(no subject)
It's been a few months - and at first it had been fine, more than fine, it had been great. Life had been great. The job was great, he had his shit together - no more partying and the like. There was a part of him that felt it was too great, especially in those brief weeks before it all started to crumble. There was a part of him that felt as if he was living someone else's life, playing a role, and he was waiting for it to be revealed a sham. Then came the downhill spiral, the trajectory had steep and fast (as they usually were). The job went first. The partying started again. What is it they say? Old habits die hard? Old habits are expensive.
And, in the end, you do what you have to do. While you're doing it you try to convince yourself that this is just a role, not who you really are, that you're more than this, that you're more than the shit that you do. But you know you're not. This is life. This is your life.
So then the partying gets harder.
And that's, in the end, how he ends up in that time between midnight and dawn when nothing good ever seems to happen, that's how he ends up strapped to a table, stomach pumped, completely irrational and off his tree. After, still restrained, throat burning and stomach in agony, his body peppered with evidence of abuse from all avenues, from himself, from other people, then the blonde is asking him who she should call. On instinct she looks to M - for mother - but that's not there.
"Matthew?" She says.
He won't come, Gabe thinks.
"Yes," He replies.