Chapter 3 – Precious Powder

He awoke shivering with his entire body shaking. The room was a pale green, and he concentrated on this fact with all of his might, trying to control himself. The ceiling was white, and the floor was checkered with white and the green. The bed was odd; he couldn't move his arms, for they were tied down. He didn't understand completely what was going on, but he thought he had a fairly good idea.

He hurt like hell or at least he did once he got past the symptoms that he was now realizing were withdrawal. Every part of him hurt, and he vaguely remembered a dream, or hallucination of a monster made completely of fire coming after him. He shook his head to chase away the vision, and that's when he noticed something about his head. He wasn't completely sure, but he was pretty positive his hair had disappeared.

- Good afternoon Mark - A doctor had entered the room and was staring at Mark. He tried to talk, to respond but found his mouth dry and he was shaking too hard. - Don't bother to talk, its okay. I just wanted to tell you what was going on. You were trapped in your basement by fire, but you were smart enough to hide in the shower. You're strapped down so that you don't pull out the IVs. Since your arm veins are collapsed and over used, we had to shave what was left of your hair, most was singed off, and put the IVs there. Your parents know about your heroin use, and have already signed you into rehab starting now - and with that, the doctor walked out of the room.

Mark's mind froze and concentrated on the idea, it grasped the idea, tried to swallow it. And just like a person who tries to swallow something they find revolting, he threw up the idea, his mind just not accepting it. The shakes continued, and Mark stared at the ceiling waiting for them to stop, humiliated as nurses came and went and saw the state he was in. Ironically, his camera bag was only three feet away from him. It was still closed, with the little lock still securely attached with no tampering that he could see. The key was normally worn around his neck on a long chain, and while the chain and key weren't present, there was a spot on chest that he could just barely see, a burn in the shape of the key; he was branded by his addiction.

More nurses came and went, Mark continued to ponder and to try and control himself, and it wasn't until the ultimate humiliation of relieving himself with out any control that he finally broke down. He wept tears for his loss, though what that loss was he still wasn't sure. Not completely. He was left alone in the room, the nurse not due back for another 30 minutes, and all he could do was lay there, strapped down, unable to even clean himself up. The ultimate humiliation. And his mom came in.

The little jewish woman stared at her son, not understanding what had brought him to this state of drug use. She berated herself for not seeing the signs and for not stopping him. Her mother instinct was on full, all she wanted was to go to her son and gather him in her arms, protecting him from the fate of the world. Mark laid in the bed, looking at his mother's face as her emotions and thought played across it. He tried to pretend sleep, but the stink of his bedding and the shakes prevented it. –Mark? Honey, how could you – his mother gave a sob. Mark knew he should feel remorse, but as his mother called –Mark, how could you? Why? What drove it – he just felt tired, he could feel nothing but the pain of his addiction. He couldn't fight past it. – Oh Mark –

– Alice? Where are you? I told you not to visit him – Enter the father figure. His father considered himself the epitome of manliness, and he had always made it known to Mark that he was considered inferior for no matter how much Mark had tried, he could never gain the girth and muscle of a 'real man'. Mark was stronger though, stronger by far than his father, but it was all wiry muscle –He's being transferred to the rehab wing – the gaze bestowed upon his son was one of disgust – two months – he had to go two months with out his precious powder. Mark knew he would leave the rehab either clean forever, or thirsting for the water like a man in the desert whose canteen had sprung a leak.

– He's coming home again, William, right? He is isn't he? – His father ignored his mothers question and looked at Mark. – You better be clean, boy. You aren't coming home again, never again. Cindy is a good kid… I wont have her corrupted – there was so much Mark could of said, Cindy was a whore, Cindy had already been pregnant once, it was Mark who took her to be taken care of, but Mark kept silent. He couldn't have spoken if he tried.

The silence in the room floated down upon the three occupants. It lay upon them like a tarp stretched taught and weighed down at all the corners. It was drowning them, sucking them into it like just a little bit of water in a puddle will drown a baby; they were helpless against the forces acting upon them. – No more visits Alice. I'll give him enough money to either pay six months rent, or to over dose on that precious powder and then I'm done with him – it seemed to Mark that he was being abandoned. He was abandoned as they walked out of the room.

A/n: Review already. Damn. Is it too intense or something? Feedback keeps Mookie motivated.