Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

✧addict✧

Trigger Warning: This describes drug addiction in serious detail. Please do not read if this could be triggering to you, and do not take this description lightly.

If you or someone you know are struggling with addiction, please reach out to this website: https://www.therecoveryvillage.com/drug-addiction/drug-abuse-hotline/

Your POV

I am walking around the New York streets, hands in my coat pocket, carrying a small backpack, and trying not to burst out in tears. The night is loud and the lights glow around me, but it doesn't stop my mind from racing as if there's nothing else to focus on.

Timothée and I just got in a huge fight. I don't think we've ever fought like that before. The tension has been there for a while, but we were both just repressing our thoughts until they exploded.

I wanted him to be home more. I never saw him. I didn't say anything for a long time because I know how important and demanding his career is. I don't want him to turn opportunities down for me, but I do want him to spend time with me when he is home.

He told me that I was sucking the life out of him.

"You are sucking the life out of me!"

The way he screamed that was unlike any sound I've ever heard from him before. I remember the pained look in his eyes. I remember the way he looked like he was gasping for air, because I was weighing him down. I'm not mad anymore. I'm hurt.

I feel so horrible for saying those things. I accused him of so much, and none of it was justified. He's so endlessly good to me. He has been there through everything. I don't deserve him.

I just want this feeling to go away, and I know how I can make that happen.

I try to snap back into my reality, focusing on the dark sidewalk in front of me.

I can't tempt myself with that. I can't. It took me so long to get where I am now. I can't do that to myself, but more importantly, I can't do that to the people around me.

"You are sucking the life out of me!"

I need to stop repeating that. I need to stop feeling this heavy, crushing weight in my chest. Something in my brain switches, and it's like my body takes over. I am walking towards my destination before I even realize what it is.

Twenty minutes later, I am walking through the doors of Mirth Motel. It's in the dangerous part of the city. I don't care. I've been here many times before.

I numbly take the key from the lady at the front desk and unlock my room. I don't register anything.

A weak voice inside me tries to fight back as I dump the contents of my backpack onto the bed.

"Don't do this," it says quietly.

"You are sucking the life out of me!" This voice is much louder.

Without thinking, I grab the tattered zip lock bag and sit against the wall opposite the door. I shake everything in it out on the floor next to me. Emotionless, I grab the spoon and mix the citric acid and white powder. I flick the lighter on underneath it and watch it liquify before my eyes. I roll up my sleeve, grab the needle, suck up the liquid, and poke it into my vein.

And just like that, nine months of strenuous sobriety goes down the drain.

I instantly panic. Why did I do this? Why did I do this?

Get it out.

I can't. It's done.

The feeling of euphoria hits like a breath of fresh air just seconds later. I lay my head against the wall, legs stretched out in front of me, and smile at the familiar feeling. It is like seeing an old friend after months of no contact. Why did I ever stop?