By the time Anti found him, he was curled in a ball on the bathroom floor, hair greasy and messed, sweating and writhing on the floor. The pink moustached man whimpered and Anti rushed over to him, attempting to help him up on his feet, but stopped when he saw the deep purple dots running up the length of his arm.
Track marks.
"You're a fucking idiot, Wilford." Anti said, frustrated.
Anti noticed just how freezing his skin was as he hoisted Wilford up and over to his bed.
"Heroin, really?! How fucking irresponsible are you?" Anti put his face in his hands.
"I'm t-Trying to s-s-stop..."
"Trying to stop? You never should've started!"
"Screw you...It's not like you would've cared...You only seem to care when I fuck up, w-when I need help you're f-fucking nowhere to be s-seen,"
Wilford paused, gingerly peeling his shirt off his skin and dumping it onto the floor, before laying down on his side.
"You only s-show up to nag at me." Anti scoffed.
"I get angry with you because you're my friend and you matter to me-"
"Oh really?! Where were you when I took a bullet to the gut? Where were you when I was hiding from the police?!," Wilford still wasn't facing Anti, just clutching his sides and shivering. His speech impediment becoming worse as he got angrier.
"Where were you when I lost my job...Nowhere...Doing your own damn thing...Like you always do...Some fucking friend you are." Anti scowled, he was going to answer back but the thought was cut off by retching noises coming from Wilford.
"Shit. Here, lean over the bed, I'll get you a bucket or something..." Anti looked around the room before settling on giving him a wastepaper bin to throw up into.
Wilford's clammy hands clutched at the bin, as he emptied the contents of his stomach.
"Ugh... I liked that bin... Even got it in pink..."
"To match your moustache. And...Pretty much everything else in your room, actually."
Wilford let out a weak laugh, closing his eyes, leaning back onto the pillows, furrowing his eyebrows.
"I'm a mess. Aren't I?"
Anti sighed. He really did care about Wilford. Or, at least, he didn't want him to get any worse.
"You are a bit, yeah. A pink haired, lisped mess. But you mean well, you're trying to get better and that's what matters." Wilford chuckled.
"Says the guy who murders people in his spare- In his-...Hoohh god I feel really sick now, like really really really really sick..."
"Aim for the bucket, ya fuckin' moron."
"No, I'm not gonna vomit I just...Argh..." He gritted his teeth, nails digging into his shoulders to stop him from wanting to grab a needle and jam the liquid heaven right into his veins.
"It's...The longest I've gone without it...I don't know if I can do it, Anti."
"Where are the needles?"
"Behind the medicine cabinet, why?"
"I'll be right back."
Wilford thought Anti was going to help him get high again, but his excitement was short lived as he heard the sound of a toilet flushing in the other room.
Oh boy, he wasn't gonna let him off that easy, was he?
