Requiem For A Dream // Phan

5; Oh fuck you, you indecisive asshole

**TW**

Quote Of the Day: It's okay to walk out of someone's life if you feel like you don't belong in it anymore.

Question Of the Day: Favorite Show/Movie? What interested you?

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I didn't know what had gone through my mind when I saw him, one thing I did catch in my thoughts, was to run. Run as far away as you can without stopping.

"Phil?" I slurred,

"Yeah . . . " I slowly walked past him, drinking the rest of the bottle, almost falling in the process, but I walked by him like it was nothing. Like nothing even happened.

_

A couple of days later I had run out of booze so I blasted some music, and I got out my needles. I went into the kitchen, avoiding Phil's hard gaze and grabbed a spoon. My lighter was in the living room since last time I got stoned so I picked it up, and ran out the room before he could question me. The urge to self-destruct was very strong at this point. I wanted to ruin myself, I wanted to ruin everything I had lived up to, every early morning, every test I studied for, every relationship, I wanted it all to be ruined.

I got the heroin out of the bag and placed it on the spoon, I was smoking a cigarette while doing this, so it was dangling from my mouth as I sang along to the song that was playing. I think it was Santeria but I couldn't tell. I put some of the liquid onto the spoon to make it melt easier and put the light under the spoon, two songs and 3 three cigarettes later, it was melted. I had put a cotton ball on the tip of the needle so it wouldn't soak up the leftover particles.

I rolled my sleeve up, tightened the strap around my arm and held it with my teeth. I slapped my arms a couple times to find a large vein when I did, I removed the cotton ball and stuck the needle in my arm. I could feel the hot liquid pouring through my veins and let go of the strap.

What I didn't realize, was Phil had just walked in, yet, I didn't act surprised. I couldn't. I was high off my ass right now, It's not like he gives a shit about me.

This dose seemed so much stronger than the ones I experienced. I could usually talk, now I'm mumbling nonsense. I could hear Phil's voice but I blocked it out and started to laugh hysterically.

Phil's View

I had come back because I needed a place to stay again, I've moved from friends to friends and my last option was to move back in with my homophobic/religious parents, Or Dan. I decided Dan would be best. But I never thought he would be doing what I just saw him do in a million years, it was not like him at all. I kind of expected the red marks on his arms, He's always been like that, but drugs? I'd never even thought or merely looked at cigarettes. Drugs?

"Dan?" His head rolled back against the bed,

"Dan, Can I please turn this down?" I asked, when he didn't answer, I snapped in his face. Which got his attention but he just rolled onto the floor with no answer. So I just turned it down myself, then a certain song came on. I had recognized the tune. I knew I did, so I turned it up a bit more.

Requiem. Mozart. Scary fucking song. It reminded me of what Dan was doing to himself. I didn't understand, nor want to. Who did he even get it from? It looks like he hasn't taken a shower in days nor eaten in weeks. And his hair, He hasn't even had the audacity to straighten it. . .

I picked him up and set him on his bed. I picked up his bag of 'goods' and went to the bathroom. I flushed the remainder of coke down the toilet, along with everything else. I went back to his room and picked up the needles and the baggies, and the other shit off the floor and did the same, but I had stomped on the needles.

I went back to him and took his shoes off and his coat. I put the covers over him and started doing my thing. I cleaned up everything in his room, to his drug supplies to a dirty sock. Then I started with the rest of the house. I removed all types of alcohol in the cupboards and in the fridge. I cleaned the living room, getting rid of all the ashes in the carpets and puke stains on the couch. Then I cleaned up my room. By the time I was done, he wasn't. He was rolling around on his bed, muttering how beautiful the sky is tonight.

I don't think he's an addict to these things, so I'm sure he'll thank me for getting rid of everything.

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Rule number one for junkies: Hide your stash.

Rule number one for the people lookin' after the junkies: Don't touch their stash. Its killed or be killed in that situation.