Make It out Alive

I was dancing. Dancing and dancing in a white room with invisible people. Silent music played and I danced to it. Everything was- BRRINGGG.

I was jolted out of a dream by my phone ringing. I checked the called ID and saw it was Spencer. "Hey, everything okay?" I asked, concerned.

"I really want it, Polly," he whispered.

"I'll be right over," I told him, disconnecting. I pulled a hoodie on and slipped into my shoes, my silk pajamas swishing together as I hurried. I walked down the hall of the hotel and tapped on his door, my foot tapping anxiously.

He opened it, peering out of tired, red rimmed eyes. The usual dark circles around his eyes only intensified. He shook slightly. I walked inside, leading him to the bed and letting the door snap shut.

I gently shoved him onto the bed and clampered in, cuddling with him as I switched on the TV. I found some cheaply made movie and left it, kissing Spence's neck and quieting him as he shook and cried.

I nearly forced some water down his throat, and wrapped the blanket around him, holding onto him as if he could slip away at any moment. The case was getting to him, that's what was making the craving particularly hard.

Luckily, at this point, he was no longer physically addicted, only mentally did he desire it. Cravings were also becoming fewer and further between.

I remembered my own cravings, doing anything to please my father to make the awful hurt go away. As a reward, he'd give me the sweet drug, and things would seem better.
I kissed his temple. "Spence, it's going to be okay."

"I know," he whispered hoarsely.

"I'm so proud of you," I told him, squeezing him tight.