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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Dark · #2174663
The loop is giving him comfort. TW: alcohol and drug abuse.
Day 1
I woke up before my alarm today. The heater was on but the bathroom floor was cold. Empty orange pots lined the cabinet, just like I had left them the night before; they precariously teetered in translucent pyramids. I took 2 pills and balanced the half-empty bottle on the tap before leaning down into the sink to wash my face.

I wore my black shirt with the white stripe along the chest. It was cold outside, so I pulled on my grey joggers and leaned out of the window to have a breather. I lit a joint, exhaling the smoke through the crack in the porthole sized slit in the wall. I stubbed it out before I had smoked half through.

The 3rd step creaked as I wandered down the stairs, 2 at a time. There was cereal in the cupboard, but only a spot of milk, which I used in my coffee instead of to eat. I wasn't that hungry anyway. Softly, I traced the rim of my coffee mug, making a mental note to buy some more semi-skim. I'd left my beverage too long, and the coffee had gone cold. Stupid piece of shit.

Computer was out of charge. I plugged it in, letting it charge for a few, and pushed my earphones into my head, selecting a youtube mix and letting it run through as I worked on digital art. After finishing the highlights I forgot to save. The computer is on the floor. I can't find the strength to care.

I had an instant ramen that tasted like plastic ass. It didn't matter.

Before getting back into bed I took another pill and let the warmth flow through my body; I saw one of my bottle pyramids fall and then I saw my bed and then I saw the morning.

Day 2
I woke up to the sound of my neighbors arguing over insurance policies; the walls are thin in the apartment. The bed was the warmest place in the world, at that exact moment of time, so I stayed inside it, merely being awake. Against the floor were my pill bottles; they bled endlessly onto the floor like my injured soldiers. I took 3 and a half from the floor, and brushed my teeth with a sensitive bristle brush.

I didn't change from the clothes that I fell asleep in. I opened the blinds but didn't look outside; I didn't want to sacrifice the warmth that the apartment was somehow emitting. I glanced at the cigarettes on the table, but didn't pick them up. They were taunting me.

The 3rd step wheezed as I tiredly meandered downstairs, counting as I stepped the 12 stairs to the kitchen. There wasn't any milk left; the only things left in the kitchen were a stack of teabags, quarter of a bottle of Smirnoff and a mucky tall glass. I didn't crave anything fancy. On the floor I found myself drinking cold tea, infused with vodka and chunks of granola. Vodka isn't breakfast; it's a glorification of binge drinking, I thought, continuing to sip. Stupid piece of shit.

I didn't see the point in leaving the vodka downstairs. I made a fort on my bed, nestled with the nearly empty bottle and a rerun of Jeremy Kyle on ITV. The vodka ran out. There are glass shards everywhere. I can't be bothered to pick them up.

I wasn't hungry. I found 2 bottles of Captain Morgan under my bed; I thanked the previous incarnation of myself for such a loving gift.

I pissed into the sink and took a pill bottle with me to the bedroom, placing it on my nightstand; the night was quiet.

Day 3
The alarm woke me up.
I took a swig of rum, rinsing it over my teeth before swallowing it down.
I emptied the pill bottle onto the bed, lining each pill up in a neat row, my little knights against the duvet.
They shone like tiny little stars.
There was a sour taste in my mouth.
I counted 16 and a half pills.
I fell asleep thinking.
I wake up, deciding to take 4.
2 are blue and 2 are white.

Sleeping feels so natural and eas-

Day 4
A knock at the door woke me up today.

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