Next chapter:)
"He's done it again." The voice was distant and a bit muffled.
"You think I can't see that? Bloody hell."
Suddenly his nice, peaceful slumber was interrupted.
"Mark? Mark wake up" somewhere he could feel the heat of slaps on his face and his body being moved. He wasn't going to go back. Not now, when he was so close to what he longed for. If he went back now he would do it again, and that was unacceptable.
"Mark?...Mark!" something snapped and he realized after being submerged into a world of milky colors and wavy lines that it had been his eyes. He shifted his eyes back and forth, trying to make the colors stop running together. A hand was held up in front of his face to help his eyes focus. Slowly, his vision became clear. But still he shifted his eyes from face to face.
Who was this man who had bleached white hair and dark eyes? He knew him from somewhere, but couldn't quite place it. And who was the red headed guy next to him?
As if the energy put into hi eyes muddled all his other senses, he couldn't hear them now. Not clearly anyway. They looked like they were shouting. The veins were standing up on the bleached guy's neck. Five minutes went by until a little pinprick of understanding came to him. Now he could understand most of what they said.
"Mark! Can you hear me?! Holy shit." The red head's voice was cracking. Apparently they were friends.
Friends shouldn't cry over other friends, should they? No, not if whatever happened was supposed to happen. He should be the one crying. They brought him back, damn them. He slid his leathery tongue around his dry mouth to try and part his lips. A force too strong was keeping his voice from his, so he whispered
"Damn you"
The two men stopped and he continued to say his curse, until he was sure he would slip back to that place.
"DAMN YOU!" it came out as a whistled scream. He had broken the barrier and was now back to full reality. These two guys were his best friends. And his body felt like a giant bruise because he had shot up again.
Tears broke free of his clenched eyes and he rolled into a ball. Someone touched his back and he snapped at them
"Get the fuck away from me you bastards!" his voice still wasn't his, it came out high pitched like a young boys.
"Fine Mark, but your lucky this time, I hope you know. You would have choked on your own vomit if we hadn't showed up." Mark lifted his fingers to them and turned back to the corner of the couch.
Later he heard someone leave. Maybe both of them, he didn't care. He slipped into dreams of true freedom, not the kind heroin gave him.
"He's done it again." The voice was distant and a bit muffled.
"You think I can't see that? Bloody hell."
Suddenly his nice, peaceful slumber was interrupted.
"Mark? Mark wake up" somewhere he could feel the heat of slaps on his face and his body being moved. He wasn't going to go back. Not now, when he was so close to what he longed for. If he went back now he would do it again, and that was unacceptable.
"Mark?...Mark!" something snapped and he realized after being submerged into a world of milky colors and wavy lines that it had been his eyes. He shifted his eyes back and forth, trying to make the colors stop running together. A hand was held up in front of his face to help his eyes focus. Slowly, his vision became clear. But still he shifted his eyes from face to face.
Who was this man who had bleached white hair and dark eyes? He knew him from somewhere, but couldn't quite place it. And who was the red headed guy next to him?
As if the energy put into hi eyes muddled all his other senses, he couldn't hear them now. Not clearly anyway. They looked like they were shouting. The veins were standing up on the bleached guy's neck. Five minutes went by until a little pinprick of understanding came to him. Now he could understand most of what they said.
"Mark! Can you hear me?! Holy shit." The red head's voice was cracking. Apparently they were friends.
Friends shouldn't cry over other friends, should they? No, not if whatever happened was supposed to happen. He should be the one crying. They brought him back, damn them. He slid his leathery tongue around his dry mouth to try and part his lips. A force too strong was keeping his voice from his, so he whispered
"Damn you"
The two men stopped and he continued to say his curse, until he was sure he would slip back to that place.
"DAMN YOU!" it came out as a whistled scream. He had broken the barrier and was now back to full reality. These two guys were his best friends. And his body felt like a giant bruise because he had shot up again.
Tears broke free of his clenched eyes and he rolled into a ball. Someone touched his back and he snapped at them
"Get the fuck away from me you bastards!" his voice still wasn't his, it came out high pitched like a young boys.
"Fine Mark, but your lucky this time, I hope you know. You would have choked on your own vomit if we hadn't showed up." Mark lifted his fingers to them and turned back to the corner of the couch.
Later he heard someone leave. Maybe both of them, he didn't care. He slipped into dreams of true freedom, not the kind heroin gave him.