Tear The Fabric
Adderall abuse exists and is a problem.
He sits and looks down at the line on the sink, its white color contrast to the marble sink it sits upon. He looks up to the mirror on the wall, unable to recognize the stranger staring back at him. He goes down.
He wakes up to the alarm blaring, the ear splitting noise tearing the fabric of reality around him. He pulls the plug out of the wall and throw it across the room.as he gets up from the floor he hears every bone in his body cracking, each sending blast waves through his skin. He picks himself up off the floor and looks at the bed he was lying next to. Mumbling something inherently he walks to the bathroom and turns on the lights. The cold water from the shower peels away at the shame of the past, but the warm air only cements it more. Jeans. Tie-dye shirt. Grey hat. The mental checklist for the day complete. As the car pulls out of the driveway and down the road, the cracks in reality begin. The shades of grey and the sharp edges start to break away. The color in the world starts to come back and the eye slicing edges round themselves out. He pulls into the driveway and walks up to the door and knocks on the window instead. The window opens. He slides two twenties into the window, and a ziplock bag of pills are exchanged. He gets back into the car and speeds home. He runs upstairs back into his room. He crushes up the pills and puts them into a line.
He sits and looks down at the line on the sink, its white color contrast to the marble sink it sits upon. He looks up to the mirror on the wall, unable to recognize the stranger staring back at him. Before he goes down a drop of blood falls from his nose. He looks at his hands and the streaks tye crimson droplet left he sits on the floor and leans against the wall. He closes his eyes. And they do not open.