Here's the next chapter. I've been doing a little research on Heroin addiction and withdrawal and symptoms and all that jazz. Personally, I've never used it and have never gone through withdrawals, so I can't write from experience, which is a bit difficult. If you notice anything off or something that's wrong, please let me know! Thanks! Also, I fixed a few grammatical errors from the last chapter.
BLEAKNESS
Dr. Tino quickly ushers Arthur out of the room, eyes wide. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur wonders if Dr. Tino has never had a patient get sick in front of him before. From the look on his face, he's assuming he hasn't. If the boy were in any other state, he would find it humorous. But at the moment, he can only focus on the sheer hell his boy is experiencing.
He barely registers the orderlies that hurry him to an isolated room and help him onto the bed. In less than a minute, he's off of it again, kneeling on the floor, heaving.
Once more, he's helped onto the bed. The shivering across his skins seems to dissipate and he's left panting, propped against the wall while sitting on the bed. A grumbling orderly is cleaning up his vomit and Arthur almost feels smug.
His legs are in pain, though, but that's not the worst.
It's his stomach.
Now that it's empty, the cramping begins. It's like his stomach is being ripped in two, fused together with fire, and then ripped again. An orderly tries to get him to drink some water, but he refuses, forcing himself to stand.
"Arthur, you can't," one begins, but he cuts her off.
"Fuck you! I can and I will!"
Walking eases the pain a little and he heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth, hoping the cramping will subside soon. It doesn't. The orderlies exchange looks and quickly follow. He just wants them gone!
"Leave me the fuck alone! I don't need you with me twenty-four seven! I'm not some kind of animal! Fuck, I just want to brush my teeth!" He turns and hits his fist against a wall, the rage igniting his veins. His irritability is making him clench his teeth and he wants to control his temper, but he can't.
Neither orderlies leave.
The next week is hell.
Arthur is herded into the isolated room once more, with a fresh set of clothes. They won't let him leave and he's frustrated to no end. The cramping never stops, but the yawning does ease it.
He doesn't think he's ever yawned so much in his life. It's almost never ending, but it's a pleasant change from the pain. He can hardly walk, though
The first night is even worse. Arthur's constantly tossing and turning. He's either in a sweat or in shivers, there's no happy medium. He doesn't fall asleep until close to dawn, and even then the dream is full of terrors. He knows that one hit of the drug could save him all this agony. He knows exactly what he needs (but they won't give it to him, goddamn).
When he wakes up the cramping is over, but his stomach is grumbling. It isn't hunger, though.
He makes it to the bathroom in the nick of time.
The orderlies wait outside. Apparently they've seen someone go through withdrawal before. They don't look comfortable, though. It isn't pretty.
Arthur passes the day in the bathroom, without any energy to move. They try to feed him but he refuses. He's not hungry and he knows it'll only make him sick (well, sicker). He passes out a few times.
The night is the same as the last. Tossing, turning, occasional vomiting. How can they let him live like this?
He begs them, when he's at his weakest. The middle of the night. Tearfully, he begs, the throbbing in his arm urging him on.
They ignore it.
If the first two days were hell, the third was like being on fire. Arthur could barely move from his bed, his whole being in sheer and utter agony. He was splitting in two, could no one tell? It blurred his vision and made him clench his jaw, just to hold back shrieks of pain. His skin feels like it's being ripped off in small portions all over and he's sure he's soiled the bed more than once. He can't control anything. Small convulsions wrack his body but the jitters hurt.
And yet they still refuse to provide him salvation. They're cruel, demonic beings.
Arthur wonders if they work for Satan.
Eventually, the week ends. Eventually, Arthur's body returns to normal.
They allow him out on the sixth day and twenty minutes to shower, instead of seven. The water is still cold, but it feels so goddamn wonderful against his skin, like bathing in the tears of angels. For once, his body isn't on fire. He feels human again.
He spends an even longer amount of time brushing his teeth. The orderlies are kind for once. Perhaps it's the fact he's no longer shrieking. Perhaps it's the fact he's no longer a time bomb of irritability.
Yao doesn't ask where he's been as he's returned to the room. Arthur wonders if they told him and he's vaguely angry for the doctors doing so without his permission.
Despite the worst being over, there's still that nag. A small voice, in the back of his head.
He still wants the drug. There's a phantom throb in the crook of his arm, where the scars are. He still needs the drug.
Well that sucked.
/scurries off