"What can I say? I like a little mystery in my life. It really spices things up."
The last time he spoke with Allison, she had just gotten married. At the time, he barely had enough money to live off of, let alone send her a gift or even attend the thing. Living off the grid, without a real phone and no longer allowed into the Academy, he kept to himself and dedicated as much of his time to surviving as he could. Anything for the next hit, the next drink, the next bed to sleep in. Anything to keep the ghosts at bay.
People told him all the time that he was walking a dangerous road, drinking and partying and popping pills the way he was. The last batch he got must have been bad, laced with something more potent and toxic because all he remembers is reaching for his mostly empty wallet, and then hitting the floor. (In hindsight, it's a good thing he kept the little post-it note with her number on it inside his wallet, because he's sure he'd be on the streets again if not).
"Better to stay busy, keep moving. You're not hard to find, though. I saw your face on a movie poster the other day and you looked fantastic." He laughs weakly, wincing when his stomach gives another flip. He feels like he's slowly rotting from the inside out. "But hey this is like living in luxury. Warm bed, crazy hospital socks, and I bet they'll give me all the shitty jell-o cups I want."
no subject
The last time he spoke with Allison, she had just gotten married. At the time, he barely had enough money to live off of, let alone send her a gift or even attend the thing. Living off the grid, without a real phone and no longer allowed into the Academy, he kept to himself and dedicated as much of his time to surviving as he could. Anything for the next hit, the next drink, the next bed to sleep in. Anything to keep the ghosts at bay.
People told him all the time that he was walking a dangerous road, drinking and partying and popping pills the way he was. The last batch he got must have been bad, laced with something more potent and toxic because all he remembers is reaching for his mostly empty wallet, and then hitting the floor. (In hindsight, it's a good thing he kept the little post-it note with her number on it inside his wallet, because he's sure he'd be on the streets again if not).
"Better to stay busy, keep moving. You're not hard to find, though. I saw your face on a movie poster the other day and you looked fantastic." He laughs weakly, wincing when his stomach gives another flip. He feels like he's slowly rotting from the inside out. "But hey this is like living in luxury. Warm bed, crazy hospital socks, and I bet they'll give me all the shitty jell-o cups I want."