Chapter 17

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Harry

Louis Tomlinson had saved his life, there was no denying it; if he hadnt happened to wander down High Road on his way to work that morning, and if he hadn't happened to notice Harry's car parked in the lot of an abandoned and charred building, Harry would have died of an overdose.

He opened the unlocked car door and slapped the pale and clammy face of his acquaintance, making sure he was semi-conscious and breathing before pushing him into the passengers seat and driving the rest of the way down the road to the pawn shop. Johanna Tomlinson arrived thirty minutes later, rushing after her son's frantic phone call, and injected the barely breathing young man with naxolone.

And it was then that Harry came to, in the back room filled with merchandise that wasn't yet tagged to be sold, and immediately began to sweat and vomit as the anti opioid drug the nurse shot into his thigh took its toll on his body. Naxolone was the only thing keeping him alive, but it felt like it was killing him. It sent him immediately into withdrawal, robbing his body of the effects of H and reducing him to a writhing and sweating mess, his body aching and his mind in agony.

He passed out and hoped he wouldn't come back around, but eventually he did.

His head pounded and he felt like a dried out fish, struggling to breathe and feeling like all the moisture that had ever been in his body had evaporated. He sat up from the rickety and uncomfortable cot he laid on and tried to process where he was as a vibration and that idiotic ringtone sounded in his pocket.

"Hello."

He mumbled more than usual and was a bit taken aback by how deep and hoarse and terrible his voice sounded.

"So you're alive. Good. I'll be at the shop in a moment don't leave."

He hung up from Tomlinson and a ran a hand down his face. He felt too weak to stand let alone walk, and he was extremely fatigued, even his skin felt tired and weak and so he knew there was no chance of him leaving. As he turned and laid his body back down on the cot it creaked loudly, but he barely heard it. If he was apathetic and detached in his normal state he was ten times that at the moment. He dozed off as he laid his head against the flat pillow.

"I heard you stirring around in here. Sit up."

His eyes opened slowly and he squinted. He sat up with a great effort and reached out a feeble hand for the large plastic cup that Louis held out to him. He sipped from the straw and almost sighed in relief, the beverage was cold and sweet and just exactly like heaven to Harry's weak and parched body. He took long sips and deep gulps of the liquid, his eyes closed as he did so, it took far too much energy to keep them open. The refreshment he felt was also good, he was soothed by the drink and loved the way it tasted and how smoothly it slid down his dry throat. It was only fruit punch but as far as Harry was concerned it might as well had been a fine wine or aged liquor.

"I'm doing the best I can with you. I was afraid you would die." Louis spoke to Harry and waited for a word of thanks or perhaps even fear; anxiety or panic seemed like appropriate reactions for the moment. But he didn't respond at all, he simply continued to guzzle his beverage in long slow gulps. "You were out for a couple hours after you stopped throwing up. Mum says you need to rest and drink lots of fluids You were cold when I found you...Are you cold now?"

He shook his head, he could sense Louis' intense stare on him even with his eyes closed. Louis continued to speak.

"Well she thinks you should go to the hospital, she says you can't use anytime soon or you'll..."

"I'll o.d. again."

He finished the sentence in a hoarse yet matter of fact tone. Louis was taken aback by the lack of interest in the voice, he seemed unphased by the fact that he'd almost died.

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