Rehab. (EgoBang) (discontinued)

Chapter 6: The Eyes...

*Hears the screams of many people saying to update this story again*

ALRIGHT! FINE!!!

Yeah I'm back and this story is going to, hopefully, return. I've been so busy with my Septiplier fanfiction, I almost completely forgot about this story. I know! I feel so bad!! :'(  I've actually had to re-read this story to remember what the heck I left off in this story. I'm also so SO sorry if some of the story doesn't make sense, as I can't really remember the plan I had for this story. I hope you can forgive me.  

But, we're back now!

Here we go!!!!!!!!!!

Also, this may be a short chapter. I need time to remember my ideas for this story.

Arin's POV:

I tapped my foot nervously as I sat on the edge of my bed. My breathing was uneven as I glanced around the room. Everything was beginning to close in around me. I looked at the clock. Dan should have been here 53 minutes and 37 seconds ago. As I turned my eyes back to the floor in front of me, my heart pumped nervously. Dark thoughts swirled in my mind. Where is he? Why isn't he here? Is he alright? Oh god, what if something's happened? What if he crashed on the side of the road and is dead in a ditch somewhere??? What is he's getting mugged and crying all alone in an ally with no one around to help him? 

My brain began to move onto other more depressing thoughts.

What if he's bored of having to take care of me?  My sickness... The medical bills... He probably doesn't want to waste his time and money with a freak that can't even value his own life.. All the therapy meetings and doctor visits. And him having to move all the way out here to see me. What if he doesn't want to see me again? No, no. It can't be that. It's not... what if it is?...

Tears welled in my eyes as I stared at the clock. As the hands clicked, I could slowly feel myself slipping closer and closer to edge of my sanity.

Oh, God I hope he's ok...

Dan's POV:

My head pounded as my eyes tried to force their way open. Placing a hand on my forehead, I sat up on the old, worn couch I had fallen asleep on. I looked around at the half puffed blunts and ashes all over the floor. I could see Jeff and some half naked slut he had invited over laying asleep on the other couch. Some other people were there as well, some still asleep and others just waking up like me. I looked at the clock. 3:36 PM. "Shit," I said aloud. It was enough to wake Jeff and the whore up. "Hey sweet cheeks," Jeff said to her with a smug smile. She smacked him across the face, grabbed her shirt that was on the floor, and walked out the door. Jeff just laughed and turned to me, his eye still tinted pink. God I hated those eyes. "What's up, bro?"

"I got to go. I was supposed to be at the Rehab center like a fucking hour ago. Shit, shit, shit," I said, trying to stand, knocking over a bong in the process. "Shit man now the carpets gonna smell like ass," Jeff said half irritably. My brain felt like it had been dropped from a high cliff into a freezer and then that freezer got trampled by a herd of bulls. Jeff just nodded and lit one of the half smoked blunts. "Cool. Be careful man. I wouldn't drive. Call an Uber or some shit like that," he mumbled to me. Stumbling, I made my way out the door and out into the bright sunlight of the outside. I phoned an Uber and I told him where to go. I could tell he knew something was up about me, but I didn't care. As I sat in the back of the Uber, a feeling I had in my stomach kept growing worse and worse. It felt like I was drinking rancid milk, eating raw bacon, and getting continuously kicked in the stomach all at the same time. At first I thought it was a side affect from the pot and alcohol combination. But, something was different this time. I didn't remember this as being a side effect from the last time. I knew this feeling, but I couldn't place a name to it. I then thought about alcohol poisoning. I had only had it once or twice and it felt somewhat like this. Then, in the blink of an eye, I recognized the feeling. I knew what this was, this sickening ball of nausea curling in my veins.

It was guilt.

I had sworn to Arin that I would never smoke again, and I broke that promise. I had taken the trust he had given to me and held it close to my soul, only to chew it up and spit up. Then I stepped on it and threw it down a sewer and called it names and then laughed. I didn't deserve to be near him now, not after what I had just done. I fucked up. I fucked up BIG time.

Looking out the window, I allowed the monster of guilt to wrap it's sneaky little way around my brain. It ate at my heart until it forced tears to slip out of my pale red eyes. I hated my eyes after smoking. No, I hated my eyes all the time ever since I had first tried pot. I could see the reflection of my eyes in the window. They stared back at me, taunting me with the red stains of humility and pain. They were a sign of what I had just done, a reminder of how I had just done the one thing I had promised not to do. They laughed at my pain. They loved to see how I suffer with the knowing of my wrong. Hot tears streaked down my face and neck. They fled from my eyes as if they were afraid, afraid of being trapped in the drowning red guilt. I didn't blame the tears for running. For I feared my eyes as well. If I could run away from them, I would. I would run to the farthest hill and throw myself off the edge at let my body fall through the air, releasing my soul and spirit out of myself and let my empty shell drown in the lake of regret down below the edge.

 But I knew, even if I tore my eyes from my head with a butter knife, lit them on fire and then crushed them into the earth, I could never escape the inevitable. I would still have to face the pain of standing before Arin, the light of my world and dowsing the last struggling flame of his trust. It was no use running away. For the giant, poisonous spider already had me tangled in it's web. For even the few blunts I had smoked last night, held my marionette strings in their hands...

There was no freedom for me now...