(no subject)
[He had reached his limit. Day after day with the pain, the sweating, the nausea, and seizing and the fatigue. He had not slept in two days, and thanks to the appetite loss, he weighed much, much less than he should.
He NEEDED the opium. Craved it so badly that it had made him cry and scream, yell out his anger and torment at the walls of the little room in the First Division. His mood flipped from rage to utter depression in the blink of an eye, and he was glad that he'd asked Ashido to take his knife. Otherwise he would have killed himself just to get away from it all.
He had reached his limit. He couldn't fight it any more. Fifty years of addiction was not that easily broken, and even the pills he'd gotten from the Fourth Division had helped. Not even when he'd downed the whole bottle and then spent must his day vomiting because of it.
Forcing his way out of the bed, he stared at his own reflection. He was a mess. Dirty, matted hair. Sweaty and shaky. So thin that it looked like he'd fall over at any moment. With a scream, he punched his fist through the mirror, not even registering the pain as his hand was cut.
Picking up a shard of glass, he ripped his sleeve and wrapped the cloth around one end of the shard - making a crude knife. Clutching it tightly and ignoring the fact that he was bleeding, he staggered out of the room and down the corridor in the First Division's barracks.
Renji was not thinking at all, forgetting the fact that all the people around him was far stronger than he was. All he wanted was a damn hostage so he could get some opium and stop this pain.]
He NEEDED the opium. Craved it so badly that it had made him cry and scream, yell out his anger and torment at the walls of the little room in the First Division. His mood flipped from rage to utter depression in the blink of an eye, and he was glad that he'd asked Ashido to take his knife. Otherwise he would have killed himself just to get away from it all.
He had reached his limit. He couldn't fight it any more. Fifty years of addiction was not that easily broken, and even the pills he'd gotten from the Fourth Division had helped. Not even when he'd downed the whole bottle and then spent must his day vomiting because of it.
Forcing his way out of the bed, he stared at his own reflection. He was a mess. Dirty, matted hair. Sweaty and shaky. So thin that it looked like he'd fall over at any moment. With a scream, he punched his fist through the mirror, not even registering the pain as his hand was cut.
Picking up a shard of glass, he ripped his sleeve and wrapped the cloth around one end of the shard - making a crude knife. Clutching it tightly and ignoring the fact that he was bleeding, he staggered out of the room and down the corridor in the First Division's barracks.
Renji was not thinking at all, forgetting the fact that all the people around him was far stronger than he was. All he wanted was a damn hostage so he could get some opium and stop this pain.]