You woke up the next day feeling like a absolute shit. You craved the heroin but you knew that you weren't going to get it.
You opened your eyes to find that Mark had one arm around you and his other arm was dangling over the side of the bed. It looked as if he was holding something. You broke out of his arm that was around you and looked at the arm that was dangling over the side of the bed. To your absolute horror, there was an empty glass bottle in his hand.
You got up from the bed, completely pissed off. Mark was trying to get you out of your addiction when he had his own all along.
"Mark, how could you?" You yelled at the top of your lungs. That caused him to jump and drop the bottle from his hand, causing shards of glass to fly everywhere.
"Ah!" You screamed as one of the pieces of glass went into your left arm.
"Oh my God!" Mark said when he realized what he had done. He shot out of bed, careful to not step on the glass shards that were on the floor. "(Y/N), are you okay?"
"I was okay until I found out that you had an addiction this entire time!" You snapped. "How could you not tell me?"
"You didn't tell me about yours!" He said. "Why should I have told you if you were going to keep yours a secret from me?"
"I don't know." You said. "But, thanks to your stupid addiction, there's fucking glass in my arm."
"Let me get it out." He said. "Come with me into the kitchen."
You breathed a heavy sigh as you followed him out into the kitchen.
"How long have you had your addiction?" You asked as he treated your wounds.
"Ever since Mom and my brother died." He said. "I was out with Bob and Wade and we were having such a good time and I had just a little too much to drink. I woke up with a raging hangover the next day but then I realized how much it made me feel better. And every day it's gotten worse. I-I want to stop. I really do."
"Then go to rehab." You said.
"It's not as easy as it sounds." He said. "I only got enough for one of us to go. And I want to spend the money on you."
"No Mark." You said. He had finished taking care of your wound and you could feel tears forming in your eyes as you placed your hand on his shoulders. "You go."
"No." He said, grabbing your right wrist. "You need it much more than I do."
"You're going." You said. You wanted him to get better. Not going to rehab in exchange for him to go was the least you could do for giving you a home and helping you through your darkest time. "Please. Letting you go instead of me is the least I can do for all the stuff that you've done for me."
He was silent for a few moments, looking deep in thought.
"Okay." He said. "I'll go when I move to L.A. In the meantime, let's help each other through our addictions."