I knew he was on something from the minute I laid eyes on him. His usually chalky white skin was now evidently cherry red, as if he'd been rubbing his face continuously. His eyes were a sight out of this world-but not in a good way-bloodshot and the pupils were as big and as black as they possibly could get. He appeared to be struggling to see anything properly in front of him and he was rocking himself gently back and forth, an edge to his normally welcoming attitude.
You see, this is where things get complicated because he isn't just your average junkie. He's mine and I love him.
He wasn't always like this.. I blame myself really for being the cause of his stress, but according to him his stresses inevitable.
Our love was strange. We fell into this daze where both of us thought things like this never happened,except in fairy tales. I always wondered what it would be like to live my own fairy tale, but when he became one I was adamant to prove this affection could never go away. I guess our story was tragic because the impossible occurred and I don't believe either of us had the power to prevent it.
It started one Christmas-the pain. The constant harassment of sadness and loss because she wasn't around anymore. My Nan-my light. My guardian. My angel. The feeling I endured when I discovered she was dead was like a stab straight to the heart. The only woman I'd ever been able to express my feelings with and the only woman who'd ever shown how proud of me she was-gone. In one short breath.