Brand New Lover

Pressure

Rozz

I wake up alone, it's dark out but I have no idea what time it is, my skin is clammy and goosebumps make me shiver. Sweat sticks my dark hair to my forehead and I can't get myself grounded.
I have no idea how long I've been asleep for, it feels like days. My dreams are still playing out in my head; Martin begging me to come home with him, trying his hardest to coax me off the window ledge. I remember Alan shoving him aside and grabbing me before I could throw myself off the ledge. The rest is a deeply buried nightmare that I'd rather not dig back up. What the boys did may have been out of love but I can't forgive them. It only made things worse, the day I returned home I relapsed and here I am now, still addicted, still playing the most deadliest form of Russian roulette. No one understands just how good it feels to have it in your system, unless you've been where I have, you'll think of it as dirty and dangerous, deadly. Heroin is all of those things but it numbs my pain.

I can hear a clock ticking, the gentle rhythmic clicking allows me to get in focus to breathe in and out slowly. Why can't I see anything?
I get on my hands and knees and feel the carpeted floor beneath me. I can't open my eyes and the ticking clock gets louder and louder and is abruptly more sinister than it was a few moments ago. I scream at the top of my lungs for Martin, he's the only one who'll always listen to my pleas. The others will only come to me when Martin is in distress. I know I'm selfish for being so much trouble and I hate hurting Martin because he's like a brother to me, I can't fix my mind on my own and no doctor will help me because they look at my past and see a troubled person with a drug dependency that dictates every aspect of my life. If only it were that simple. And I wish the world would see me for who I am, I am doubting myself now though, so maybe I shouldn't expect it of others if I'm not certain who I am, I'm not male, I'm not female. I'm in between.

Why is no one coming to help me? I can't open my eyes and the clock won't stop ticking. My shoulders tense with anxiety and I tug at my matted hair that tickles my face and increases my agitation. Any kind of touch is uncomfortable when withdrawal hits. I think it's withdrawal. I can't for the life of me remember anything before I woke up and I'm scared it's been hours, even days since I was last conscious and I don't feel very good. I want to throw up but my stomach tightens so much even a repulsive action such as this is too much on my body. For now it is anyways. I've been here before. The darkness and the fear, the not knowing if any of it is real.

It feels like hours but I can feel him shaking me and telling me to come back, that it's okay, that I'm alive. Gradually the world materialises in front of me. Dave is sitting with me, it takes a moment to settle myself and he pulls me into an hug. "I think we need to have a talk, don't you?" He says calmly, handing me a cigarette.
"What about, because I'm really not prepared for a lecture or some speech."
Dave sighs and brushes the hair from my face, "How about you start writing again, or we can take you shopping for new clothes, and it's definitely time you got a haircut." I shift away from him a little and stare, I can't think what to say and the cigarette isn't enough to stave off the shaking and the nausea. "Please Rozz, let us help you and figure this out in our own way. No more doctors, no more rehab. We can find a way to get you better before you do yourself any more harm." There's a desperate look in his eyes, I've seen it before but the tear that falls down his face tells me this time it's my last chance.
"Fine," I say, "I'll do it, but only if you can sort something out for me first, otherwise I'll be falling at the first hurdle."