Behind Closed Doors

Chapter 51: Mark Smith 3

Mark stood resting his back on a graffitied brick wall, his hands trembling as he anxiously scanned his surroundings. His eyes, dead and teary locked onto Nick as he arrived and took off his hoodie.

"Nick, you have got to give me at least something to numb this pain..." Mark pleaded, his voice cracked and desperate, his dead eyes locking onto Nick's with a mix of anguish and urgency.

Nick shook his head, his jaw tightening. "I have nothing to offer you. All the goods in my possession are measured, and you know how it is for me—my issues with the boss."

Mark glanced around nervously before digging into his pocket, pulling out a handful of crumpled dollar bills. He held them out, his hands trembling.

"I have the money, Nick. Take all of it. Sell to me," he said, panting as though the weight of this addiction was crushing him.

Fear flickered across Nick's face, but he quickly shook his head again. "I can't do anything to help you, buddy."

"No... did you hear me?" Mark lunged forward, grabbing Nick by the shoulders to stop him from walking away. His voice rose. "I said I'm going to pay, even extra. Just a little. Just help me. I'm losing my mind. Maybe a roll... please."

Nick let out a tired sigh and shook his head once more. "The boss put you off bounds. We can't sell to you. I'm sorry."

Nick was known to be the most soft-spoken among their group, which was why Mark had always felt comfortable around him. But Nick had his own demons—a junkie with a notorious appetite for drugs that could turn him into something dangerous. Beneath the addiction, though, Mark saw glimpses of a young man struggling to find his way in a cruel world.

"Off bounds? What the fuck does that mean?" Mark's voice cracked, his frustration boiling over.

"You have to meet the boss to get what you want. By yourself." Nick's expression hardened, and he gave Mark a look that made him release his grip.

"What?" Mark asked.

"You're starting to look more and more like me every day," Nick said with a faint, bitter smile. "You're becoming a junkie, like—"

"Don't you fucking call me that!" Mark roared, shoving Nick against the wall. "I'm not a junkie! I can stop whenever I want. I'm not like you!"

Nick chuckled under his breath, a sound both mocking and sad, before brushing himself off and walking away into the night. Mark was left standing in the alley, trembling, his mind spinning as the words echoed in his head. He was grappling with the weight of his denial and the haunting truth Nick had left behind.

****

Mark walked into the noisy classroom, his steps heavy as if he were dragging himself through mud. The chatter and laughter felt distant to him, like a bad dream he couldn't escape. His eyes immediately landed on his desk—his books were scattered on the floor, and Zac, one of Pierre's boys, was sprawled lazily in his chair.

Mark was barely holding it together. The dark circles under his eyes made him look like he hadn't slept in days, and his pale face gave away just how much he'd been struggling. He stood by his desk for a moment, steadying himself before speaking.

"Uh... excuse me," he said, his voice was quiet but edged with tension.

Zac didn't even look at him. Instead, he stretched his legs further, smirking to himself.

"Zac, you're in my seat," Mark said, trying to keep his voice steady. "The first period starts in five minutes, and I need to settle before the teacher comes in." He waited for a response, but Zac remained unmoved. "Zac... could you—"