Title: Straying from the Path
Author: ZerosAshes ( zerosashes@peoplepc.com )
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: R (for drug use, language, ect)
Archive: Just ask and tell where it goes, I'll be happy if it goes somewhere.
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, they belong to Kevin Smith. Also the song isn't mine.
Summary: Jay is addicted to Heroin and forced to suffer through the pain of withdrawals.
Warnings: Language, drug use and abuse, angst (at least I think so), weird writing form and descriptions, beware.
Note: This is done and inspired by not only Nicole's challenge, but the song "Breaking the Habit" by Linkin Park. I don't have a beta but I read through it and tried to find all the mistakes. So, I hope it's okay and not too confusing. Some parts are surreal, especially the dream, as it`s in third person but limited to Jay`s POV and he is drugged up, so I sorta did that on purpose. It`s very weird, I was trying to show how hard it is for people to quit and how it screws with their mind. I don`t know if it worked or not. Eh.

Memories consume
Like opening the wound
I'm picking me apart again

Bob ignored him.

It never used to be this way, with Bob. He'd never really talked
before, but he'd never ignored him. Jay didn't know how he knew it
but he did, it was just different now. He could say anything. Do
anything. Scream or yell or hit. And Bob didn't pay attention; he
looked off into the sunset with squinted eyes and barely moved half
the time. Lost in thought. He would never tell Jay what he was
thinking about, the only glimpses Jay had gotten of it were the sad
looks in his brown eyes, fleeting. For an expressive fuck he was good
at hiding what he felt.

Jay didn't like emotion; real emotion he stayed away from and didn't
bother trying to accept, he pushed it away. So in some ways it wasn't
Bob's fault, because when that look flashed in his expression Jay
instantly became more guarded and cruel, especially when that gaze
landed on him. He could talk about everything and nothing at the same
time as long as it made that look turn away. It was a void, a routine
that had long lost its need.

They both had their secrets.

Jay kept his secrets close to himself, hidden under his clothes and
cold eyes; blinded from sight from others with his words. He couldn't
stop talking because then questions would come, he couldn't stop
talking because then memories would rise. He guarded himself from
everyone, from himself, and from his best friend. Bob did the same in
silence. It was as if they weren't friends anymore, they simply
stayed together out of convenience, neither of them wanted to change
a life they'd had for so long. It drove Jay crazy, sometimes. He
lashed out more and more, just to get one more reaction, a blink, god
anything. He felt like he was alone in the world. He talked to a wall
and talked to himself, and knew Bob only needed real words, something
true for once... yet he couldn't shut up. Old habits die hard, if
anyone knew that it'd be him. He knew that fact well. So Jay stayed
the same and Bob stood silent, and looked into no ones eyes.

Broken men.

It was his fault, he knew it had to be. He was aware of all the
things he said, all the things he popped off that Bob flinched at
inside. He didn't know how to shut up anymore, and he didn't know
when it'd stopped being a joke and started becoming cruel. They were
mean to each other, in public and at home their friendship was
straining, stretching out over a jagged canyon about to fall in and
crash into pieces on the rocks. And it was his fault. Things like
this were always his fault, he never said it but inside the thoughts
rolled around in a clouded mind and he knew.... he was the one that
was ruining everything.

Yet he didn't understand why Bob couldn't accept. He'd never thought
the other man would be so uppity over a drug, that's why they were
together, that's what they lived for. Drugs. It didn't matter if they
stuck to one or the other, what was the difference anymore? It was
time to move on and move up, they'd sold the stuff tons of times but
never tried it more than on a few occasions. What was so wrong with
wanting to know your product? It brought him down, and he liked that.
It brought him down from his own natural high, his fast moving body
and twitching legs. It made him so calm, and on this of all things,
he could shut up. He could sleep. He could relax in a euphoria of
pleasure and happiness, for once not remembering... just feeling.
Weed didn't do it anymore. He needed something else, he needed
something to blind him... why, why didn't Bob just understand?

He wouldn't though. He could remember every time, every moment when
Bob walked in on him, or laid his eyes on a spoon or a syringe or
dirty cotton swabs. That look haunted him inside. It was like burning
in hell, that look. It made him want to puke. It angered him, like a
flash of lightning screaming across the sky his temper raised. He
always walked in. He always looked so fucking sad... his lips
trembling with words he wouldn't say and he just stared. Forever at
him he stared, coffee eyes digging into his soul and ripping it
apart, to shreds, effortlessly with just that look. Jay felt trapped
under it, caged, and if he could at those moments of sudden insanity,
fleeting across a drug-induced mind he'd feel the need to reach out
and dig his fingers into those eyes, to make them go away, anything
to make the feeling go away, anything to kill that fucking fat
bastard who wouldn't leave him alone! Who wouldn't understand, who
wouldn't help him, who wouldn't talk to him, who wouldn't do anything
like he was supposed to. Jay had so many plans in his mind and they
never worked, they never turned out, and Bob always fucked them up.

... It was those thoughts that he couldn't get out of his head
lately. The thoughts that made weight fall on his shoulders, crushing
air out of his lungs, how could he think like that? How could he ever
think that way? What was wrong with him? It was hard to even know
anymore.

There was a light shove at his shoulder and Jay turned, struck out of
his thoughts, finding himself looking into Bob's sad eyes again. They
were always fucking sad. Red around the edges like he was crying
inside. He hated himself for making Lunchbox look like that. But Bob
gestured towards the dark sky and Jay nodded, a slow movement before
unwrapping his jacket from around his waste and pulling it on. He
hadn't noticed so much time had passed, he'd been doing that more and
more lately... falling out of himself, lost in thought even as he
dealed, even as he talked. He didn't know what that was about, he'd
never done it before. But Bob was wrong, the drugs weren't changing
him, that was ridiculous, sugar was the only thing that was good in
his life now. Despite that, he couldn't stop loosing it, drifting
away... but he'd tried.

His eyes shot sideways in a glare as they walked away from the Quick
Stop, a sneer pulling at his lips. "Don't fucking look at me like
that you fat fuck, like I ain't youse dead mom or some shit like that
neither. Fuck, Tons of Fun... did youse get them wraps? Hells yeah,
youse finally did somethin' fucking worth it n' shit. Ain't that
fuckin' surprising... knock it off! Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with
youse anyways, jackass? You're pissin me off all the fuckin time. Why
do yahs have to be like that? Shit..." He was good at hurting, these
days. It was the only thing he was good at anymore, the only thing he
knew how to do. Hurt pooled in the belly of his own mind so he lashed
out to hide it, to slice into the skin of others and make them feel
it too. Then he wasn't alone...

You all assume
I'm safe here in my room
Unless I try to start again

Alone. Sometimes he hated it and other times he needed it. It was
where he didn't live the lie. Alone was where Jay could be who he
really was inside, something dark and closed; shoulders hunched
forward with his knees up to his chest. This was who he was,
everything else was something he used to be, now. He was alone and
dead inside. It'd been so long since he'd been able to deal with the
pain. Everything was heavy, weighing down his chest like a ton of
bricks, someone taking up the air, stealing it. He couldn't breathe
without it anymore..

Drugs were his life now. This is what he waited for all day, to come
home and be in his room. This is all he wanted, when he talked to
other dealers, when he looked into the sky this is what he craved, he
looked with blind eyes and his mind was somewhere else as he spoke of
nothing and no one listened. This is what he needed now.

Yet he resisted.

He stared across the room as if the devil lived within the depths of
his dresser, alluring him closer and getting-ever-near. He wasn't
moving but everything was creeping slowly, his eyes focused on one
thing for so long he thought he saw the molecules getting closer,
crawling up over his body and whispering things in his ears. Jay
flinched, his body shaking, bringing up his hands to cover his eyes.
He felt like he was going to puke, his skin was itching,
uncomfortable.. like it wasn't his, he was a skeleton in the wrong
body; and the solution was so close.. if he didn't he was going to
die. He could feel it, death along his insides. But he had to quit,
this wasn't a game anymore, he wasn't walking the line between life
and death, he wasn't flirting with dangerous drugs and coming out on
top. He was sinking in, deep, the need curling up around his legs and
dragging him to the ground, it owned him.

Bob was why he had to stop this shit. He pleaded with no words for
Jay to stop, to quit, to gain control over who he once was. It was
serious now, the way Bob looked at him. His eyes told him that he
would leave, that he would give up on him and get out and never come
back. That thought, for some reason, killed Jay inside. It twisted in
his stomach and made him want to die-- why, why would Lunchbox even
think about that? He hadn't been that bad, he'd put up with worse, it
wasn't fair for him to just up and leave...

Yet Jay knew he was lying to himself, it hadn't been just now, hadn't
been just the last couple of weeks. If he had any idea what time was
anymore, what days and nights he'd spent high and unmoving, when he'd
woke up with Bob sitting next to him with those same sad dark eyes
and no words. He'd know it'd been months, he'd know it'd been years.
He tried to be who he used to be, to show Lunchbox it was all a joke,
but he wasn't sure it worked and the dark eyes told him it was true.
He was the joke. He didn't even know who he was anymore.

Then again, did Bob matter? He was the friend that didn't understand,
the friend that wouldn't try it with him, the friend that looked on
silent and didn't try to help when he started and now excepted it all
to change? It was his fault he was who he was, that fat fuck. He
didn't listen anymore, he didn't pay attention to what Jay said and
he walked away and spent his nights locked in his room. They were
separate now, distanced between walls and drugs, and Jay didn't know
if he even cared anymore. He'd never cared. The only thing that was
constant in his life now was the drugs, and Bob didn't seem to
understand that he couldn't, no he wouldn't, stop. It was all his
choice. He could give a fuck less.

Everything was a joke but him.


I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
Cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused


The needle had made a circle around the veins of his inner arm, the
small holes clearly marked by the darkened skin around them, painless
bruises and discolored veins. He might have to move onto his hand
soon, into the blue rivers standing out before his knuckles,
mocking... anything for another high. Anything for something he
couldn't feel anymore, it was about not feeling, after all. Making
the sickness go away. Long sense had any true happiness drifted away
with the use, it was hell off it and hell on it, like being away from
a lover you couldn't stand but couldn't forget. Always on your mind,
drifting like wisps of smoke in dark corners, close enough to
touch... alluring. Sad eyes.

Abyss was a disease he couldn't escape from, chasing him then running
away, a brave mouse and a determined cat, he hated it yet he wanted
it and couldn't let it go. All he wanted was help but he didn't need
it; this was what he wanted. The only thing he needed his shaky hands
could prepare blind or asleep, a habit that would follow him to death
and swallow him alive before he was ready. Just one more, a risk.
When he sat with abyss' needle against his arm, there was a moment of
choice, a moment to turn back, but that moment moved by too fast and
he was fueling himself again to drive into nowhere. It stung yet was
inspiring, heat moved through his blood; sweet warmth and relief,
without it he was as cold as a corpse, afraid of dying. To take the
pain away, the hurt and the panic, to throw it all away, it was
something he'd searched for so long.

Now he hated it but couldn't stop. No choices left to decide,
confusion. It was like a silence; Bob's face, and his eyes and his
body, no voice. Only images. Frustrating he never spoke, he might as
well be dead, but now Jay was no better, he was more dead than ever
before, and it wouldn't go away.. He couldn't stop it, it craved for
him and captured him and locked him up in a dark room with stale air
and dead roses, pain was a memory now only a sting, but then again so
was happiness, energy, feeling... It made him want to scream, he'd
made another mistake, but he opened his mouth as voiceless as Bob and
could only scream in his mind. It was impossible to change, he was in
a coma caused by himself, by his own fucking cure, a needle...

Jay closed his eyes tight; for so long he had wished for nothing, for
the feelings to numb away and disappear, like crickets at sunrise.
Gone. Everything was gone. Who he was forgotten, who he might've been
he couldn't remember, nothing mattered only drugs and the pleasant
feeling that was torture now, mocking him, wrapping him up in a place
of no form. That place suffocated with smoky air in cold, unprepared
lungs, he felt it and didn't feel it, mind on and off like a light in
a bad building; blinking. So much to think about no thoughts to
think. Cold on his cheek up against a wall, it was the only thing
that told him he was alive anymore. Where was he? Nothing was in
focus. His eyes were closed.

I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean

Warmth; a different kind held him now, wrapping around him,
comforting at first but then suffocating, like he couldn't breath
when already it was so hard. Fire. It seemed to go on for days, every
second an eternity as his mind tried to come back, as his body tried
to work. He couldn't move away from it, the warmth, he couldn't force
his body into motion and he didn't have enough energy to choke or
gag, yet he felt like he couldn't breath. It took so long of trying,
and he finally realized he was gulping in shallow breaths, body
jerking, and was released in an instant. Long, thin pale fingers dug
into cold sheets, clenching for a moment like he was going to fall;
no he was falling. He'd started long ago and still couldn't stop. A
decent to death.

Pale versions of his body, his vision and his mind were back in an
instant, after a slow long dragging return the light snapped on. Jay
yanked around, hand flinging out and slapping Bob in the face, "What
the fuck is youse doin in here ya fuckin' fat piece of shit! Get da
fuck out! Getsa da fuck out!" A moment in time to a deluded mind, he
thought that perhaps Bob hadn't noticed, that he didn't know what
he'd done and there was still a chance of getting away with it, still
a chance to lie and cover it all up. Bob didn't have to know, it
would be better that way. "Why da fuck is youse in my room! I told ya
not ta come in here sonsa' bitch!"

He would've hit Bob again but he missed, the other man had stood up
and away long ago but Jay hadn't noticed, and he toppled to the
ground in a bundle of limbs and bones, feet still hanging off the
bed. He shivered with rage, head swimming, feeling stomach acid
crawling up his throat until the arid taste reached his tongue. So
long in absence his senses attacked him and he groaned, ready to
puke. The floor was freezing, ice going up over his arms and sinking
into his body, the light blinding and stung at his eyes, bringing
with it heat and annoyance; an open window. What fuckin' time was it?
The room was stale and stank of mold so strong he could taste it, and
when he opened his eyes he was looking straight into the point of a
needle. The one he'd used last night, the one before? It didn't
matter it haunted his sight right before him, staring him in the face
and mocking. Already he wanted more, no, needed it. For a moment he
forgot about everything, and he reached out for it. All he needed to
do was clean it then burn the--

A bare foot stepped lightly on his hand, but it felt like it was
crushing and he barely held in a scream. Scorching fire, the drug
played with his reactions, lingering and making the world askew,
twisting, dizzy pain. He made noises with lips that wouldn't work,
and he let his gaze flutter, glancing up along the layers of clothes
into Bob's face, one cheek hand-printed red, standing there, saying
nothing. But there with those sad eyes that controlled him and made
him ache... what could he do for those eyes? How could he fix
them? "L-lunchbox..."

The burning foot moved and Bob crouched, no longer looking at his
friend, and picked up the needle with two fingers, as if afraid to
touch it otherwise, as if it might kill him, as if he was disgusted.
Seeing Bob touch it made Jay's stomach clench, fear held his body
still for a lingering moment, filling his thoughts with
possibilities, visions of the needle capturing him like it had
himself, killing him slowly from the inside out.. thoughts of his
friend leaning over himself with the syringe laying along his
forearm, digging into pale skin and never coming back... Panic it
raised, panic that it might happen, and he grabbed for Bob's legs and
scratched his nails down his calf, fumbling and latching onto his
ankles. "No! Don't do it, don't.." Why else would Bob touch it? He
wanted it too. It had him.

The legs kicked at him like he was nothing and stepped away, Jay's
eyes following him, breath catching, painful in his chest. And he
watched as Bob threw it away, let it slip from his fingers into the
garbage, and it clanked at the bottom, a sound that echoed in his
ears. Throwing away his life, the thing that made up who he was, as
if it wasn't important... "What.." He stared at the garbage as Bob
walked past, ripping open the drawers of his dresser and pulling out
the tightly-closed bags full of the white powder, and the others
already prepared and already; a brown, and dropped them in the trash.
His papers, his spoons, even his lamp he bent and broke and threw
away and went on a search for more.

What. The. Fuck.

Nothing had given him more energy in the world than seeing that, it
was a darkness that coiled in his insides, a crazy rage that boiled
behind his eyes, fueling him beyond his weak bones and clouded mind;
he jumped to his feet in seconds, slamming into Bob from behind and
crashing him into the wall. The strength and weakness of the
addicted. He grabbed a hold of Bob's shirt even as he pushed him away
and hung on his body, screaming in his face. "Wha' da fuck do youse
think youse doin' Lunchbox?! What the fuck is wrong with yahs! Don't
touch my shit! Get the fuck out youse fat piece of fuck!" Jay felt
like he could kill him, and his fingers ached to clench around his
throat for what he was doing, he couldn't think. "Does youse think
you have da fuckin right to do this? No, FUCK no, bitch! Youse not my
fuckin' mother or nothin' neither you fat mother fucker, I'm tired of
yo ass! Youse think youse own me, FUCK OFF! I hate you! Don't fuckin
come in'ere an'--" A slap in the face and he was down. Not hard, but
it was enough, pain racked through his body and made him shake,
stinging so hard he wasn't sure where it'd started from. "Fuckin'
dickless fat worthless piece of HELL! Fuckin' hit ME!" He struggled
to get up, legs falling out beneath him and all he could see was the
dirty floor and his hair in his face. "FUCK!"

"Don't youse fuckin dare!" His voice was a screech, a mask of what it
used to be, barely recognizable. All darkness and hate and anger. He
crawled to the wall and used it to get up but, hunched with his spine
jutting out from under his gray-ish skin, it was a struggle. It
frustrated him and all he could do was scream, "Bob! Fuck! Don't fat
fuck!" He turned with his palms pressed against the dirty wall and
stared at the empty room, table overturned, all his drawers opened
and the trash can gone. His life gone. He couldn't quit, how could
Bob expect that.. "BOB!" He couldn't quit! Not like that! He'd tried!
He'd tried already!

"NO!" His voice came from a raw throat, raising into scared panic,
pleading; head back with his blonde hair greasy and dirty falling
around hallowed cheek bones; eyes tightly closed. He couldn't face
it. It wasn't true. He couldn't just stop, he'd at least need a
little to slowly quit with... he at least... "..fuck..." Wiry pale
legs buckled and he dropped to the ground with a thud, he couldn't
keep himself up, he couldn't support himself anymore, his life...
this fuckin' life... It was all falling apart fast now, before it was
like the sky fell in slow motion, chunks of his life crumbling to the
floor, more time to run, more time to plan, but now everything
crashed in an instant, too much to handle, too much to take.
Everything in a second gone.

How could he get more? He'd buy more. Fuck Bob. He'd get more, leave
and get more. It wasn't hard. He'd sell all his shit and steal and
buy more. This wasn't the end of the world, he could do it. He'd buy
more... Fuck! A strangled sob rose in the silence and he dimly
realized it was himself, his chest was heaving and his breath was
labored, trying to hold it in, trying to let it out. "God.." Shaky
hands rose in front of his damp eyes, joints of his fingers sticking
out along thin digits and bruised yellow skin; he couldn't hold them
still. "No.." He buried his face in those hands, shoulders hunching
forward and wailed. His fingernails dug into his clammy skin at the
shame of it, but it only caused more pain, more of something he
didn't need. He couldn't make himself stop, his shoulders shook and
he could feel the tears sliding down his arms, salty drops
stinging the holes he used to feel alive and dead for so long. Of all
the things he'd never cried over, he was crying over Heroin.... He
was a fucking terrible person.

I don't know how I got this way
I know it's not alright
So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight

Five hours and he was already sick, pale and breathing shallow, body
twisting on the bed. Bob hadn't left him. He was there now, sitting
next to him, that sad look still in his fucking eyes, it haunted
him... it wouldn't leave him alone. "Get out!" Jay screamed, hoarse,
back arching and head snapping to the side. He didn't want him here
now, he didn't want him to see him like this. He'd been screaming
since Bob came back, and pleading and crying. Please bring it back,
please bring it back, just a little, one last time. But it was
useless, Bob wouldn't get more or leave him alone, he stayed and
watched over him like some fucking angel, he wouldn't let him be
alone and he wouldn't let Jay leave to search for more. He didn't
understand that it was killing him, he was sick and everything hurt,
the world spun and he screamed and thrashed and kicked and shook; he
needed it!

"Get out! Rude fat assed motherfucker! I fuckin hate yahs!" He lashed
out the only way he could now, in cruel words, what he was best at,
but Bob didn't bat an eye. He crawled towards the edge of the bed,
fingers clawing and pulling him across only for a spasm to hit and
his entire body would jolt and twist to the side and he'd be left
screaming. He was constantly shaking, and every few minutes it would
become more severe, consuming him, then his muscles would cramp up
and start again. Lunchbox would reach out and touch his face and
smooth his hair and pull a smile out of all this fucked up sadness
somewhere in his mind. He tried to comfort but it didn't work, all he
really did was cause more anger to well inside him, more pain and
realization, and he tried to hold him to stop him from shaking but it
only caused bruises on his under-nourished pale skin.

"Stop it! Fuck!" He slammed his hand against Bob's face and the other
man let him go, sitting back with red-rimmed watery eyes, silent as
ever. At the base of his skull his head was throbbing, pounding
sledgehammers into his ears and along his temples. Pain. "..gah.."
Jay's body curled, and he groaned loud and long, admitting from his
throat before bile climbed up from his stomach. Shooting to the edge
of the bed his back arched in a circle and he puked, stomach acid the
color of yellow and orange, maybe blood. There was nothing else in
his body to puke up but he new this wouldn't be the end of it, it'd
last for hours. Days. The idea made him want to cry, if only he had a
little...

Bob held back his hair until he was done, the thin body shined with
sweat and shaking; then he picked him up into his warm arms and
carried him to the bathroom. "Get off me! Let me go.." They were weak
words and Jay's body was limp, he didn't try to fight, he couldn't if
he wanted too. "Go away.." He was laid on the cold floor of their
bathroom, and he heard water running and the toilet bowl lift. He
reached out, blind, and shivered when his fingers meant the cool
surface, goosebumbs raising over his entire body in an instant,
making his headache worse. "Leave.." He managed to whimper before
another tormenting session of heaving took place, body curled around
the toilet, starting to sweat once more. Tears stung his
eyes, "Please leave.."

A warm hand slid up over Jay's shoulders and into his hair, pulling
the long strands back and gently tugging it into a bun at the top of
his head, twisting a band over it a few times to make sure it stayed,
but wasn't too tight. The hand returned gently to his back, rubbing,
warm. "I'm not going to leave you." Silent Bob's voice was strong and
steady, a strength to offer comfort for his friend and the person he
loved. He couldn't leave him, not now. Jay just needed to get through
the withdrawal, it was the drugs that were doing this to him, the
drugs that affected him so much in so little time. "It will be all
right."

Jay shook his head slowly, body twitching and mind a fog. Weak. The
words seemed too perfect, and he didn't want to look up. He didn't
want to look up into Bob's tear streaked face and shatter the
illusion, he didn't want to see the pain he was causing this person
who'd put up with him for so long, he didn't want him to stay and see
him, especially later when it got worse... He just wanted to be
alone, but being alone was to start again. He knew he wouldn't be
able to stop himself, the cravings were enough to drive him insane,
but with the added pain and sickness... and knowing that one slam
would make it go away, the temptation was deadly. Thinking about it
made his fingers curl into claws, maybe he could rush Lunchbox and
hit his head against the sink, go out and find where he'd put
everything and--

A choked sob rose in his throat and he pushed away from the toilet,
crumbling to the ground and shaking off Bob's hands, crawling into
the corner and turning his back to his best friend. His chest heaved
as he pulled in air as if in a panic, flinching when Bob tried to
touch him. "No..." He turned his face into his arms, trembling,
pulling away further and further, as if trying to disappear into the
walls. "Everything's so fucked up... I'm so fucked up.."

"It's all right, Jay." That calm voice again from the crying eyes, so
soothing, soft and intelligent, something he hated to be around right
then. Something he was shamed of him seeing, all around him the wrong
thoughts and they wouldn't go away. He felt like the worst person in
the world, how could he think that? Why didn't Bob understand and
just go away?! "It's going to be all right.."

"No.." Jay jerked when hands slid under him, lifting him up and he
kicked, growling and tried to peel the hands away, digging in his
finger nails and thrashing. "No! Let go! Fuckin'... I'll kill you!"
The instant the words left his lips he sagged in Bob's arms, legs
limp as the larger man lifted him, tears in his distant eyes. "I
will..." He mumbled, staring at the stained walls of the shower as
Bob pulled off his boxers and lowered him into the warm tub of water.
It seemed as if it was burning, but he let himself sink in up to his
chin, the water slashing over the sides from the kicking motion in
his right leg he couldn't stop. He closed his eyes but knew he
wouldn't sleep, he wouldn't sleep in a long time, the drug would hold
him awake and in agony for at least the next couple of days. It
hurt. "'m sorry..."

"It's all right, Jay.." Bob said it with his sad dark eyes as if he
was a skipping CD, repeating the same words the same way with that
hopeless expression. He was a liar.

Clutching my cure
I tightly lock the door
I try to catch my breath again
I hurt much more
Than anytime before
I had no options left again

One day. Only one day that spread out over an eternity of hours and
minutes that were hell on Jay's body and mind. He twitched and puked
until there was nothing left in his body, and Bob's desperate attempt
to feed him ended with it coming up before he even finished, and so
he refused to eat, he wasn't hungry anyway. Pain was more important
to his mind then food, he could care less about a stomach he rarely
fed for fuck's sake. Pain was more of a driving force, something
demanding to be paid attention to, something no one could ignore. He
winced and coiled on the bed, toes curling and body on fire with
agony. So long, it was forever he'd felt this way. He'd give anything
for it to stop... anything for it just to go away again. He cried, he
cried like a child for drugs and screamed when he didn't get his way.
Everything was clouded, he felt like he could die. He could die now
and this would be hell. This was hell. He was already dead.

He was supposed to be sleeping now, but it was impossible to sleep.
It was impossible to do anything but wince and cry and twist on the
bed. Clean sheets on dirty skin, wrapping around him, choking him and
trapping him with limbs and cold cotton. Bob wasn't here, for once
the room was empty but everywhere he turned he still saw that face,
that expression and that haunting fucking gaze. But it didn't matter,
it didn't matter what that face said anymore, he had a chance to end
it, a chance to claim his body back for whatever it was worth, to get
rid of the hurt. Alone. Alone. A chance, oh god, temptation... His
fingers dug into the sheets as he slid off the bed, his legs didn't
work anymore, he didn't know how to walk or how to breathe. He just
had to stop this, he only had a little time, the panic raised his
heart beat until it thundered in his ears, the only thing he could
hear; consuming him.

He was shaking still, fingers groping at the cheap wood holding up
the mattress of his bed on a rusty frame; slivers at the tips of his
fingers, gorging into his skin but he didn't notice. There was a
chance. A moment, just a second and maybe it would be there. Maybe.
If. Maybe. Please. Behind the first board, he pulled a small baggy
out that had been stuck there just in case a week ago. Thank God.
Thank you. He dropped it on the floor and rolled onto his stomach,
trying to open it. It was like his fingers were numb, asleep, or cut
off as stubs. It took so long! He could feel tears sliding down his
cheeks at the frustration, the need. He was such an idiot, idiot,
idiot...

It was open and he spilled it out on the dirty floor, pushing the
light brown powder into a line, barely breathing. He didn't have a
needle, but he could snort it, he knew the high wouldn't be as good
but it would stop the pain, it would stop it and he'd be so happy.
He'd be so happy again. Just a chance, just a moment. It'd be all
right again, everything would be okay--

Light cut across the room in a rectangle, that shadow of a man
standing in the doorway, black against sun, blinding. Jay flinched
and dove for it, screaming, he didn't know what he was saying, he
didn't know what he was doing. He just needed it. Why now, why now?!
No, no no no. No! It was so close. Iron grips around his wrists,
lifting him up and all he could do was scream and jerk and screech
some more until his throat was raw with pain and he thought he was
bleeding. He was bleeding everywhere. He had to be. How could he hurt
so much without
there being blood? How could he cry so much and still be alive?

All he could see was the powder, and it was going away, going away
before he could get it and then he knew he was really going to die.
That was everything he had. Everything he had and Bob took it away
and flushed it down the toilet like it was nothing, like it wasn't
everything that made Jay alive, like.. like... He didn't know
anymore. He just screamed and clawed and hit at that face and those
eyes and wanted to hurt him. Wanted him to die.

And then he couldn't move anymore, he was numb and on the floor and
curled in a ball and that bastard was helping him again like it
hadn't happened it was all fucked up.

I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
Cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused

I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean

"I hate youse..." An angry hiss between chapped, chewed on lips, a
sound growled through clenched, grinding teeth. "I hate youse so
fuckin' much..." Jay was in a cold sweat, laying on the bed and
arching up, jerking, then falling limp again. He had no energy; his
wrists hurt. They were tied tightly with some old fabric to the bars
of Bob's bed, keeping those fists and sharp fingernails in check. But
he'd do anything to get out, do anything to claw his way towards
something he didn't even know was there or not. Lunchbox might've
destroyed it all, Lunchbox wouldn't let him go, Lunchbox...

"I hate you!" He wanted to spit at him, spit at the man that was
sitting by the bed in an old squeaky chair and looking at him. He'd
spit at him but his mouth was dry and his tongue felt swollen. He was
done crying, there was nothing to cry about anymore, the tears had
dried like everything else and left behind only a bitter rage he
couldn't escape. "Youse treat me like hell an' shit you lousy fuckin'
tubby slut!"

He felt like he could say anything and Bob still sat there far-away
but very close and didn`t react. Just watched him. Frustration
churned the insides of his mind as he tried to find something,
anything, he could use to hurt him... to make him let him go. To make
him go away. "Bastard!" Slut. Bitch. Fat ass.

But Bob ignored him. He ignored him like he wasn't there but was;
he'd do nothing but suddenly scoot closer and run a damp rag over his
face, cooling him, sit back and ignore once more. It was like it
always was. "Youse never fuckin' appreciated me, did ya youse fat
fuck.. youse never say shit an' then ya gotsa get into my business
all the sudden! Tying me up... fuck! Let me go! Just give me some!
Motherfucker, man!"

He screamed until his voice was gone, just a scratchy painful wheeze
in the back of his throat but he couldn`t shut up. Then Bob would
leave and come back with a glass of water and let him drink, cup the
back of his head and hold him up. It was so cold, soothing, like
heaven. No. No, heaven was in the drugs and he wouldn't give him
that. Bastard. Then he would scream again with everything he
had. "Please! Please, Lunchbox! Why is youse doin` this shit to me!
It's not yer fuckin body! It's mine! It's my life! I can fuck it up
if I want too!"

Jay let out a long breath, shaky and trembling, pulling his heart out
from his chest, as if he was loosing something inside himself each
time. He stared forward and felt that feeling and it scared him, cold
like ice over him, along his skin. He glanced to the side with a
glare when Bob stood, pulling the blankets up over him and up to his
chin, tucking in the edges around his body. Always the mother.
Forever the bitch. It pissed him off so much, to see that face now.
He wished he could think of something, anything to make that
expression break so he would untie him and let him leave forever.
Alone.

Did he even want that anymore?

"I'll give you anything youse want... I fuckin` promise..." Another
quivering breath, and Bob's dark eyes turned to him, now cynical and
hardened with resolve, black with distrust and doubt. "You've always
loved me, haven't youse..?" Jay's thin wrists pulled against his
bonds, fingers flexing and trying to hide the smirk from the look of
shock that washed over his friend's scratched up face. Those green
eyes narrowed, darkening despite the frame of blonde eyelashes that
surrounded them, tracing the red lines seared across his cheek,
disappearing into his beard and along his neck, bruises on his right
temple. Had he done that? He didn't remember anymore. It didn't
matter. "Don't youse love me..?"

"Shut up, Jay." The words were lost in their own blunt calmness but
he had hurt in his eyes, masked but showing with the tears that made
the white around deep brown orbs shine and sparkle. Such sadness. Jay
hated seeing it there, it was a dirty reminder of what the drugs had
been making him forget. Bob wasn't allowed to do this, he'd stopped
looking at him with those eyes a day ago when the insults had
started. Why didn't he just leave him, why did he stay? Why was he
crying?

"Just give it to me! Just give me the shit Bob it ain't that fuckin`
hard! Everythin' will be better that way! We can do it together!" Jay
screamed, angry again, confused, and he jerked, shaking the entire
bed and listening to the bars slam into the wall. His hair was
falling in his face, strands of blurred blonde obstructing his
vision. Though, it didn't matter. He didn't need to see anymore, he
wished he was blind. Because right now he could see Bob getting up,
his emotionless eyes clouded with tears, a contradiction, and walking
away. "Just fuckin' give it to me!"

But the door was closed and the room was dark, he might as well have
been blind because he couldn't see anything but blackness. He could
imagine Bob crying in the living room, his best friend, the person he
loved more than anybody but the person he hurt more than his worst
enemy, the only person he tortured worse than himself. "Bob..." He
choked in the darkness, minutes passing in hours and he felt tears
well up in his eyes, panic, hatred for who he was, for what he was,
and for what he'd done. "... come back.." He whispered, wishing the
other man could hear him, wishing for it all to end. "Don't leave me
alone.."

I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright
So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight

The world almost seemed plastic, surreal, and the nights sleep was
restless. The first time he'd slept in four days, in and out of
blackness and dreams. Nightmares that confused him, that made him
shake and sweat.

Things were chasing him and he'd been running, couldn't see anything,
and was blind. And there was a clock that wouldn't stop ticking, huge
and loaming counting down the days to his life. He'd been running
down the path of least resistance, some place without air, where at
the end lay the fraying fading bits of his sanity in a bag surrounded
by wires and needles and the time from the clock was running out.
Flying out the door of his soul, a whole in his chest, escaping, and
he couldn't catch it; screaming out in anguish, mirrored in the sad
brown eyes of a fallen angel, fallen down that path to hell. And the
clock was broken, it kept going back and going faster and stopping,
dying amidst death, among life, and Jay couldn`t stop it.

The angel's wings were broken, trailing in the dust and blackened
from the soot from the ashes of the hellish place without air. It was
beauty crowned in thorns and icy death and he could see everything in
those eyes; pain unmeasured, fragile, like the glass mirroring that
sadness, was pain. Strong like steel but broken like the clock, that
wouldn`t stop ticking and those eyes haunted him into oblivion, that
path of least resistance that lead straight to hell.

The dream was never ending though he woke up wrapped in Bob's arms
and laid limp, not knowing what to do or say anymore. He slept and
the dream came again, repeating almost exactly each time and every
time he woke Bob was there holding him and he didn't understand what
was going on. It was like he dreamed of waking, over and over, still
sleeping because Bob was always there and he felt like he shouldn't
be. He wouldn't be there.

Why was he still holding him?

I'll paint it on the walls
Cause I'm the one at fault
I'll never fight again
And this is how it ends

Jay rolled his head to side and stopped, trying to remain still as
his body shook ever so slightly, small trimmers tingling his spine.
This was a quiet moment, with the pain subsiding but there, a dull
ache, beating slow like his heart, leaving and returning in every
nerve of his body in a mellow rhythm. Beat, thump, beat. The cravings
remained on his mind every second, a shadow shrouding his thoughts,
but his body was getting over the drug. Finally, after a dragging
painful fight it was leaving him, himself the victor. He hadn't
thought it possible, but it was happening, so slowly. it was all
going away.

Thanks to Bob.

Honest and bitter emotions were coming to surface again, stronger
than ever before, bringing with them images of embarrassment,
shame... and quilt. He felt them all like stabs in the eyes, an agony
of their own, maybe worse but in no way better, but it proved him
human. Something for so long he had been trying not to be, something
for so long he had pushed away. His own words mocked his mind,
replaying over and over everything he had said and the look on his
friend`s face when he`d said them. Every time, he remembered every
time... and he hoped Bob knew he hadn't meant them. He prayed, even,
he prayed to God that he'd just forget them... none of those things
had been true. He hadn't meant anything, he was an idiot, he didn't
know what he was saying or why he had said it.. None of it was real.

He didn't deserve Lunchbox. not by a long shot.

Jay looked at Bob's face now, a determined expression gazing right
back at him, soft intelligent eyes, caring features. in spite of
everything he cared and he was still here. Someone he couldn't get
away from but was so grateful for. His large hands like soft flowers
were moving over the blonde's body, down along his slender chest and
flat stomach, sliding up his pale arms and massaging sore muscles,
for so long. He was gentle. Jay hadn't known what tenderness felt
like, all his life.. he couldn't remember one time...

The hands hurt a little, even as gentle as they were, on unprepared
skin and weak bones, but he didn't care. Jay laid limp with far away
eyes looking at him and let the other man touch him simply because he
knew it made Bob feel better. He'd endure anything for Bob now, he'd
do anything. he liked the feeling of those hands but even more so the
expression of his eyes. Dark brown honey, warm, concentrated, no sign
of sadness for now.. no sign of tears. He wanted them to stay that
way for as long as possible, he wished it could be forever. He didn't
want Lunchbox to cry anymore because of him, or hate him... and he
had all the right too, and that was what scared Jay the most. He
didn't want the other man to leave. Ever.

He was all he had now. He was all he'd ever had.

So long it'd been him and Lunchbox, the mouth and the muscle,
countless years for as long as he could remember. Bob had always been
there. By his side, at his shoulder, at his back, taking care of him,
being taken care of... every time he'd glanced around he'd been
there. Through it all and he'd almost ruined it. Everything had been
perfect, everything worthwhile and going right. Why did he have to
screw it up? He'd never forgive himself, he'd never be able to forget
that expression, those tears... Why did he have to be the cause of
those sad eyes?

Jay didn't really know why, he didn't know a lot of things. He didn't
know why he was the way he was, why he had to do the things he did.
He wished he knew all the things he used to know when he was younger,
back when he had all the answers. Everything had been simple then,
clear as a black and white picture book, laid out before him like
fate with easy directions and paths to choose. It wasn't like how it
was now, with different roads covered in inky blackness with no
signs, no warnings, and no way back. He didn't know anything anymore,
his children`s book had grown old and burnt around the edges and his
fairytale monsters were starting to look like himself in a twisted
horror house mirror. He was the villain, and he was the cause of all
his pain, and everyone else's.

He didn't know how Bob could stay with him for forever and a week
like it seemed he had. No one could stand him. He couldn't stand
himself. He was an idiot and he was worthless. Bob was. everything.
Yet Bob took care of him. It wasn't right. It was almost insane; he
couldn't make sense out of it. He'd hurt him so much, hurt him more
than he'd been trying to hurt himself. Why was he still here...?

"Lunchbox..." Jay's voice rose up among his shallow breathing, weak
and tired, barely awake, pained. "..do youse hate me or anythin'?" He
stared with heavy lidded eyes at Bob as he stopped his beautiful
hands to gaze at him, honey brown capturing green. He could see the
same sad eyes, whose pain he caused, the same look that killed him.
He wished he could take his question back, just shut the fuck up for
once, so Bob wouldn't look at him like that. So he'd keep touching
him, so maybe he'd stay happy thinking he was helping for even a
moment more...

Though Jay's breath caught at Bob's smile, slow and soft, lighting up
those eyes and his features, making him look less tired, less
scared. "Never." The word was quiet and hung in the air between them
suspended by their eyes, pairs that had seen too many horrors in
their short lives, far too much tragedy.

".. why the fuck wouldn't you?" Disbelief lingered in Jay's mind and
slow, dragging voice.. so tired now. So tired of himself, of all this
shit, of drugs and money and life... tired of lies. How could Bob not
hate him, how was it possible after everything that had happened?
Everything he'd done and said? After all the times he'd fucked up? He
didn't understand..

And Bob watched him, long moments passing and shrugged his shoulders,
an easy movement, a first passing back into normalcy. No words. No
explanations. Just Bob. Maybe he didn't have an answer, maybe he
himself didn't know. Maybe he didn't think he needed to say anything,
or maybe he just didn't think it was time.

Maybe he would tell him one day.

I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
But now I have some clarity
To show you what I mean

I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright
So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit tonight


~~End~~