Enantiodromia (Kellic)

16. Madness

TW
Kells pov

I smile as i finish my last line of meth. I'm in my bedroom at one AM using up the fix I took from Vic, not like he'll mind. The rush begins as my pulse starts to race. An invisible forceful of aggression and concentration hits me and I slightly numb my thoughts and try to focus on the hit, the adrenalin.

Soon, I've begun cleaning my walls because they look dirty but there's this one spot I've been scrubbing harshly for ten minutes. The paint has begun to chip of an it's only when there is a quarter sized white spot of missing paint that I stop and move onto a new spot.

Eventually, through my cleaning I found an old sketchbook tucked away and with sudden intrest in the idea that maybe I still had a knick for art after not doing it in so many years, I began to sketch out a drawing of Vic on the next page.

As i drew, thoughts like what George Washington did in his free time and where snakes hear from popped into my head and I'd periodically stop and search up these thngs. Along the way I learned more about middle school things than I did in middle school; I was interested. I wanted to know about everything and be the smartest person in the whole world. But I also wanted to Finish the drawing.

So, moving quickly with speed in my veins, i finished it up as the rush began to end and the next part started.

After 11 hours of madness, I'd drawn the most beautiful portrait I could ever imagine myself doing, cleaned my walls bare, organized my entire room and backpack, made breakfast and felt wonderful. It was one PM now and I felt normal again, my heart pumping regularly.  I was ready to sleep though, so that's what I was planning on doing, but right before I crawled into bed, I could almost hear the little baggie that had a few lines left in it calling my name. I like the rush, I like the feeling of liquid rapidly rushing through my veins and the agressive intelligence that lives inside me when I'm on meth.

I couldn't resist. So I went another twelve hours without sleeping and obsessively re-created my room before getting on Google and learning origami.

But I'm not addicted.

××××

It's three am on Monday morning and I haven't slept all weekend. My room is the cleanest it's ever been though. For some reason, I just haven't been able to stop. Everytime I'm starting a come off the high, i find myself, without even thinking about it, doing another line.

I'm coming off my last high now, this one just hasn't felt the same, I'm not getting the same rush. I've just used to much this weekend, it doesn't feel special. I need to wait a bit before I use again so it'll feel good again.

Yeah, I'll just wait it out. But there's no way I can sleep without missing my alarm and missing school and my mom will kill me, considering I just skipped with Vic on Thursday. I'll just stay awake and watch TV.

××××

It's Tuesday and there are bugs underneath my skin. I can see them, I can feel them. I feel them crawling around here like they belong. I keep itching but they won't go away. Vic told me it's because I used too much and I'm having hallucinations but this is real, it's real! I can fucking feel them. I haven't been myself, I can't concentrate on anything other than this feeling. I keep seeing lines of coke on every angle table but when I reach for it it's not there. My parents have been giving me wierd looks at the dinner table when I'm scratching my thigh uncontrollably and staring onto the distance, my hand shaking as i try to robotically shovell food into my mouth.

They must think I'm insane.  I tried to tell them I have a rash and am overly stressed. I don't know if they bought it.

I'm in the bathroom and I keep punching myself for being so stupid. I shouldn't have done so much, I should've had some self control and known when to stop. There's scabs on my runny nose from snorting so much. In the corner of my eye I see one of my mom's disposable razors that somehow ended up here and without even thinking about this action, i had torn it apart in one minute flat and was slashing it across my jeans, cutting through the material and my skin on my lower thigh, near my knee. I keep doing it in the same place over and over, deepening the cut before I suddenly snap into it and punch myself in the stomach for being so stupid. Why would i do that? What the fuck is going on?

I put pressure on the wound and sneak to my room, blood beginning to spill through the towel I've slapped over the cut. I text my mom and ask her for her sewing kit and a glass of ice water, saying I need to sew a hold I accidentally made in my jeans, which is half true. Before she reaches my room, I hide the lower half of my body underneath the covers.

She drops off the two items and disspeared with a "good luck". I strip off my jeans and sit on the floor next to the cup of ice and sewing shit. After applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding (which took thirty minutes and three towels), I fish out a chunk of ice and numb the skin around the wound.

Then I quickly began the nasty part, disinfecting the needle and string and then sewing it back together.

××××
Incase ur confused or am like why is this happening so quickly, it's BC he's going through withdrawal and having intense hallucinations and overall loosing control because he isn't high. It's more extreme than normal BC it's been longer than normal since he wasn't high. So yeah I did my research per usual and I got this, don't worry kiddos.