Can't Believe That I Survived

*Ronnie POV, 2 Weeks Earlier*

"FUCK!" I cringe in pain and pull my legs into my chest to form tight ball.
The worst of my withdrawal has hit me like a fucking train. 

As I lay in my bed groaning in agony, thoughts of my healthy future are suddenly erased completely from my now emotionally damaged brain.

You had no idea it would be this hard, did you?

You can't do this. You're too weak.

You're going to give up.

A clink of my cell door causes the insane voices in my head to vanish, and I squeeze my eyelids tightly together, unable to control any other part of my stiff body.

"Radke. Mr. Green has agreed to visit on Wednesday."
That's three days from now. You're going to be a lot worse by then.

"I-I'm n-n-not d-decent." I finally choke out after a few short breaths as pain shoots through every inch of my body. You need to see him.

The guard breathes a long, dramatic sigh. "If your not ready by Wednesday, you'll have to wait. Make up your mind, Radke. You wanna talk to someone? Hurry up." He storms out, swinging my door behind him until slams shut, effectively making my head pound harder against my skull.

You have to see him. Maybe he hasn't really replaced you. Maybe you still have a chance. What if you go completely apeshit? You can't take that risk. You'll be in here for longer. Don't you want to get out?

Sharp pangs burst in my stomach, and I tighten my arms around my legs. "Jesus-Fucking-AHH!" 

Just end it all. How?

I'm completely unaware of the tears that have splashed down my cheeks, only realizing as they drip onto my quickly dampening pillow. I have no energy left to wipe them away, let alone even move, only to squeeze tighter. I feel trapped in my own body. I'm also, literally, trapped. 

I'm trapped inside a dillinger...

I immediately realize what I have to do. This is super douchy. How will this help you?

Using all of the strength I can muster, I peel my stiff arms from my legs and sit up straight. 

With a look of determination in my eyes, I set myself onto the floor with my stomach flat on the concrete and my palms pressed against it.

I take a deep breath in at the same time as I hold myself up on my palms, then exhale as I lower my body back onto the ground.

After a few attempts my strength comes flowing back, along with an intense adrenaline rush. 

Because of all the drugs I was doing, I'm skinny as fuck. I only manage about 20 push-ups until I let my bod lay limply on the cold floor in exhaustion. Do you feel better?

This gave me time to rethink my future. Maybe I have another chance with Escape The Fate? Will I go back to my old habits? When I get out of here, will I be a completely different person? I'm a different person now. What will I be like in two years? 

Oh shit, I'm going to be living in this for two years.

I really break down at this thought, and I can't stop. Salty tears stream down my face uncontrollably but I don't utter a word. I just stare at the blank wall in front of me with my back against the cool metal frame of my bed.

Don't be such a pussy. It's just the withdrawal playing with your head. 

Do something.

I reach for my pen and paper, but my head pounds harder and harder against my skull, sending screeching rings into my eardrums. 

Fuck me. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*3 Days Later*

I wait for what seems like hours, in this cold plastic chair. 

I listen to other peoples' quiet voices, but unable to hear their words. Everyone looks happy to see us. Well, them. Obviously, no one wants to see me. 

Where the fuck is he? He can't just not show up. You've got some important shit to discuss.

The bell rings as a signal for 5 minutes left. 

Hurry up, Green. You worked hard to just get up this morning, let alone be even half decent for this.

I sigh in frustration as the final bell rings, and slam a fist onto the small table in front of me, hard. I ignore the stares that shoot my way, and exit through the small door and down the narrow hallway to my cell.

He will pay the price for betraying me.

I slump into the hard mattress beneath me as an intense migraine starts beating my senses mercilessly. I have to grip the bed sheet until my knuckles turn white to numb the pain.

My brain only registers a few objects as I scan my room from where I lay helplessly.

A neat pile of colorful letters fills one corner of my tiny room, waiting to be opened. A shelf, stacked with a few books, hangs above my small television. 

I curse under my short breaths, knowing I'll have to work sooner or later if I want to get out of this shit hole quicker, but I can't move. I know I have to be strong for the sake of my future, but I can't. All I want right now is sleep, which, if I do eventually fall unconscious, is better than staying awake through all this.