Popping Cherries

The week seems to drag out with our daily routines and random activities dotted throughout the week. I’m exhausted by the time Friday rolls around, I almost start wishing I had made that deal with Dr. Greggor. Though on Friday’s everyone gets to have an extra hour to sleep in, so I lay there in bed, thinking.

Thinking of my arrival.

“Oliver, you’re going to be put in rehabilitation. Do you understand?”

I don’t know who is talking to me, but I nod my head. My nose is bleeding again. There is a light touch on my shoulder and someone is handing me a towel to wipe my nose off, I am assuming. Grabbing it, I press it to my nasal passage and my other hand ruffles through my hair. It feels damp and stringy.

“We’re going to let you take a shower and then you must go to sleep, okay? Mr. Hammonds will assist you if you need any help.”

Again, I nod and am being led over to a small, white bathroom.

My eyes can hardly focus on anything and I stumble around a bit until I figure out how to turn the shower on. It clears my senses enough for me to shampoo and condition my hair. My body feels heavy for some reason, I look down and realize I have forgotten to take off my clothes.

Slowly, I peel them off like they’re huge slabs of flesh.

They slosh on the tiled floor.

After the shower and am dressed in a hospital-like gown, the man named Mr. Hammonds leads me over to a bed. From what I had over heard, the withdrawal symptoms haven’t yet hit, but they will soon enough.

By the time midnight comes, I am shaking and my breathing is extremely labored. A cold sweat has broken out all over my body and my head is aching, my hands grip the sheets as I force myself to focus on a single black spot on the floor. It feels like a horrible fever where you start hallucinating that objects are getting bigger and are about to crush you, and people with contorted animal faces begin to babble nonsense.

“Hello Mr. Sykes, that dot, that black dot right there, well that’s your blood! Better go lick it up, it probably tastes good!” Zebrahead’s hands fold across his knee as he leans back into a swirling patch of darkness and disappears.

Suddenly I am on my feet and frantically twisting about, searching for a way out of this place. I grab a lamp and toss it with all my strength at a window, it simply smashes and crumbles to the ground. The window wasn’t harmed in the least.

Fuck.

The door slams open behind me and I find myself screaming at the top of my lungs. Screaming for me to be let go, screaming that I can’t take this anymore.

I feel a prick in my arm.

Something that I would grow accustomed to for a couple of months.