Pantera One Shots

Phil's Facade.

2005 - April - May ish.

-

"Man - just give me the stuff and I'll get out of here alright? I don't know how much more money you could want." Phil sighed, scratching at his neck behind his long hair.

His back was fucking hurting and he was getting antsy - it'd been a few hours since his last hit.

He was unfamiliar with this area, his regular dealer gone for the next month.

This guy was just, odd. A lot worse off than Phil currently was.

He looked at the bag of the crystal shit on the counter, next to his own whopping two hundred dollars in cash.

And as the guy bickered, he was tempted to steal it.
He wasn't paying more than that for such a small amount.

"Three hundred, man. Or you leave empty handed."

Phil rolled his eyes. Starting to grow very annoyed.

"This is quality shit. I can't.
Three hundred or nuthin'." He had said. Phil cringed at the way his eyes popped out.

He just wanted to go back home. He felt miserable. It was like his whole body was weighing down his feet.

Phil closed his eyes, looking intensely at the bag of heroin before he grabbed the guy.

Phil punched him swiftly to the jaw, as hard as he possibly could before swiping the bag.

The guy had been knocked out cold before Phil turned on his heel and attempted to run off.

Two of the others grabbed Phil.

"Get the fuck away from me! I'll fucking KILL ALL OF YOU!" Phil threatened, his arms behind his back. Only then he realized he couldn't fight back. He wasn't strong and abled as he was back then.

He struggled against them before a pocket knife was jabbed into his waist and ripped out quickly.

The shock took away his strength, falling to the dirt beneath him and knocking the wind out of him.

He looked up to watch the guys grab the unconscious dealer, taking Phil's money and the drug he had wanted so badly.

Fuck.

Phil groaned out in frustration. He was so fucking mad.

After taking a few seconds to regain himself,
he looked down at his waist. Phil's eyes widened as he saw the waistband of his shorts soaked in blood.

He peeled back his shirt, sitting up more urgently as he looked at it.
A deep stab wound. And he was bleeding everywhere.

He pushed his hand to it, trying to stop the blood flow as he stood up. Acted purely on adrenaline as he went to his truck and shut himself in it.

Phil shook with anxiety as he pulled off his shirt and pressed it to the wound - holding pressure to it to try and stop the bleeding.

He groaned in pain as it ached deeply and severely, starting to worry about bleeding to death in his truck.

The paranoia didn't help as his heart sped up, the shaking getting worse - his head pounding and the new wound hurting like hell.

Phil layed back in the passenger seat, hearing his heart pound in his ears.
Tears clotted his eyes as he still bled steadily despite the pressure - and he thought he was going to die here.

Paranoia fueling his thoughts as he thought about his own body being found in the scariest part of town. Everyone was going to know about how fucked up he was.