Addiction

chapter six

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CHAPTER 6- SHOWERS AND "IMAGINATIONS"

BLAKES P.O.V:

"I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING SHOWER!" I bellow as I stomp heavily around my room. I thought everything was going at least one eighth 'alright' and this happens.

I have no place to wash.

I've just got over a decent hour's worth of my routine 'thought flood' and now this. Also just come accustomed to washing my clothes in a bucket outside but this is just fucked.

I need to fucking shower man.

I get up and start swinging in anger, knocking my bedside table over.

Avoid the fridge you dickhead.

I stop in realisation that I'm being physically violent in an empty room, all because of my hygiene.

Haha

I'm going insane, holy shit.

My mind becomes conscious that we have a pool shower outside, behind the bushes. My mood automatically uplifts.

"Fuck yes!" I hiss and rush my bi-polar ass outside to inspect.

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Looking over to the secluded area behind the pool, instantaneous memories pop up of when I used it as a kid after I went for swims. I walk over and hope it still looks like what it did eight years ago.

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I need alcohol, pronto.

The old rusty shower head barley hangs off the back fence as my head vigorously shakes.

"No no no no." I mutter to myself as I stand in doubt at the so called 'shower' that's supposed to 'wash' me.

You have no choice fuckwit.

Shut up.

These constant battles within my head that occur six to seven times a day has really started to worry me. I find myself in trances and forget everything that's happening around me. Losing track of time and forgetting where I am also aggravates me as well. Is it normal? No of course it's not, you're Blake.

It's happening again.

I turn the handle and notice it only lets off cold water... my life is officially fucked.

Trudging to the flat, I grab my shit and make my way back to my high tech shower.

Oh no.

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"Cold. Fuck. Cold. Fuck!" My mouth shakily repeats as I hop up and down on the soaked grass with my arms impaled around me. I'm under the shower head completely naked, dark black hair scattered across my face while goose bumps are covering me head to toe. It's horrible. Thank god for the bushes surrounding me or I'd look like utter fool.

Naked fool.

I should have made myself highly intoxicated before I decided to wash. The freezing temperature would be the least of my worries and I would be giggling while doing so. That could have been more logical in my case. God dammit.

The running shower comes to a halt and screeches as my hand twists the rusted handle off.

"Alright, that's enough," my mind insists I as grab the towel off the fence, wrap it around me and wobble on inside.

The day I get a proper operating shower, is the day I will sing out of pure happiness whilst back flipping down my street wildly. Until then, no.

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It's roughly around eight and I'm just lying here on my bed clothed in just my underwear and surrounded by complete darkness while consumed in myself and its daunting thoughts.

Again.

Yay.

I'm so bored argh; I need friends, new friends.

Me being the un-social idoit I am, avoid my friends at all costs or only hang out with them at school so I'm not bored and lonely, woo. I wouldn't even really consider them my "friends" to be quite frank. There just a bunch of pricks with un-meaningful tattoos and a shit reputation.

Well I fit into that category as well I suppose. I don't even know majority of their names from the five of them. Oh well, fuck it.

I wonder what harper is up to at the moment?

I imagine her dressed in a long baggy band shirt with no pants on, sitting on her bed reading, music up incredibly high or re-dying her hair that amazing shade of pink that always smells like coconut.

Her room has quotes plastered on her roof. I know this due to every history lesson she tells me all the new ones she's added to her "collection". So she would be under the covers in a trance staring at them. I wonder what they mean? Or how they relate to her or to people she knows.

Her in bed. Argh.

I automatically visualise me lying next to her under the covers, hand making repetitive circles on her bare stomach as she is sleeping.

My fantasies take a toll.

Dirty thoughts, halt Blake.

My imaginations become slow and my eyes go heavy. I hug my blankets around me and pretend they are the very Harper Ratcliffe.

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