Meredith's voice comes monotonously over the speaker. It's almost soothing as all of Daniel's attention is focused on the challenge in front of him.
She says, "Daniel, your challenge is simple - choose a side. On the right is your greatest desire, and on the left is your most powerful vice. Choose one, but know that when one door opens, the other will be locked forever."
Sasha puts her hand on Daniel, but he hardly feels it, and when she asks, "It's heroin, isn't it?" it sounds like she's speaking through a wall.
He manages a nod, not looking up from the acrylic trap Erica has laid in front of him. He doesn't want to see the horrified reactions of the other contestants, and even more, he doesn't want to see Sasha's reaction when she realizes how hard of a choice this is going to be.
A year ago - heck, even six months ago - it would have been no challenge at all to reach for the hormones that would help restore his body to its rightful state.
Now, though, he can feel the opiates' effects in his system on a chemical level - his very cells are hungry and screaming for the dark amber needle, and Daniel doesn't even know who he is anymore. It doesn't matter, though, because the longing is too great.
It should be easy to pick life over vice, testosterone over junk.
It isn't.
He puts his hands on the little knobs for each lid, but can't make himself choose.
Sasha is still talking beside him, trying to coax him toward the right lid, saying, "All you need to do is open the lid. Just do it quickly and it'll be over."
And suddenly Daniel has a memory from his childhood, something so inconsequential that he hadn't bothered to consider it significant until this moment. He was around twelve years old, wandering around an elementary school while his dad gave his stump speech in the gymnasium. Daniel had heard it so many times he practically had it memorized, and it echoed in the halls.
He had gotten into an argument with his father about an hour before - his dad wanted Daniel to wear a dress and pose like the sweet, pretty daughter he was supposed to be. His father still couldn't see what was so wrong about that.
His parents wrestled him into the dress and Daniel had a tantrum even though he was far too old for them. In a fit of frustration, his father sent him into the hallway to wait - out of sight - until the event was over.
Daniel had a dollar bill in his pocket from the last time his father bribed him into this dress, and he found his way to the cafeteria. His stomach knew nothing of the humiliation he had faced. It rumbled disinterestedly, and he went to the vending machines lined up against one wall. He put his dollar in, then found himself paralyzed by the choices.
Snickers or Butterfinger?
A boy because he knew that was right, or the girl his father needed him to be?
He thought about pushing both buttons simultaneously and letting the machine decide, but even at the age of twelve he knew that his subconscious would take over at the last second and push one of the buttons a split second before the other. So he left the dollar in the machine for the next kid and wandered back to the hallway, stomach still growling.
Snickers or Butterfinger?
Testosterone or junk?
This, of course, is nothing like that, but Daniel is seized by the same paralysis again.
"You can do it," Sasha whispers, her hand squeezing his arm and urging him to do the right thing - the only thing. He closes his eyes and a lid pops open beneath his hand.
The left one.
"Oh, Daniel, no," Sasha says, and his heart breaks to hear her disappointment.
Instinctively, he pulls on the right lid, trying to undo his choice, but Meredith had warned him. It's locked now, the testosterone-filled needle trapped beneath the acrylic lid while the heroin stares up at him, waiting for the need to take over again.
"I'm sorry," he whispers,and he's not sure who he's apologizing to - it could be any number of people,or all of them.