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Added Reality Interface

He stared at his hands, down at his palms and slowly turned them over, back and forth in the air. He's been doing this for the past 15 minutes while he contemplated, the look of perplexed concentration on his face never ceasing for an instant. He felt as if… reality wasn't… real. That these hands weren't really his.

And it scared him.

He stared down into his mug of coffee, watching the surface of the creamy-brown drink slowly swirl and start to ripple the more he stared at it. But he couldn't look away, not after what he was seeing in it.

He stopped using ARI for the past 3 days, yet everywhere he went in his house he saw...things. After-images. Things he couldn't bear to relive. And this latest abhorrence didn't irk him any more than the others. At least at first.

The coffee wasn't really moving, as nothing had disturbed the cup in an hour or so, and the room was dead-silent, no commotion going on- but Jayden insisted to himself that it was. There was no other explanation for it, one that he'd accept, anyway. He was also aware he was deluding himself with the logical side of his mind. He almost smiled at the thought. At least there was a small part of him somewhere that wasn't completely bonkers.

"Who… am I?" He crooned to the rippling drink, putting his hands gently on the desk in front of him and leaning forward to look tersely into the mug. He frowned, morosed at the sight of the ripples rearranging his reflection into something else. Someone else. He gripped the table tightly, shut his eyes quickly and felt like he wanted to scream.

"Why does everything in this house want to FUCK with me?" he managed to spout in a self-mocking, blithering tone, his voice cracking with a lilt. He attempted to keep himself composed, but his body for the moment was not his own. His shoulders quivered against his every will to not do so, and his stomach muscles clenched tight, sending that foreign, unwanted feeling up his spine...

He was going to-

"Damn it…" He hissed while he exhaled, then held his breath to wait for the feeling to pass. He couldn't let himself do it. He couldn't let his real feelings up to the surface. Not now. It would destroy him.

Eventually he opened his eyes and his gaze snapped instantly back to the reflection in the cup. He went wide-eyed as he witnessed the one thing he didn't want to. His heart skipped several beats and he gasped, bloody tears running down the corners of his eyes and down his face.

"It can't be…!" he sobbed, unable to contain himself any longer. He buried his face in his arms, allowing his body to force him to cry. He didn't object.

"It… It can't be you!" Jayden screamed into his suit sleeves, then lifted his head, blood dripping from his eyes and cheeks and splattering on the desk. He paid no mind that his expensive suit was getting stained and ruined. He moved his head forward again, gritting his teeth together, mouth quivering, floodgates draining blood all over his face, and took another glance in the hope he wouldn't still see him.

He still saw 'him' in the coffee cup.

Jayden roared in anger and jumped up out of his chair, sending it falling backward with a crash. He slammed a fist down on the table and shoved all the folders off the desk, sending papers flying everywhere.

Then, he felt dizzy. Started seeing double, nearly falling over, staggering. But now he knew. He now knew the full extent of what he was doing to himself, and yet… that realization still didn't make him care.

About anything.

He noticed that damned vial of Triptocaine roll out of one of the folders on the floor, where he hid it the night before. Well, technically, it was only a few hours after he had taken the other two; he wanted to make himself believe it was a long time since he last used, so it would give him an excuse to feed his addiction again without feeling guilty. But anyone who thinks a day is a long time for another round is probably beyond the state of repair.

And boy, Norman Jayden was so broken he didn't know what to do with himself.

His nose bled again, the same nostril as before. "I really should start using the other one soon, I'm sick of bleeding all over the place. It's getting kinda... dried out, too, and it hurts," he said sarcastically, smiling ruthlessly at his irony. His vision blurred and he fell to his knees. He scrambled for the drug. Cupped it softly into his hands as if it was so fragile it might break. Smiled shakily again to himself. He would finally find a release.

He frowned at his own thought.

"Disgusting."

He leaned his hand against the side of the desk to prop himself up, then walked along the wall, leaning his hand on the wall for support on the way to the bathroom.

Oh, that's right. You're what's wrong with me.

Thanks.