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Chapter Four

4.

As the car races along the roads, he thinks about home. It's not where his mum lives, where he grew up. That's not a home. He doesn't think it ever really was. Not since everything began to go wrong when he was sixteen. Even his flat, he doesn't know if it's a home. If it's his home. It's a place to be. A place to eat, sleep and pop those pills. A place to be left alone. A place he wonders if he's going to get to see again. He's not sure he cares that much. He can always find somewhere new. Somewhere will no one will find him, where he can have his little friends from his little bottle in peace. He likes that idea. A new home. A home that's worth going home for.

The rest of the day is a blur. He doesn't know what's happening or why it's happening. All he can think about is when he'll be able to get his next fix. He sits slumped in a chair, his head lulling to one side while someone talks at him. He's not sure who it is, but they have a very gentle voice. He feels like drifting off to sleep. But he can't. He wonders if he will be able to again without his little red bottle. His mum asks him something, the only reply is a soft grunt. He can't even summon up the energy to listen or speak. He wonders if he's lost the ability to even do those things.

As he's sitting, barely grasping onto what he has left of his once happy life, he examines the floor. It looks like the one in one of his university classrooms. The last time he set foot in that was months ago. He had tried once to go when he high on the pills. Bad idea, but he wanted to know if he could do it. Maybe he could continue with his normal life, even though it had become far from normal. He came staggering in, red rimmed eyes and foggy pupils. His friends had asked what was wrong with him, hungover, was the grunt of reply. They didn't need to know. They wouldn't understand. He sat through the class barely paying attention. He had no desire to learn, to feed his starving brain with knowledge. His foot tapping, his brain wondering when his could get out and take a pill. He just needed it to relax him. So, he did, he pulled one out of his pocket and swallowed it dry. He was used to that now. It was part of his daily routine now. It was too easy. When the confused looks and raised eye brows from the friends next to him reached him he gave another muttered reply of banging headache. And that was that. They had believed him. He thinks. He spent the rest of the class in a numb daze, staring at the whiteboard, foot tapping away. He couldn't stop it, even when the girl with long brown hair in front turned around and gave him a look. He didn't care. He couldn't care. He was in his own high. The only thing he cared for was the pills. The class had ended, and he had made his escape. Muttering something about needing a nap, but yeah, I'll meet you all later for some drinks. Another broken promise, another lie told. He did go and nap, but it was dreamless and still. Something to do until enough time had passed for him to take yet another pill. He ignored the text messages and Facebook group chats. He simply threw his phone to the other side of the room and popped another pill. A lit cigarette in one hand and his friends in the other. That's when he decided that was all he needed. Maybe all he would ever need again.

The Doctor asks him a question. One he can't seem to make out. A soft grunt is the only reply he can give. And then the question is asked again. He manages to make it out this time: how long? And again, he can't seem to give an answer. A half-hearted shrug is all he gives. The pill he swallowed before being heaved out into the car is swimming in his stomach. He holds it down, he doesn't want to be sick. Not again. He wishes he had another pill.

There's some more chatter. A couple of raised voices. He thinks which come from his mum, he wouldn't be surprised. She's seemed to do a lot of raised voices in the last day and a half. He sits, slumped and looks to the wall. There's a painting of flowers, a honey bee flying near it. He turns away. It's too bright. Too full of life. He wonders when he's going to get out of here. When he can go back to his flat and catch up on, on all the pills he's missed in the hours since he had been found. He hopes soon, his stomach is longing for them. Craving them. Needing them.

When he manages to look back to the Doctor, a young, brown haired, glasses wearing man, he croaks out a few simple words. I'd like to go now. He's met with three pairs of eyes looking at him. He isn't sure why. He doesn't know what this place is, but he wants to go. It's time to go. But his request is met by a small shake of the head from the Doctor and some words he can't make out. His head is swimming. He just wants to sleep.

He forces his eyes to stay open and that's when he suddenly starts thinking about the little bakery he used to go to most days. He drifts into the thoughts of the cookies, muffins and bread that he used to love to buy. He can't remember the last time he ate something from there. The girl who used to make the double chocolate chip muffins, they were his favourite. He wonders if she's still there now.

When they come out of the room, his mum is crying. He isn't sure why. He doesn't know what to do. What he's meant to do. His mum looks at him, the tears pouring out of her eyes. He wonders why, if all they're doing is going home, why his mum is crying so much. He hopes it's because she's going to drop him off at his flat and let him swallow as many pills as he wants. He hopes that this time, his attempt won't be a failed one. He needs it to succeed.

But his mum continues to cry, the Doctor puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He doesn't know what to do, so he does what he does best. He asked if he could just possibly get another pill. Last one for today, just to ease the headache he has. He knows it's a lie. It's a lie he's told a number of times to himself. It never is the last one. Not really. Yet that only made his mum cry some more. He could barely stand, barely look at her, he could barely see. So, instead, he slumped back down into a white plastic chair. In a room with blue walls, that made his head spin even more. He wanted a pill so bad.

The Doctor talks in hushed tones as he stayed slumped, not caring what was happening now. All he cared about was getting to go home, back to his flat. He looks at the walls again, trying to focus, so that his head would stop swimming as much. The walls remind him of the ocean. He wonders if that would be a peaceful way to die. Float out to sea, never to be seen again. He thinks that sounds nice. He wonders if he could get that feeling if he took a handful of pills and drifted off in a bath. Something to try. Something that might not fail.

He remembers playing in the sand and sea with his sister when he was younger. A fond memory. One of happier times. Times where he could laugh and smile, and nothing was wrong. When he was something. When he thought the world would be kind to him. He was wrong though. Out of his foggy eyes, he sees his mum looking at the same blue walls again. He wonders if she's thinking the same thing as he is.

His mum hugs him and whispers something into his ear. He can't make it out. His sister does the same, this time for longer. She squeezes him, and he fights the urge to vomit all down her back. He doesn't understand why everyone is hugging and why everyone is crying. Maybe their letting him back to his flat. Maybe they're finally doing what he's asked. Maybe he'll finally get to be alone again. It doesn't stop the numb feeling inside of him. He's not sure what will ever stop that feeling. But then his mum and sister are gone. And he is alone. But only for a second. A nurse in a white uniform takes his arm and says something in a soft, gentle voice. He likes her voice. He allows himself to be guided through the blue room into a new corridor. It smells clean. He stumbles after her, his hands shaking by his side. He's taken to a new room, white and clean and bright.

And that's when it hits him.

His old world is nothing but a distant memory now.