The Dilemma - Fransykes

11. Rehab

so i finally figured out how ima end this fic (dont worry, i dont think it's anytime soon - we still got a lot to work through), and with that the next few updates. so, if my craving to write remains, you may get plenty more updates the next few days heehoo

~_~_~_~

Everything was a haze of colors and illusions. Oliver didn't really know what he took, only that it was "the good shit" (according to a drug dealer he didn't know quite well) and he was desperate for something.

Josh was a constant thought. Something about his blue eyes, his wide smile and laugh, enticted Oliver to no end. He was mysterious, there was something about the other man Oliver wanted, almost needed, to figure out. He was hiding something, big or small. Something was eating Josh alive and Oliver could see it, he just didn't know what it was, or how to confront him. Maybe he took such an interest because he was like Josh; something was killing him and all he could do was sit and let it happen.

Josh's eating habits were another thing. "I'm not hungry", "I already ate", were said whenever Oliver brought up food around Josh. But who the hell was he to pry? Some people just didn't have an apetite, some held secrets not yet to be shared. And that was okay - for the most part.

It was all that ran through his head; Josh Josh Josh. Which led Oliver to reaching out to a random drug dealer near his area with shit to sell.

He didn't know what it was, didn't care much either. The high was his main focus, getting rid of his jitteriness and cravings, and the repetitive thoughts of Josh, who just so happened to be of the male gender.

Why was Oliver gay? Had he done something? Was that why God made him the way he was? Why did he have to have this burden? Why did he have to be so disgusting? Why, why, why?

Why was Oliver still breathing?

"Shut up, shut the fuck up," He muttered to himself, wiping his runny nose on his dirty hoodie sleeve.

Searching through the contents of remaining drugs, he found a tiny paper like object. Acid. He'd only heard others talk about it, but never used it himself. It lasted hours, and the trips could either go terrible or fucking insane.

Finding it worth the risk, Oliver put the paper on his tongue and felt it slowly disolve. After a few minutes, the effects still hadn't settled in and, growing impatient, Oliver set another tab on his tongue and felt it too disolve. Within another ten minutes colors started appearing everywhere, he could taste the sounds of birds chirping outside and his foot tapping on the broken floor. The cracked coffee table in front of him began to move, as if dancing, shrinking and enlarging.

An overwhelming sense of fear and paranoia crept in, as if someone was watching Oliver. He began to shake, wrapping his arms around his body as he heard laughter all around him; people critizing him and his choices, his sexuality and friends, his addiction.

It was what people thought of him, anyways, right? Everyone knew him, The Gay Kid.

"No, I'm not gay."

"Face it, Oliver. You are. You're just a fag. Stop trying to fit in."

He was a fuckup, a disappointment, an addict, a fag. What purpose did he have? Who gave two shits about his existence?

Tom, Jordan, Josh. It was all pity; it had to be. "Oh, poor guy. Least I can do is pretend to like him."

He was burden on everyone.

The walls moved, colors swayed, the table continued its dance, and the people laughed. They laughed at Oliver, huddled over choking on sobs.

He reached for the table, his hand missing it as it shrunk beneath his grasp, but clenched onto the wood and searched for whatever was left of his new stash.