Sigh still have two chapters to type, but it's worth it
The sour stench of his urine broke through the shroud of sleep to bring Mark back to full awareness. An uncontrollable twitch traveled through his leg and up his neck. He bit his tongue with it and tasted blood. This was something new, he never lost control of his body, besides the occasional vomiting and more recent affects of a weak bladder.
Slowly he sat up, desperately trying to hold back from clawing at his skin where the urine had dried. He gritted his teeth against the itching and rubbed his head as he leaned forward to stand up. Vertigo shook him for a few seconds but he regained his balance.
He looked down at himself. Yellow tipped the edge of his cheap white shirt and ran up across his stomach, while his pants were stiff enough to bread in half. He began to trudge across the bare floor to the kitchen where pasty white walls stared at him bleakly. He made his way to a pile of clothes in the corner by pushing a lawn chair aside. He reached he bent down to pick up a thread-bare yellow shirt. He stood back up and brought the shirt to his nose, hoping laundry day had been only a few days ago, but not remembering. Quick reflexes forced him to gag and hold the shirt arms length away. He scrunched his face and turned away from the clothes to gasp in fresh air. Apparently laundry day had been a few weeks ago.
Reluctantly, he turned back around and placed the shirt in a crumble onto the folding poker table beside him. He pulled his shirt off, lifting his arms high above his head. The stretching and shifting made a rumbling start in his stomach and he quickly had to bend over to swallow down the puke that had rushed up his sore throat. Taking a few deep breaths, he steadied himself, and grabbed the shirt off the table, still bent over. He slid it over his head while holding his breath and stood straight again.
How had life come to this? Mark's face twisted into a mixture of pain and anger. He squeezed his eyes tight to ward off the steaming tears he felt forming.
He watched his fingers as they fumbled to undo his pants. The denim clung to his legs and left a gritty feeling on his skin as he pulled them off. Not thinking, he tossed them to the side, where they slid down the wall silently. But to his jacked up mind, the grainy pants had screeched slowly down the drywall and laughed at his losses. He clasped his grubby hands to his ears and screamed with his eyes closed.
"NOOO!" the high pitch of his voice only made him more pitiable. He stood still, not moving for two minutes straight before opening his eyes back up and glancing around the room. After surveying the scene he went back to his search for some pants.
Unconsciously he wiped the tears off his face and sniffed his nose. He had just pulled on a drier pair of pants on that, instead of smelling like urine smelling like mold, when his flat mate walked in.
Matthew had found Mark half-doped up in an alley about four months ago. Mark's loss of his close girlfriend had devastated him and he had ventured back into his old habit of heroin. Matthew, also hooked the drug, but not so carelessly, had taken Mark home to his flat, in an attempt to save him. So far the only improvement in Mark had been that he actually talked now. He had been totally silent for the first month of living with Matthew. And only after Matthew had sought out Mark's friends, had he been able to open his mouth. Of course the first words Mark ever uttered to him were curses.
But now Matthew walked into the kitchen to see him roommate doing up his pants.
"Hey Mark."
"Hey" Mark mumbled, then grabbed his jacket off the back of another lawn chair. Matthew went to put Mark's discarded jeans onto the dirty clothes, and noticed a poigent smell of urine in the air. After grabbing the stiff pants, he realized where the smell was coming from. He turned to Mark
"Hey, what happened?" by this time Mark was at the door
"I'm going to the store." Was his reply as he slammed the door behind him. Matthew shook his head, Mark's addiction was getting more out of control. Something was going to have to be done soon, before he went too far over the edge.
Ok I hope this chapter isn't too confusing, but if you have questions, just ask:)
The sour stench of his urine broke through the shroud of sleep to bring Mark back to full awareness. An uncontrollable twitch traveled through his leg and up his neck. He bit his tongue with it and tasted blood. This was something new, he never lost control of his body, besides the occasional vomiting and more recent affects of a weak bladder.
Slowly he sat up, desperately trying to hold back from clawing at his skin where the urine had dried. He gritted his teeth against the itching and rubbed his head as he leaned forward to stand up. Vertigo shook him for a few seconds but he regained his balance.
He looked down at himself. Yellow tipped the edge of his cheap white shirt and ran up across his stomach, while his pants were stiff enough to bread in half. He began to trudge across the bare floor to the kitchen where pasty white walls stared at him bleakly. He made his way to a pile of clothes in the corner by pushing a lawn chair aside. He reached he bent down to pick up a thread-bare yellow shirt. He stood back up and brought the shirt to his nose, hoping laundry day had been only a few days ago, but not remembering. Quick reflexes forced him to gag and hold the shirt arms length away. He scrunched his face and turned away from the clothes to gasp in fresh air. Apparently laundry day had been a few weeks ago.
Reluctantly, he turned back around and placed the shirt in a crumble onto the folding poker table beside him. He pulled his shirt off, lifting his arms high above his head. The stretching and shifting made a rumbling start in his stomach and he quickly had to bend over to swallow down the puke that had rushed up his sore throat. Taking a few deep breaths, he steadied himself, and grabbed the shirt off the table, still bent over. He slid it over his head while holding his breath and stood straight again.
How had life come to this? Mark's face twisted into a mixture of pain and anger. He squeezed his eyes tight to ward off the steaming tears he felt forming.
He watched his fingers as they fumbled to undo his pants. The denim clung to his legs and left a gritty feeling on his skin as he pulled them off. Not thinking, he tossed them to the side, where they slid down the wall silently. But to his jacked up mind, the grainy pants had screeched slowly down the drywall and laughed at his losses. He clasped his grubby hands to his ears and screamed with his eyes closed.
"NOOO!" the high pitch of his voice only made him more pitiable. He stood still, not moving for two minutes straight before opening his eyes back up and glancing around the room. After surveying the scene he went back to his search for some pants.
Unconsciously he wiped the tears off his face and sniffed his nose. He had just pulled on a drier pair of pants on that, instead of smelling like urine smelling like mold, when his flat mate walked in.
Matthew had found Mark half-doped up in an alley about four months ago. Mark's loss of his close girlfriend had devastated him and he had ventured back into his old habit of heroin. Matthew, also hooked the drug, but not so carelessly, had taken Mark home to his flat, in an attempt to save him. So far the only improvement in Mark had been that he actually talked now. He had been totally silent for the first month of living with Matthew. And only after Matthew had sought out Mark's friends, had he been able to open his mouth. Of course the first words Mark ever uttered to him were curses.
But now Matthew walked into the kitchen to see him roommate doing up his pants.
"Hey Mark."
"Hey" Mark mumbled, then grabbed his jacket off the back of another lawn chair. Matthew went to put Mark's discarded jeans onto the dirty clothes, and noticed a poigent smell of urine in the air. After grabbing the stiff pants, he realized where the smell was coming from. He turned to Mark
"Hey, what happened?" by this time Mark was at the door
"I'm going to the store." Was his reply as he slammed the door behind him. Matthew shook his head, Mark's addiction was getting more out of control. Something was going to have to be done soon, before he went too far over the edge.
Ok I hope this chapter isn't too confusing, but if you have questions, just ask:)