Hitman: Captured | #1 - HIATUS

► Chapter 5

I never really gave them much thought before. You know, addicts and all; I always sympathized how they would get hooked on drugs just to get that high, to escape reality, and just relax—forgetting the disaster around them. I've heard how they destroy their lives just to get a 'good feeling' from doing it and I've also heard how they go through these hardships in order to pick up the pieces little by little to build their lives again.

It feels exactly as when I first took the medication. The nausea, the constant shakiness in my hands that don't seem to stop, the throbbing in my head—pulsing at the same rhythm as my veins. The dryness in my throat at the desperate need to drink something to quench my thirst yet no matter how many glasses of water I drink my lips remain quivering and cracked. Shivers rake through my lean frame, tightening my hold around the blue blanket as if it would provide me with the warmth I need.

Except it doesn't.

"It's time for your pill." Neil announces causing me to stiffen and glare at the television casting a tv series I regretted never watching before. I can hear his heavy thumps hitting the wooden floor, approaching me with ease and tranquility—I understand now how deers feel when I hunt them, right before my bullet hits their head or my bow strikes their side. "I don't want it." I shrink back into the couch, ignoring the man now standing beside me.

His stare is intense, scrutinizing every inch of my face in silence, patiently waiting which unnerved me further to have him so close, so silent, and so...still. Unable to disregard his presence any longer as if it demands my attention on him, I avert my eyes from the series to the lofty and muscular man standing between the couch and the white coffee table holding a plate of food, a bottle of water, and pill bottles. I stare at them purposely ignoring his face knowing he's going to try and intimidate me into taking them.

As I have been refusing to take them since the day two of this bullshit 'therapy' as Alexei likes to call it. I'm not an addict, all I need are my normal dosage to cope with my anxiety but for some reason, these men who never raised a kid with anxiety disorder think they're helping by making me stop my medication and take another with no guarantee of its function.

The dosage is still down to three a day, I prefer not taking them when it keeps making me feel terrible. I was fine at first and I thought I was going to be okay until I started getting terrible headaches and nausea—I refused to eat to avoid throwing up again. I hate feeling this bad, "You don't want it," Neil repeats my words; his deep voice is clear and cool.

He's seriously creeping me out.

I nod my head in confirmation, clearing my dry throat and rub my tongue around attempting to get some kind of moisture in my mouth—and failed. From my peripheral vision I can see him turning around to face the white table putting down everything in his hands, pops open the cap of the Anxiolytics; at this point, my entire attention is on him when he takes out two pink round pills. I frown in bemusement, "Neil I said I don't want it."

He whirls around glaring his honey hazel eyes down at me, thick straight brows knitted together shadowing his eyes threateningly, "I told you, I go by 'Damon' while I'm on the job. Don't make it a habit calling me by my name, pretty boy." He says sternly. I give him a look at the nickname of 'pretty boy', it wouldn't be the first time I hear it as I used to be called that by a linebacker in Football from high school.

In short, he and I were fuck buddies until we had to break it off almost being caught a few times. It was several weeks before I came out to my parents, but I don't think he did yet if he wasn't sneaking around sleeping with guys; for a split second, I wonder if he had come out to his parents and friends. If he was accepted. I mean sure Christopher and Brian were cool about it because they don't feel having a different sexuality from others makes me stop being human.