Decide

I walked into the house that my fiance, John, and I had shared for the past three years, and I was completely shocked with what I saw.
No, he wasn't cheating on me.
What John was doing was so much worse. John was sitting on the living room couch with a belt tightly wrapped around his bicep, and the needle of a syringe injecting heroine into his blood stream. I couldn't believe this. He was in our house that we shared, getting high! I could even muster up any words to say to him, instead I just walked towards our his room, and packed my shit. He followed me into the bedroom and was very dazed as he looked at me confusingly, as though he didn't understand why I was packing. "John, I can't believe this. YOU WERE DOING DRUGS IN OUR HOUSE! Do you not care that heroine can kill you? Obviously you don't." I said. I zipped up my suitcase and walked back into the living room, I pulled off my engagement ring and slammed onto the table that was littered with alcohol pads, a bent spoon, and a used syringe. I left immediately after. I can't believe this.

John had a decision to make.