him. He glanced around the room. A window. A door. A single flower in a white vase. That was about all. He tried to lift his arm, but he was too weak.
"Hello?"
He woman, looked up, obviously surprised. Her long chestnut hair pulled back into a perfect pony tail, fell over one shoulder, and she tried to pull her glittering crimson lips into a smile. "Hi..." She said, as her white nursing cap fell onto the bed.
She picked it up, before shuffling away, probably to tell a doctor of his recovery. Brad wondered why he was in the hospital, thoughts streaming through his head. He seemed to have all his limbs, and the only thing that was in pain was his head, which throbbed beyond belief. After a few moments the woman returned with a man, holding a clip board, his eyebrows knitted in thought.
"Hello there, Mr.. Major, I'm Dr. Samson. I suppose you're wondering why you've been admitted here."
Brad nodded, even though it took an incredible amount of effort, he didn't want to try to talk.
"You overdosed an heroine forty-eight hours ago.. and you've been admitted to the Sandra Fewsk Rehabilitation center."
Brad cringed... rehab, detox. This is everything he didn't want. Couldn't he just die in peace? The doctor and nurse watched him for a moment, before they walked off, most likely talking about him.
He looked at the ceiling, knowing it would be a sight he would have to grow used to if he was to go through with this crap.
Addiction. It laid it's grasps on Brad long before he would've expected.. but being a regular, clean cut kid from Denton, he knew nothing about narcotics, so he knew not what to expect. But a new world had been opened up to him; with all it's heightened elation, and intoxication. He spent less and less time in Denton.. it reminded him of Janet.. and Frank. He held his knees to his chest, as he sat in his parked car and felt himself shaking, he was in withdrawal.
"Where is he?" He mumbled to himself, surveying the streets for his dealer, his skin crawling in anticipation. His disheveled hair hung in his eyes, making him look purposely rugged. The truth was far from that, but he hid it the best he could.
His body shook, but he saw a dark figure turning the corner. Brad shook still, but tried his hardest to appear normal.. healthy. The thoughts were quite humorous.. him, healthy? Who the hell did he think he was kidding. He glanced down at his arms.. scarred and red. His veins were now visible.. purple and bruised. Thoughts of detox.. or rehab were ever lingering on his conscience.. but he couldn't bother with things like that, and they would make him face reality. Brad sighed, but just then, the figure was beside his car, black trench coat covering him almost completely.
Brad opened the door, letting the man in. He glared at him, snarling like an animal. "What the hell is this? You were supposed to be her forty minutes ago! Fuck!"
"Look.. I was tied up at a club.. it's not important, how much y'want."
Brad still kept his eye on the other, but glanced into his wallet quickly. "I've only got eighty bucks... so gimme that much."
He had never really noticed how his grammar had deteriorated in the last month. But it was understandable.. the only real talking he did was short and unintelligent.. but he had no need for intelligence, only money.
He took the black tar like liquid, and started to prepare it. It was amazing he could even maneuver his hands despite his shaking. The man left his car, glaring at Brad this time.
Minutes seemed like hours in the close confinement of the automobile. He watched the drugs bubble, before letting them cool. He was tired.. he wouldn't go out tonight.. just sleep in his car, waiting for morning to take a hold of the city, before he left.
He didn't intend to use everything he had bought, but in his haste, he poured it all into the syringe. He was shaking, and close to tears. He cried all too much these days.. perhaps it was because he knew he was sentencing himself to an early demise. Perhaps it was because this was Brad Majors, voted most likely to succeed in life in his senior year of high school. He just didn't know.
He injected his arm, and waited for a wave of intoxication to hit him. He smiled slightly as it did, his muscles loosening and the tension the riddled his back seemed to evaporate. Checking to see if he had locked his door; he had not lost all of his sensibility; he climbed into the back seat and slept.
!----------------------------------------------------!
When Brad awoke, pale blue walls greeted him, as well as a woman robed in light green leaning over him. He glanced around the room. A window. A door. A single flower in a white vase. That was about all. He tried to lift his arm, but he was too weak.
"Hello?"
He woman, looked up, obviously surprised. Her long chestnut hair pulled back into a perfect pony tail, fell over one shoulder, and she tried to pull her glittering crimson lips into a smile. "Hi..." She said, as her white nursing cap fell onto the bed.
She picked it up, before shuffling away, probably to tell a doctor of his recovery. Brad wondered why he was in the hospital, thoughts streaming through his head. He seemed to have all his limbs, and the only thing that was in pain was his head, which throbbed beyond belief. After a few moments the woman returned with a man, holding a clip board, his eyebrows knitted in thought.
"Hello there, Mr.. Major, I'm Dr. Samson. I suppose you're wondering why you've been admitted here."
Brad nodded, even though it took an incredible amount of effort, he didn't want to try to talk.
"You overdosed an heroine forty-eight hours ago.. and you've been admitted to the Sandra Fewsk Rehabilitation center."
Brad cringed... rehab, detox. This is everything he didn't want. Couldn't he just die in peace? The doctor and nurse watched him for a moment, before they walked off, most likely talking about him.
He looked at the ceiling, knowing it would be a sight he would have to grow used to if he was to go through with this crap.