These Last Days

2. When The Floor Becomes The Ceiling.

Clothes on the floor, drink in his hand.
Clothes on the floor, and a cigarette between ivory teeth and pasty pink lips.

Clothes on the floor, An inhale, an exhale, and a shot. a moment of bliss to eliminate the worlds noise and its chaos.

Red eyes, pale complextion, dangerous mouth.

Nick floated about in his vision, a towel around his waist, held up only by his manhood.

The music from downstairs was making his head throb, or maybe it was just the pills he stole from Wade Foresters parents medicine cabinet, he thought.

a little .5 diazepam here, a shot or 6 here. A little of *lucky-X here, He was fine. Just blurry. Very blurry.

Bex and Meadow were guarding the room doors so he could sleep off his highs, but nicks skin crawled and he felt sticky in obscure places so a shower was needed, he thought.
Nick entered the more than average sized bathroom, and released the towel and stepped into the tall glass shower, immediately putting the heat on blast, grateful that this part of the Valley still had hot water. The glass began to fog naturally and Nick let out a moan as the steaming water hit his rough skin, running down his chest and spilling over his back.
He soaked and lathered with whatever he could grab, stumbling every few seconds, the drugs taking more effect.

Nick was out less than 20 minutes later, but was stumbling too much to get his pants on. he was just in a long pair of maroon boxers and a black tank top that draped to his hips.

blurs upon blurs clouded him, the bed in the corner of the room seemed a mile away, his hands tried to grip the nightstand, but his veins felt weak, his muscles tense but loose at the same time, he took one step and the floor became the ceiling.

Nick fell hard back onto the nightstand he was gripping, wincing as he gripped the back of his head carefully, he sat up and leaned his back on the wood, the room not even a room anymore, all he saw was a mess and a bed.

He sighed an spread out his legs, bare and bruising. He was a peach, always bruising. He just wanted to get to the bed. He didn't know anything else from the hours before, he hated that he was just constantly either delusional, high, or on auto pilot.

Rolling blackouts taking their toll on him,
He honestly didn't know how he ended up in Wade Foresters house, let alone his bedroom. He hoped he wasn't roofied. Shit, he thought.
Wade Forester. Fucking gross. Been there, done that. Multiple times. Sadly.

Self loathing bubbled in his freshly washed skin, and bile bubbled in the back of his throat.
He wanted help getting up.

"Bex? can someone.. Fuck. please, Havana, someone?" He shouted to the closed door.
His head passed throbbing now it felt like the veins in his brain were tangled and on fire. he shouted again, but the pain now hit him like in anvil slamming into his chest. He shouted again, and again the anvil slammed back.
Once more again and this time he fell to his side clutching his chest, his eyes welling up with tears, droplets pooling onto the carpeted floor. If the high didn't kill him, Bex definitely would.

This whole intervention thing was clearly not working, he felt more shittier each passing day, only letting out loose smiles and halfway through thoughts.

Packing soon for ITA Isle, anxiety, fear, anticipation all warped into one in his head when he thought of the boarding process.

The pain dulled. His eyes felt like elastic bands about to snap closed, and then he heaved and passed out in a pool of his own vomit.

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* Lucky-X is a new drug, (I made up) its basically a white pill with an X on it. The X is black and laced with a bunch of amphetamines that could or could not kill you. Better explaination in future chapters.