Died (Layne Staley ❤️)

The Agenda

He had hitch-hiked all the way back into town, thanks to an unknowing stranger. He even got them to drop him off at an ATM. He withdrew a good amount of money. Just enough to get a G. That's all he needed, just a little bit to get it 'out of his system' so he could move on...

Veering down the darkening streets of Seattle, he made sure to keep a sharp eye out for Liz. He didn't want her to find him out here. He knew she would rat him out to their parents.

That's a whole other ball of wax he didn't want to deal with.

A sigh escaped him as he made his way up the steps to his dealer's house. A huge smile spread across his face when the door opened. The visit there wasn't too long. They just spoke about the differing drugs & how much it'll cost. His dealer knew Layne wasn't in the mood for mindless chitter chatter. He hasn't been since he found out the news.

Layne tested the white powder heroin, tasting it a bit. He knew it was good by the bitterness of it. So, he handed him the money for a gram & went on his merry way out the door.

Luckily, his apartment wasn't too far from his dealer's. He could go back, go right to relaxing. No more bullshit about sobriety, about worrying his mother. No more talking about what was going on, expressing outwardly how he felt about Demri.

He was so tired of it all. Him escaping was bound to happen. How can a grown man allow his parents to hold him hostage, anyways?!

"Their fault I fucked up," he mumbled under his breath, his sick brain playing into his own excuses to continue to delve deeper into his disease.

He bit his lip, searching in his pants pocket for his apartment keys. A relieved sigh escaped him as he jingled them into the door handle. The smell of stale cigarettes & mold overcame his senses as he walked into the place. A grimace stretched across his scrawny face, shaking it off as he flicked the light to the living room on.

His eyes grew wide, studying the mess strewn across his apartment. He shrugged, though, immediately going for the package of syringes he kept in the nook of his coffee table. A smirk overcame him as he analyzed them.

"Finally can really escape this mess," he muttered.

He disappeared to his bedroom once he got ahold of a clean spoon & filtered water. He cooked up his dose, wrapping his belt taught around his bicep. His brows furrowed, though, when he stopped to glance down at the scars on his forearm. All from abscesses, all from the needle. He's sacrificed the skin of his arm for this.  Heck, could go as far as to say he sacrificed his entire well-being just for an 'escape'.

He shook out the guilt that was beginning to retch up his throat. Before he could think his way out of this, he quickly stuck his arm with the syringe. Slowly, he injected the beautiful opiate into him.

His bony body fell backwards on the bed. Those dull gray eyes fell closed. The heat wave hit him hard, the intensity of it ringing through his limbs & causing him to moan with an unbelievable amount of pleasure.

His tolerance was low again. He loved it when it was like this. It almost felt just as good as the very first time.

His body felt weightless, lying still on the mattress. And before he could find his stash of cocaine, he nodded off.

To the deep corners of his past...