𝐖𝐇𝐘'𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 18+ ✓

Day 50.

- WARNING -

This chapter can be triggering for some people. Please don't read this chapter if you get triggered by death, suicide, or drug abuse. I'll see you in the next one then! I love you, stay safe and always remember to keep on going.

Day 50

Draco is sitting on his bed like he did the other 49 days since he's at home. He's taking a look around his grey and emotionless decorated room for the hundredth time today. He sighs before he hits the third blunt today. He doesn't even taste the toxic flavor of the weed anymore. It intertwines with his blood, becoming a part of Draco's DNA.

He lets his high self fall back down onto his bed and grabs a pillow to support his head. The headache the weed caused isn't as worse as the ache in his heart. He lied when he said he'll be okay. Draco doesn't know if he will recover from this heartache she caused. 50 days he has been suffering now in silence. He wonders when the pain will ever leave his body again.

"Probably never" he whispers to himself, staring at his grey ceiling. He thinks of the stars he showed her when he was the one to make things up. He remembers her unbelievably bright smile on her pretty face.

He turns around to the side as he can't stand seeing the ceiling anymore. His glance wanders to his nightstand where a tiny bag of white substance is laying. He thinks of the times when he became sober for her and how he didn't manage to be clean for longer than a few weeks.

"A weak, pathetic boy, I am" he whispers to himself again.

He turns around again, now laying on his stomach, his face is buried in his pillow. He has a hard time breathing as his tarry and sick lungs work hard to catch some fresh air every now and then. He enjoys seeing nothing for a minute until slowly, colorful pictures appear in the blackness of his sight.

He sees the moving and breathing forbidden forest in front of him. The colors of it are various and changing constantly, reminding him of the time he nearly died of an overdose. Draco tries to think about the feeling he had when he fainted but he can't. All he can remember is Prim surrounded by naked twins, fucking the shit out of her. He squints his eyes hard, so hard it hurts.

"Forget about it" Draco mumbles into his pillow, followed by a sigh of torture.

He decides to get out of bed and starts walking around the room. His owl eyeing him suspiciously and curiously. The heart inside him is pounding, it hurts with every beat it takes and the boy can't take this any longer. His eyes search for substances to numb his heart, to stop it from aching.

He grabs some of the cocaine on his nightstand and mixes it up with ketamine. There's nothing better to calm down your nerves than a narcotic drug used to put horses to sleep. If this mixture won't heal his heart, it can't be fixed at all, he thinks.

He looks a minute at the tiny mountain of white powder in front of him. He makes several lines out of it, one bigger than the other. Then he sits down on his chair and sniffs some of the drugs. He takes one line after another, not even waiting for them to operate.

He throws his head back as the tickling inside his mouth begins, as the numb feeling of his brain starts to spread all over his body. As the ketamine of the mixture hits, his sight goes blurry and delayed. A, for him pleasant feeling of being high as fuck enters his body. The parts of his body he was still feeling, become numb as well. Moving his head in the direction of the door is giving him a moment of flying in weightlessness.

He eyes the bright purple door. From the outside, it is black as his father made it go black again after Draco's younger self painted it purple. He asks himself why his father didn't change the inside of the door as well to make it fitting to the otherwise so grey and black room.

He smirks as he thinks about why he painted it in purple. Maybe it was because he thought as a child there is no way out of his misery, of escaping this darkness he is trapped in. Everywhere he steps in this big old house, he sees nothing but dark colors.

So how is his mind supposed to be anything different than black and dark?

He guesses, he was way smarter as a child as everybody thought he was. His younger self just wanted to remind Draco that there can be color in a world full of darkness.

He grabs a feather on his desk and starts writing a letter. He feels like he should tell her how he feels after all those days at home, suffering. It doesn't even take him long to write everything down he wants to say but as soon as he is finished, he looks at it for a while. And throws it away.

And so he is feeling his heart beating, pounding, pumping blood. It still aches with every beat it takes and so Draco closes his eyes. With feeling no part of his body anymore except for his heart, he turns around to the big lines of substances in front of him.

His pulse is already racing, his heart is competing with it.

Draco can't stand feeling his heart working to keep him alive. It is working hard as it tries to put up with the amount of drugs inside his blood. With every move, it tightens its muscles to prepare for the next throb.

Even though Draco can feel his pulse reacting to a possible overdose, he takes another line and gets back onto his bed.

"Is it too much to ask for to feel nothing at all?" Draco mumbles while closing his eyes.