𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝; byler

- ¢нαρтєя 5 -

~sort of a hard chapter (nothing graphic, just hints)~

PRACTICALLY ALL OF Will's body was shaking when he reached his house. There, he left his bike on the lawn and shakily opened the door, stepping into the empty house. For a second his heart beat fast. He hated being alone there, it made him feel almost like he was in the upside down again. He felt his whole body tense, chills on the back of his neck. The PTSD definitely wasn't as bad anymore, but times like this made him feel like a 12 year old boy all alone again. It was unbearable.  He flowed to his room as if in a trance, placing his schoolbag on the desk and grabbing a much larger bag, the one his mom gave him to use for a camping trip. He couldn't believe he was about to go to that hellhole again. 

He was going to have to do it again.

Will removed the wood plank and took out the one bottle left, gulping almost half without ever realizing he was doing it. It was almost an instinct, the only thing he could do to help himself relax.  It was really scaring him, he never noticed before how much control that fucking substance had over not only his mind, but his body. already the shaking was slowing down, his muscles relaxing...He remembered how once all he had to do to escape reality was grab a notebook and a pencil, how drawings and stories just left his body and wrote themselves on the paper...

Maybe he could do it again, maybe he wouldn't have to go back... maybe he can switch the alcohol for the sketches.
He ran to his desk and pulled out his old sketching notebook and a pencil, then went back and sat on the floor. He put the pencil to the paper, making a thin line. But that was it. He didn't know what to draw anymore, no idea came to his mind. Come on Will, think! he forced himself. Maybe he could flip back a few pages to see what he had drawn, to give himself inspiration... Will closed the book and opened it again, starting from the very beginning: 6th grade.

Bad idea.

What Will hadn't thought about was how every time he poured his worries into the notebook, he was literally drawing it. Flipping through the book was like flipping through everything he wanted to forget. Shadow monster, long vines... and at the very end, two drawings of Mike.

Will slammed the notebook shut and threw it across the room, knocking down a cup that was sitting on his bedside table. He watched as it shattered into a million tiny pieces, just like he felt.
Help me! Will screamed in his mind, someone, help! Even in the empty house he couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud. He wanted to yell. He wanted to cry. His body wouldn't move. So he just silently got up, stuffing the now lighter bottle inside the floor board and placing the dozens of empty bottles in his bag and strapping it on his shoulder, before heading back out.
He shivered again thinking where he was headed.

                                                                                           ✴ ⁕ ✴ ⁕ ✴

Will ditched the bottles in a trash can a few blocks away, and made his way to the motel on the very edge of town.
4:30. He was late. He stared at the building with loathing, couldn't believe he was back here. He thought of his days pulling up to the building in the back of his dad's car, tired and confused and scared as tall men came and gave his dad large boxes, how his dad gave them some of his mom's jewelry in return... how when he finally understood what his dad was buying he got even more scared. He thought about how he had promised himself to never go in there, and how that's exactly what he was going to do now... and not for the first time.

Will grabbed his large bag again, grabbed it so hard the tip of his fingers turned white. He felt his heart beating out of his chest... how he wished he could turn around, but this was the only way he could get booze. The fastest way to get the most alcohol.

He stepped past the napping receptionist and went back to room 552, knocking three times on the door. An unfamiliar blonde woman opened the door, maybe in her mid twenties, with a bored expression on her face.
"Yeah?" she asked.
"I- I- I'm Will," he said. The woman looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow, then shrugged.
"Com'n," She said, opening the door wider and let him in. Then she sat on an arm chair again, turning her face back to the television. She looked as though she had absolutely zero interest in whatever was happening in the room.  

A man was sitting on the bed, also in his mid twenties or early thirties. He looked at Will with a skeptical expression.
"This your first time here?" He asked, rising up and stretching. Will shook his head, his face turning red. The guy laughed a small, joyless laugh and removed a box from under the bed. handing it to Will.
"How old are ya?" he asked.
"16," Will said, reaching for the box. The man pulled it away.
"really? would've said 13." the man said, "Will, right? You don't look like the kind of kids who come here." The man said again, an amused glint in his eyes. Will stayed silent. He wished he wasn't.
The man pushed the box to Will slowly, and watched as Will opened it.
"It's all real?" Will asked, already stuffing the bottles in his bag.
"Picked them out myself," they guy said, pulling back the now empty box under the bed. Then he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a key, throwing it to Will.
"He should be there in 5 minutes. Don't even think about ditchin'." Will wished he could, but knew well enough the guys that were here would catch him without batting an eye.

He nodded and made his way out the room, but they guy called his name again.
"And Will? Next time, don't be late."
Will nodded again, hoping with all his heart there wouldn't be a next time, but knowing that that there would.

He left the room and moved three rooms down, opening it with the key the guy had given him.
He reached for the cup full of liquor waiting on the table before the door even closed, drinking it with barley two sips. He didn't even feel it going down.
He placed his bag under the bed and then went on the uncomfortable mattress. He removed his shirt, shivering slightly, and then lay back and stared at the slightly moldy ceiling. He thought about his friends who should be at the movies about now. He wished Mike would come running in and save him from whatever man was about to enter the room like he did the bully. That's when finally he felt his head get a bit misty, felt his muscles relax. Through his numbness he heard the door opening and then closing again. soft steps on the floor, soft but eager, then the bed springs creaking. He closed his eyes tightly.

[AUTHOR SAYS]

Ugh okay this was so sad to writeeee I don't usually write things like this but idk wanted try something new.