"Sex on drugs is mind-blowing. Wanna try?"
───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───
Kim Migyung, a former prima ballerina who had to give up dancing after an accident. Not being able to do the only thing she's ever known, her dreams stripped away, she...
“wrap me the calmness of your presence. the butterflies can rest—”
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It felt like sweat poured out of every pore in Migyung’s body. Even from the soles of her feet. Little droplets dribbled down from neck to her back. Her light shirt stuck to her body like a second skin. She had drenched through two shirts already and she didn't have the energy to change again.
Hence, she ran a cold bath, stripped out of the single shirt and her panties and sank in the water. Though it soothed her hot body, she wished she could have a hot bath for the ache. She ached all over. There was no starting point nor an ending point to the pain.
The cigarettes helped. They helped numb her mind enough to slip into darkness for a few moments. A few moments of peace as her body and mind struggled with the sudden deprivation of drugs she had become dependent on for the last three years.
She was tempted though, to pick up her phone instead of the cigarette and call her ex, the drug dealer. She could just buy a small bag of weed from him, maybe ten grams? That would be enough. More than enough. Anything to lessen this pain, the hollowness, the nausea.
But she had made a promise to herself.
Therefore, with tears and sweat drenching her face, she let the cigarette in her hand fall into the tub, relaxing her body, letting it go as she slipped more into the water. So far in, her head completely submerged, nothing made it to her ears. She saw nothing and she felt nothing except the coldness and how nice it felt. She felt a little better.
When her lungs started to burn with the lack of oxygen, she lifted herself enough, just enough to be able to take a large gasping breath. Running a hand down her face to wipe away the drops of water from her eyelashes, she leaned back, her chest rising rapidly in an effort to breathe properly.
She was playing a dangerous game, she knew. She had to meet a doctor sooner or later. Even if it was a psychiatrist, she needed help. It had only been four days since she had last drank alcohol, seven since taking any kind of drug. Three years of drug abuse, continuous drug abuse, once a week, sometimes twice or thrice. She knew her withdrawal symptoms were going to stay for a while.
She had no idea what would happen to her next, the symptoms were always unpredictable and she was afraid if things got worse, she would relapse. She already had a strong urge to go down the street and drink the night away but she had made a promise to herself.
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