Dear Addiction

Chapter four

Trigger warning:
Drug use

Dean didn't feel guilty, not as he pulled up to a high end club, or when he ordered a vodka martini. Or a second. Or third. Or forth. He should've felt something when he followed the dealer, out of the busy cluster of people and into the bathroom, willing to break his promise to Sam after only five days. It had been six days since he'd had his last dose, the longest he'd ever been without, and that was all he could care about. The cravings, the desperation, the willingness to do anything for even one line.

It was all he could think about as the dealer shifted through his pockets. Not Sam, or the kids he was supposed to watch in the morning, just the high, the confidence, and energy. Nothing else mattered.

"Is this all you have?" Dean spat, he lifted the small bag the dealer had just handed him, shaking it in exaggeration. " Do I look like some bitch." Dean stepped forward, at same time the man stepped back, left hand raised, while his right moved to his jacket pocket. He looked up at Dean with a knowing look, though Dean didn't budge. He wouldn't be shot, at least not in the bathroom where everyone could see.

"I swear man, that's all that's left. I've sold out!."

Dean tightened his hand into a fist, crushing the small bag. He could practically feel the syringe in his hand, the plastic against his thumb, the cold needle pressed to his forearm. He could feel the high like an itch that wouldn't go away. The desperate need for it, the restless feeling that took over, mixed in with the ache, and the thought that maybe, just maybe if he were to kill himself the feeling would go away. "Fine," He slowly loosened his grip, taking a deep breath. Maybe it wasn't cocaine but he needed something, some kind of distraction from the craving. "What else do you have."

The man shifted, letting his hand drop from his pocket. "I don't know, wha'da yah like? I got some Skag, Molly, Lucy."

"I'll take it all but the Molly."

The man nodded, while Dean pulled out his wallet, the dealer pulled out the small bags from his inside pocket. "How much do you want?"

"I'll take a bag of the skag, and two doses of acid."

Dean passed over the money, then took the small bags stuffing them into his own pocket. Without another glance Dean turned on his heel, walking as fast as he could to get out of the bathroom, and back into the crowded club. People surrounded him, the music blaring as he pushed through the crowd, desperate to get to the bar, a task that would've been much easier if it wasn't for the vodka martinis he'd downed when he first arrived.

When Dean finally got his order he went back to pushing his way back through the crowd, until he found an empty booth, where he shut the curtains, and collapsed into the seat. He then placed the glass of water onto the table, followed by the bag of cocaine and a tin container.

Through the ringing of his ears he could hear the music blaring, only broken by the occasional voice that was a little too close for comfort.

With one more glance to the blue velvet curtain Dean opened the bag and poured the powder into the cup.  "Come on," he mumbled, as he began stirring the water with a stare. "Come on, come on," his mumbles soon became quite begs for the powder to dissolve.

When the cocaine was no longer visible, Dean placed down the cup, and pulled up his left sleeve, until his forearm was visible. Each action came without a thought, opening the tin container, pulling out the needle, an action repeated so many times he could do it in his sleep. Then slowly filling the needle. He held his breath for a second, staring at it, the syringe in his hand, the hazy liquid inside it, before placing it down and grabbing the elastic band.