Mitchell's Mustard Blog

February 19, 2014

Relapse

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 11:01 am

Once again he didn’t recognise his own reflection, he’d been here before, he didn’t want to believe that he’d relapsed again, the way he’d been living recently, no one would be surprised. His eyes hollow and gaunt, surrounded by dark patches that danced in the candle light. A tiresome complexion stared back at him from the mirror he hunched over. Neat lines of cocaine waiting in unison, tempting him back into the warm comforts, a narcotic cuddle, protection from the troubles of the outside world. His right foot tapped away to a silent beat, rolling, and re rolling the twenty pound note in his hands while his body prepared for the next intake. Feeling as jumpy as a whippet in the traps. Dabbing at his nostrils with a used tissue to stop it from running, his bodies way of telling him enough is enough. Another warning that he would choose to ignore.
The mouldy, damp motel room walls needed a wipe down, the wallpaper bending back on itself in the corners, giving up hope. The room must have been decorated in the mid 80’s, but then left to defend for itself ever since, a defence of oranges, greens, and purples, a battle in which it had started to fade. The smell of must lingered around the room, pacing and unforgiving on anyone who entered. A crack of light entered the room from the side of the blind, stretching to cut the room in two. He watched dust dance in and out of the sunlight as it floated around him, occupying the space that only his body didn’t. He was perched on the edge of the sofa, leaning over the coffee table, a candle and the mirror holding centre stage. A tribal dance of shadows darted around him like he was their fire, catching them out the corner of his eye, eager to follow them to a better place, they seemed happier than he did. wiping the sweat from his brow with his shirt sleeve, then positioned the bank note, he always favoured his right nostril, craned neck as he sold his soul for his desires. A beautiful bloom, a release of pressure before this foreign substance started to drip at the back of his throat, entering the gates. As he sat back on the sofa a cloud rose around him, a wave of dust, repositioning itself around him for a tighter grip. It drifted and settled just like his heart, relaxing back into its rightful place. The heat in this room sat on his chest like a weight, everyone dependant on him outside these four walls will have to wait. He knew he wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

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