Dear Addiction

Chapter eight

Trigger warning:
Drug use

The FaceTime came sometime between his sixth and seventh dose, at the peak when his body was high with adrenaline, and his heart hammered faster then the beat of the music. He had staggered away from whichever girl he'd been pressed against and to one of the bartenders begging, and then bribing for them to give him a private room to answer his call in.

They led him to a small broom closet, which Dean took gratefully, collapsing against the only empty wall. When he pushed the door closed with his foot everything became dark, hopefully enough that Crowley wouldn't be able to see the dilation of his pupils, or the sweat that dripped down his forehead.

He pulled his phone out, already having missed the first call, he slid accept to the second. Act normal, act normal, was all he could repeat to himself, ignoring the fact that he couldn't exactly remember what normal was.

The phone screen lit up as Crowley's face appeared at the other end. He sat in his office, the pristine white walls, and clean decor unmistakable, contrasting against his usual black suit. "Dean-" He greeted, his professional tone dropped, as his expression changed from emotionless to confusion, "are you in a closet?"

Dean glanced back and forth, just able to see the shelves and brooms through the darkness. He'd forgotten he wasn't still in the club dancing with some girl, the music blaring through his head. It was a nice change, he didn't think his heart, or eyes, could've handled it much longer.

"Yes?"

Crowley stared at Dean, and Dean forced himself to look back, though he had trouble keeping his eyes in one spot, always seemed to drift to the small part of the screen where his own image was. The same went for his other hand, that didn't hold his phone, tapping away at his thigh to a random beat. "Are you not going to explain why to me?"

"Oh- yah." He pushed himself from the wall, switching to another. He'd only been in the closet for a minute though he didn't think he could stay for much longer, his skin itching with energy, to move and dance, and sing at the top of his lungs with the rest of the club. "I'm at my brothers, and you know kids, two rooms, couches. Closets are the only thing private."

"Oh?" Crolwey nodded slightly, though he didn't seem fully convinced. "Anyways the record label got back to me, and they're pissed-"

"They're always fucking pissed, it's not my fucking fault that I made one fucking mistake." Dean snapped

"They want to drop you." Dean's head turned from the broom he'd been watching and to Crowley, so quickly the world seemed to flip, his stomach following. He was going to throw up. "Lucky for you I'm a bloody good manager, and was able to make a deal with them. They want an album written by next year."

"Fuck them! It's August!" Dean cried, "the end of august!"

"Yes, I agree the time limit is a little iffy, but it's all I could get from them," Crowley explained, though Dean barely listened as he could feel the cocaine wear off as it was bound to do. Slowly the high he felt became a crushing feeling in his stomach as if he'd been holding the world on his shoulders. He slowly slid down the wall, no longer having the energy to stand. "Lee will be writing half the songs, I'm sure you can do the other half?."

"Don't I have a contract with them?"

"Yes, a three album contract, now let me see, you released your first album by yourself, then your second with them," He raised a finger as he said that, "and then your third." He raised a second finger, "and then your forth," Crowley raised a third finger, which he then sarcastically looked down at before showing them to Dean. "and look at that, you've finished the three albums!"