06-15-2018, 04:32 PM
AND I'M JUST A DEAD MAN WALKING TONIGHT
The world was spinning and his head was pounding but at least he could feel something, right? At least for a while there, the high had been fucking great -- the flare of faux happiness, the ease of laughter, the way he grinned and meant it and didn't feel like fucking dying -- and he'd been able to hold onto it, nearly. It wasn't until he started to come down that things went awry; he didn't just come down, he crashed, slamming straight into a sense of spiraling hell within the matter of minutes. Maybe he should have anticipated that -- some of Rad's best uppers had the worst downfalls to them -- but he miraculously hadn't. He'd been happy to ignore the potential fall and enjoy the buzz while it lasted.
Now, he stood in the stables, one hand holding him up against the post of Octavia's stall as he inhaled sharply, waiting to see if he threw up again. He was shaking too hard to stand on his own, barely managing to keep himself half-upright as he bent over, everything unsteady and hazy. His head hurt and spun every time he tried to stand too straight, and that vague sense of joy was slipping through the cracks, leaving behind a morose sense of... something. He wasn't sure what, and could barely focus on that when he was doubling over to empty his stomach again.
"Fuck," he muttered, swiping absently at his mouth with the back of his free hand, jittering so hard that he hit himself in the nose. He leaned sideways against the post slightly, rested his shoulder on it, and inhaled slowly as he struggled to get back under control. Octavia had left him awhile ago, not interested in sticking around for the patheticness of his crash, and he closed his eyes as he breathed out again, "Fuck, Rad, Jesus." Why did it feel like she was possibly punishing him for asking for uppers every time? Fuck.
[ [member=500]★ HAZEL[/member] ]
[align=center]BASTILLEPRISONER — ASTRAL SERAPH — TAGSNow, he stood in the stables, one hand holding him up against the post of Octavia's stall as he inhaled sharply, waiting to see if he threw up again. He was shaking too hard to stand on his own, barely managing to keep himself half-upright as he bent over, everything unsteady and hazy. His head hurt and spun every time he tried to stand too straight, and that vague sense of joy was slipping through the cracks, leaving behind a morose sense of... something. He wasn't sure what, and could barely focus on that when he was doubling over to empty his stomach again.
"Fuck," he muttered, swiping absently at his mouth with the back of his free hand, jittering so hard that he hit himself in the nose. He leaned sideways against the post slightly, rested his shoulder on it, and inhaled slowly as he struggled to get back under control. Octavia had left him awhile ago, not interested in sticking around for the patheticness of his crash, and he closed his eyes as he breathed out again, "Fuck, Rad, Jesus." Why did it feel like she was possibly punishing him for asking for uppers every time? Fuck.
[ [member=500]★ HAZEL[/member] ]
Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago, Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword, Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know, I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door. [b][sup]▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃[/sup][/b]