It's green, it's pure, it takes you there... (Julian, Addiction, and then Joe)
They talked about it a lot in Narcotics Anonymous. They discussed their various reasons for not succumbing to their addictions, and the reasons were never the same from person to person, though a lot of them involved family or loved ones. And Julian's reasons certainly did that as well, though secretly he felt it was maybe different than everyone else who spoke up, spouting love for their family and friends, spouses and lovers. Julian did what he did not out of love necessarily. He stayed away from heroin out of shame.
There were days when he didn't think about his addiction much at all. Sometimes he went six hours without feeling like something was missing, and when he did remember, sometimes it was bad and sometimes it was nothing at all. Some nights he awoke in the middle of the night, as if it had been calling to him in his sleep. When that happened, he spent the hours until morning frantically sketching or writing music...anything to keep his mind occupied so he didn't think about how very easy it is to slip out of a house at night when no one is watching.
Shame kept him in his room, kept his pencil moving, kept his mind churning over lyrics or notes. Shame kept him straight, in a certain sense of the word. It had kept him from slipping when Damon had left him, and it kept him from slipping every night after that. Guilt was Julian's anti-drug. Or it was, until-
"Hey! Julian! Hey!" Julian turned as he headed away from his lecture on the fine arts of ancient Greece. One of his classmates was catching up to him and Julian found he didn't know the boy's name. Instead of saying anything, he just made an 'I'm listening' face to reduce the need to use the name. "Hey! Are you on a methadone program?" the boy asked when he reached Julian. He was out of breath and he bent forward a little to try and catch it.
Julian was so shocked his mouth fell right open, which was quite rude. "I...no," Julian said, consciously making sure his mouth closed when he finished speaking. "No, and that's a strange way to greet someone. Why?"
"Someone told me you were in NA."
Julian sighed. "Without the anonymous part it's kind of pretty much N." He groaned and he turned around, but the boy fell in step with him. "Did...you want more or is it just mess with the junkie day?"
"How do you do with without methadone?"
Julian gave the boy a sidelong glance and then he chewed on his tongue. "I...have family," he said softly. It was the acceptable line, afterall. "I have a daughter and a father who need me. So if I fuck up, it fucks them up too."
"But...I mean, how do you do it?"
Enough was enough. Julian stopped suddenly and he whirled on the boy. "Why!? Why do you care?! Can't you just leave me alone, I don't even know your name!"
"Chris," the boy said easily. He didn't seem put off at all. "And I was asking because my brother is on methadone but I can get his doses. And I'll sell them to you..."
Julian's eyes widened and he felt the overwhelming urge to hurt this Chris who was going to make things so much harder. Didn't they understand how hard it was to say no?! Of course they did, if it was easy to refuse, they wouldn't make any money off of the sale of drugs. "You get the HELL AWAY FROM ME!" Julian said, stumbling backwards and then breaking into a run.
If he stopped, he was going to change his mind.
He ran until his lungs burned and he tripped and nearly fell because his legs had gone both numb and painful at the same time. He managed to walk, nearly bent double, to a rock and collapse on top of it so he could sit. He leaned down, fighting to catch his breath now. He couldn't go back. His father had a date tonight. He was supposed to be there to play nice with Angie. He couldn't fuck this up for Joe. He couldn't fuck up.
Guilt, guilt, guilt.
Want.
Julian rose when he could breathe and his head was spinning less. He headed for home on foot, because a bus made it so much easier to return to Chris, apologise for being rude, and spending all his money on substances he shouldn't use.
When he returned home, Julian's nose was assualted by the smell of food which nearly made him ill. His senses were on overload and he wanted to scream and cry and shoot his veins full of blessed heroin which would make it all fade away.
He wanted to claw his eyeballs out.
"Jules!" Joe called cheerfully from the kitchen.
I wish I could rip your fucking face off. "Hi, Dad," Julian said flatly.
"Bad day?" Joe asked, eyebrows arched.
"Mmm. Walked home. Is Aislinn upstairs?"
"Galina has her. Hey-" Joe stepped in front of Julian before he could escape. "Jules. Bad day, or bad day?" he asked, intelligently knowing there was a difference between being grumpy and being an addict who sometimes wanted drugs so badly he could kill for them.
"Just...a normal bad day," Julian lied so his father wasn't distracted during dinner. "I lost some notes and I forgot my wallet so I could only eat chips at lunch." That was a lie too. He had only had chips because he was a nineteen-year-old boy who sometimes only felt like eating crap food. Julian forced a smile onto his face. "When does Angie get here?"
"Soon," Joe said, suddenly looking nervous. "Do I look like an idiot?!"
"Dad...you're wearing an apron that says 'Do the Funky Kitchen'. So...kind of?"
Joe snorted and he pulled the apron off. "We're going to cook together! Are you saying I shouldn't wear my awesome pun apron?"
"I'm saying you should burn it!" Julian corrected. "I'm going to go take a quick shower but I'll be down soon." And at that, Julian slipped upstairs to try to rinse the need off of him.
It never worked. He was dirty and he always would be. He had made himself this person, this addict the day he had accepted the opium from Lane to help ease his pain. His addiction was like having another personality. A friend who was always there. A dark shape that followed him around, poking him in the ribs to get his attention and when he managed to ignore it, the shape got angry. He would never, ever be rid of it. Never, ever be clean.
Shame, shame, shame.
There were days when he didn't think about his addiction much at all. Sometimes he went six hours without feeling like something was missing, and when he did remember, sometimes it was bad and sometimes it was nothing at all. Some nights he awoke in the middle of the night, as if it had been calling to him in his sleep. When that happened, he spent the hours until morning frantically sketching or writing music...anything to keep his mind occupied so he didn't think about how very easy it is to slip out of a house at night when no one is watching.
Shame kept him in his room, kept his pencil moving, kept his mind churning over lyrics or notes. Shame kept him straight, in a certain sense of the word. It had kept him from slipping when Damon had left him, and it kept him from slipping every night after that. Guilt was Julian's anti-drug. Or it was, until-
"Hey! Julian! Hey!" Julian turned as he headed away from his lecture on the fine arts of ancient Greece. One of his classmates was catching up to him and Julian found he didn't know the boy's name. Instead of saying anything, he just made an 'I'm listening' face to reduce the need to use the name. "Hey! Are you on a methadone program?" the boy asked when he reached Julian. He was out of breath and he bent forward a little to try and catch it.
Julian was so shocked his mouth fell right open, which was quite rude. "I...no," Julian said, consciously making sure his mouth closed when he finished speaking. "No, and that's a strange way to greet someone. Why?"
"Someone told me you were in NA."
Julian sighed. "Without the anonymous part it's kind of pretty much N." He groaned and he turned around, but the boy fell in step with him. "Did...you want more or is it just mess with the junkie day?"
"How do you do with without methadone?"
Julian gave the boy a sidelong glance and then he chewed on his tongue. "I...have family," he said softly. It was the acceptable line, afterall. "I have a daughter and a father who need me. So if I fuck up, it fucks them up too."
"But...I mean, how do you do it?"
Enough was enough. Julian stopped suddenly and he whirled on the boy. "Why!? Why do you care?! Can't you just leave me alone, I don't even know your name!"
"Chris," the boy said easily. He didn't seem put off at all. "And I was asking because my brother is on methadone but I can get his doses. And I'll sell them to you..."
Julian's eyes widened and he felt the overwhelming urge to hurt this Chris who was going to make things so much harder. Didn't they understand how hard it was to say no?! Of course they did, if it was easy to refuse, they wouldn't make any money off of the sale of drugs. "You get the HELL AWAY FROM ME!" Julian said, stumbling backwards and then breaking into a run.
If he stopped, he was going to change his mind.
He ran until his lungs burned and he tripped and nearly fell because his legs had gone both numb and painful at the same time. He managed to walk, nearly bent double, to a rock and collapse on top of it so he could sit. He leaned down, fighting to catch his breath now. He couldn't go back. His father had a date tonight. He was supposed to be there to play nice with Angie. He couldn't fuck this up for Joe. He couldn't fuck up.
Guilt, guilt, guilt.
Want.
Julian rose when he could breathe and his head was spinning less. He headed for home on foot, because a bus made it so much easier to return to Chris, apologise for being rude, and spending all his money on substances he shouldn't use.
When he returned home, Julian's nose was assualted by the smell of food which nearly made him ill. His senses were on overload and he wanted to scream and cry and shoot his veins full of blessed heroin which would make it all fade away.
He wanted to claw his eyeballs out.
"Jules!" Joe called cheerfully from the kitchen.
I wish I could rip your fucking face off. "Hi, Dad," Julian said flatly.
"Bad day?" Joe asked, eyebrows arched.
"Mmm. Walked home. Is Aislinn upstairs?"
"Galina has her. Hey-" Joe stepped in front of Julian before he could escape. "Jules. Bad day, or bad day?" he asked, intelligently knowing there was a difference between being grumpy and being an addict who sometimes wanted drugs so badly he could kill for them.
"Just...a normal bad day," Julian lied so his father wasn't distracted during dinner. "I lost some notes and I forgot my wallet so I could only eat chips at lunch." That was a lie too. He had only had chips because he was a nineteen-year-old boy who sometimes only felt like eating crap food. Julian forced a smile onto his face. "When does Angie get here?"
"Soon," Joe said, suddenly looking nervous. "Do I look like an idiot?!"
"Dad...you're wearing an apron that says 'Do the Funky Kitchen'. So...kind of?"
Joe snorted and he pulled the apron off. "We're going to cook together! Are you saying I shouldn't wear my awesome pun apron?"
"I'm saying you should burn it!" Julian corrected. "I'm going to go take a quick shower but I'll be down soon." And at that, Julian slipped upstairs to try to rinse the need off of him.
It never worked. He was dirty and he always would be. He had made himself this person, this addict the day he had accepted the opium from Lane to help ease his pain. His addiction was like having another personality. A friend who was always there. A dark shape that followed him around, poking him in the ribs to get his attention and when he managed to ignore it, the shape got angry. He would never, ever be rid of it. Never, ever be clean.
Shame, shame, shame.