A stupid, useless piece of scared chicken. His head hurt, his eyes hurt, his body hurt, shit probably even his soul was hurting somewhere in there, Ben's disapproving eyes were starting to look too much like Dad's through the throbbing haze left in his brain now that the drugs were kicking off his system too fast after he had sweated and shaked them all off in his sleep. It was pretty sad, even he had to admit it (or he thought he did, his brain was fuzzy with that stabbing headache) that he couldn't even wake up in a decent state, but truth be told, he hadn't slept decently at all. He probably pushed it in yesterday's dose, or actually didn't push enough, 'cause he wasn't supposed to feel this miserable this soon. Maybe he had subconsciously thought he should cut a bit after he OD'd last week. He hadn't even done that right - being dead probably would let him sleep a bit more soundlessly and not put up with this... well, everything. A sad useless little coward that everyone just...
...you know what, screw this.
Klaus rolled on his stomach, realized he wasn't really laying on a bed but curled on a small set of stairs and instead rolled over the steps, laughed at himself sprawled on the street floor despite the ache in his body, rummaged through his pockets to find four pills he had in one of them and popped them up dry, dragged himself up the steps again and curled against the wall again, falling asleep some seconds later.
.