Stuck - Larry Stylinson

Chapter 1

Louis’ POV

I walked down to an ally trying to take as little space I could which was quiet easy when you were a sixteen year old guy and pretty skinny. The night was dark and a cool breeze went past me. I didn't feel it. I hadn't felt anything for a long time, but it was better to not feel than to feel.

A man in his late forties stood in the end of the ally. The man I had been searching for.

“Do you have it?” I asked and he nodded before he spoke up and asked if I was still on the deal. I answered with a quick nod and he started walking towards his house while I followed him. This was the only way I could get it and I knew it. I had to do it if I wanted to have what I wanted. And I wanted it. I needed it. It was already long enough since I had had it last time and I could feel it in my body. If I wouldn’t have it soon I would freak out.
After what felt like an eternity the man was finished with me and I had the money I needed to get what I wanted. My body was sore and I tried to walk as fast I could down to the street I had been at too many times. The street that sold what I needed.
The drug street.

I walked up to the men I knew sold the thing I liked and paid them before I went down to my place. My place was an old shed with broken windows and a dirty cardboard to sleep on. It might not have been the nicest place but it was my home. That was where I belonged, on the street hidden from the world and with a nice drug to smoke. That was my life. I liked it, I did, I liked it very much. It was better than it had been before.

I felt the meth start to work in my body and I sighed happily. This was perfect.

***

I woke up sweaty and with a strong urge to smoke, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t because they took me. And here am I stuck. Stuck until I’m no longer in need of my drug or a danger to myself. I clawed on my arm to re-open the scars I’ve made a while ago. I needed a distraction and this would do it for now. I smiled as the blood ran out from the cuts. This was my way to do it for now.

The door to ‘my' bedroom opened and one of the nurses walked in.

“Now again?” she more asked herself when she saw what I had done with my arm. I didn’t answer and just glared at her. It was her fault. I never hurt myself before I stopped using drugs. If I weren't here I would be perfectly fine in my shed, it was just that I wouldn’t. If the man from this place hadn’t come that cold January night I would probably be dead by now. But that would have been better. I would have been better, happier and freer if I was dead and not here. Here in this prison like place.

I had been here for about a month and it was about a month since I smoked last, it was about three weeks since I started self-harming and it was about eleven years since I felt happy.

It was about ten years since I was six. It was ten years ago my mum died. It was ten years ago my youngest sisters were born. It was nine years since my dad started to abuse me. It was three years since I escaped from him. It was three years since I moved to London to live on the streets. It was two and a half year ago since I started to sell my body to people who wanted it and who paid good. It was two years since I tried drugs for the first time. It was about two years ago I got addicted to them.

A lot of things can happen in what feels like no time.

The nurse helped me to clean my arm before she left again. She gave me some breakfast that we both knew I would never eat.

You always have those thing you just don't do. No matter what. Mine was to eat in the morning.

I didn’t like to eat in the mornings. I had never done I would never do. It was just something about it that didn’t work with me. It was probably the taste and the fact that my stomach hadn’t started working until an hour after breakfast time. My stomach has never been able to hold down any food in the morning.I just didn’t eat breakfast. It was simple.

***

Every day since I came to 'The home for emotionally and physical unstable people' it had all been the same. Wake up, shower, lunch, school/free time, going to therapy, dinner and at last: sleep. All of them were boring. I didn't know anyone here and the nurses were talking to me as I were three years old or like they were afraid to break me. I hated it. I hated this life.

But three months after I got here, I finally got a friend. Stanly Lucas, or Stan as I called him. We really were best friends. We didn't know much about each other. We never really talked about personal life and so, we mostly talked about the present, never about the future or the past. We mostly just kept each other company. It was nice. He was my first real friend and it felt good.

He actually made my urge for drugs easier to handle, a bit at least. I still woke up from dreams where I smoked and I still wrapped my skin off from my arms.But other than that he helped. He took my mind of drugs time whiles and I think I helped him too, because four months after we got to know each other he could leave 'The home'. But between and after that a lot of shit happened and I don't even want to think about it.

A/N: So this is the first official chapter of 'Stuck'... I hope you all like it :) xx

/Agnes :)