human roaches
Private and Selective Infamous: Second Son indie RP blog for Brent Walker. I track the tag brentwalker.

Just a quick note, a lot of my posts concern drug abuse and thing of the sort. So there are times that I will forget to tag.
But I try to tag it under tw; drugs as often as possible

sickeyes:

[Text to: Notmydealer]: jfc your sister wont stop ma kign fun of me
[Text to: Notmydealer]: tell ger to stop
[Text to: Notmydealer]: pl ease
[Text to: Notmydealer]: shrroms
[Text to: Notmydealer]: im just sitting here 
[Text to: Notmydealer]: and shapes just keep
[Text to: Notmydealer]: popping up man i am nev er doing this again

[text; smokey the bear]: if u cry she’ll probably stop
[text; smokey the bear]: or make fun of u even more tbh it’s a 50/50 chance 
[text; smokey the bear]: where the chance that she’ll make fun of u is like 90%
[text; smokey the bear]: somewhere in that i did the math wrong
[text;smokey the bear]:just breathe and pretend remember
[text; smokey the bear]: the shapes are judgin u

[Text to: Notmydealer]: It hurts to hear and I can smell shapes.

[text; smokey the bear]: yeah i kinda ran out of the stuff you wanted

[text; smokey the bear] hope u arent allergic to shrooms

[text; smokey the bear] u were too high to notice anyways idk man

//downward

sickeyes:

Delsin felt as if he had just sunk lower.

Lower.
Not as low as he could go, but damn did he dig that grave a little deeper.

The warmth and euphoria curled in his chest and he really wanted to tell Brent how much he loved him and how much he loved everybody else that put up with his shit. He wanted to call Fetch and tell her how much he loved her for taking care of him when he couldn’t, because there were definitely times that he couldn’t take care of himself. Too high. Too depressed. Or both, or something between.

“Are you…gonna hang here for awhile?” He asked, his head swimming with heat, while opening his eyes. Wait, when had he closed them? He glanced around the room, and, the room doesn’t follow.

Oh wait, there it goes.

And there it goes again.

He settled his eyes on Brent, feeling as if he was practically becoming one with the couch. He couldn’t tell his legs from the couch, and the couch from his legs and fuck – this high, he had promised it’d be great and it was.

“Because you’re more than welcome, you always are. I enjoy company.”

The world wanted Delsin Rowe to be something he wasn’t; Brent helped him cope. Oxy helped him cope. He didn’t want to be a hero. A villain. A, anything. He didn’t want to be anything but slumped on this couch with his veins humming, full of happiness. Heroes were depended on, and god dammit he didn’t want that. He had lost his parents, his brother, and his family and the world didn’t understand that he needed time to pick up the broken pieces. They didn’t give him the time.

They only stepped on the pieces, breaking them more.

If Fetch hadn’t of been there to help him pick up some of those pieces, just enough to get him into a somewhat decent state of mind, Delsin would have thrown himself down into the water with Reggie. At least he wasn’t doing that.

Delsin tightened his grip on his phone, sighing shakily. It grounded him. The weight of it reminded him that he wasn’t dreaming…

This is how he wants to be.
Sitting next to either of the Walker siblings, his mind shot, experiences lost in the haze of something much more beautiful, much more potent. 

Brent just watched the other, it was almost as fun as taking it himself but it wasn’t a substitute for it. It gave him joy to watch somebody be blown away with the intensity of whatever new thing he had to show them. It was totally worth every second. “Yeah, I’ll be staying for a while. Don’t mind if I shoot up too, do you?” Brent already knew the answer but it didn’t hurt to ask, there was a short debate between whether or not  he should crush two or three pills but at this very moment, the older one wasn’t exactly looking to die.

All that was needed, all that was wanted was a sweet ride to sit back and relax to he asked for nothing more and nothing less. Quite easily he wrapped the belt around his bicep and prepared for the injection, the rest of his track marks were visible, the old and the new ones all there for the world to see. There wasn’t an ounce of shame left in his body, his heart had grown hollow and was empty and slowly he was turning into something that wasn’t human, not exactly a monster but not exactly a person. He was stuck in between the two as he continued to evolve.

Would he live long enough to see what this all added up to or was he one that was doomed to fade away into nothing as the world forgets his very existence? Brent wanted to tell himself that it didn’t matter but curiosity had gotten the best of him, what was the course he would take and what actions would bring it upon him? Too many questions for a man who just wants the world to slow down, to simply shut up as he enjoys the view.

Just let me be perfect for one second.

One moment is all I ask for.

One moment is all I expect. The build up to that, soaring and sinking at the same time, sweat dripping down his brow and his hands growing cold and clammy. It was all worth it for that peak, it was a tough climb up and an even tougher one back down when you can feel everything going away.

The intensity diminishes and the harsh pull of reality pulls your back to the ground where you belong. In the dirt because there’s no where else where you can go that will make you feel like you belong. He pushed the plunger down and delved into it all. There was nothing better in this world than feeling like there was nothing to worry about.

Tool
Undertow

currentrotation:

“Sober” by Tool

I am just a worthless liar
I am just an imbecile
I will only complicate you
Trust in me and fall as well
I will find a center in you
I will chew it up and leave
I will work to elevate you
Just enough to bring you down
Trust me. 

//downward

sickeyes:

He’s warm, so warm.

It was like a dull fire in his spine burning up and up and pouring through his nerves and into his finger tips and simmering just beneath his skin. It ate at insecurities and doubts and suicidal tendencies and god, god it was good and shit he loved the fuck out of Brent mother fucking Walker.

And he laughs at the word friend

because he and Fetch are definitely

much m o r e than friends.

“Ahh, friend,” he let the word fall from his lips, “Ah, sure.” He’d spare Brent the details but he was sure that Fetch didn’t. When that girl was hopped up she talked, and damn she talked about the strangest things. Fetch was strange and beautiful and something amazing and –

His thoughts jumped from one thing to another.

Fetch was always there and sometimes he hated that shit because it got too hard to separate thoughts from feelings. “I will,” he said, “Trust me I will.” But right now he didn’t want to label anything, or more. He wanted to just, hang out. Right here. On the couch. Next to Brent.

“Yeah, this is normal,” he said, closing his eyes as the heat built in his arms, head, and chest. “It happens all the time,” And it’s gross because his hair is still wet from the shower and he pushes it back from his forehead.

Feeling alright?

Define alright.

This felt right.
And wrong all at once.

and

he hated himself for that

but the drugs

a

t

e

that feeling away and yeah, yeah that was alright.

“I feel great,” he said, nodding his head at his own words, that were defined and slurred all at once.

 He felt
    v   e
o joyed r

Delsin sighed, a lazy smile curling his lips before laughter fell from them as well. 

So the job was done right and it was done well, nothing was more satisfying than that. To be able to see where all of his ‘hard’ work got him. It was great and almost nothing could compare, his only aim in life had went from making money into making other people into who they were truly meant to be. What if this was his calling? His parent’s wouldn’t have exactly been proud – wait, since when did he give a fuck about his parents? It was their fault, if they hadn’t done what they did then maybe this all could have been avoided, or maybe he should thank them.

Brent didn’t think that after seeing all that he had achieved, that life could be any different. Achievements might mean different things for different people, but he knew exactly what he meant. Chewing on the inside of his lip he grabbed the leather belt still hanging off of Delsin’s arm in a loop. The kid had loosened it but he completely forgot about taking it off but he couldn’t be blamed sometimes he still did it too. Reaching over he  quickly grabbed the belt, the other’s reactions were already slowed down and for most of them after a certain point they wouldn’t even register.

Ah the beauty of drugs.

The world looked so nice from the ledge that they stood on, balance waning away but only when they wanted it to and they fucked with it. Oh boy did they fuck with the potential of faalling down. It just felt so goodIt should be illegal.

Oh wait. It was. Just watching him Brent had begun to feel excited over this again, it had been a while since he’d shot up oxy and he missed it. Every drug was a love affair, even though he didn’t always keep up with each and every one, that love never fully faded away. How could it? There wasn’t even a way to pretend that he would ever hate it either. It doesn’t matter how badly they have damaged him or ruined everything in his life, the memories always outweighed the hours spent fading in and out of consciousness on the verge of anaphylactic shock. The pain, the misery, the hours spent retching, never achieving actual regurgitation because there wasn’t any food in their stomach.

Not that they could really afford it.

In this life, barely anybody could. People would just forget to take care of themselves until they whither away. It would’ve happened to him sooner if Fetch hadn’t taken care of him before and if Piper didn’t check on him every now and then even though they were no longer together, he would have as well. For once in their lives, the good feelings outweighed the bad. Wasn’t that good enough?

//downward

sickeyes:

“Thanks,” He snorted, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, “I think it’s a good look for me too.”

His arm felt a bit tingly from the tourniquet and he flexed it again, shifting a bit as Brent prepared the injection for him. On command, he took a breath.

And tried not to jump as the needle hit skin and then hit vein. Delsin shivers as he drew blood out, and then, shudders as he hit the plunger on the syringe. And, this was a moment in which Delsin Rowe knew would change something. Between he and Brent. He and Fetch. He and himself. His arm got cold, and he kept his eyes closed. He bit his cheek, and shit needles still weren’t his favorite things in the world.

Though again, he trusted Brent.
He craved that high.
Wanted that high.

N   e   e   d   e   d

I    t

He needed it.

Every part of Delsin fucking Rowe screamed to go away, to disappear, to burn up into ash and smoke and let the drug eat him whole. Pure happiness straight into his veins; yeah, he liked to think that. If he could take a picture of this moment and toss it in his mental scrap book, he would. But, he had a feeling that wouldn’t even be an option in a few minutes.

“Thank you,” he said, even though it was probably stupid to be thanking your….uh….what is she to him? Best friend? With something a little weirder? Yeah, be thanking your best friend with something a little wierder’s brother for getting you completely blitzed out of your mind.

But, that was beside the point, “I mean it.”

A smile crept up on his lips this was the end of many and the start of many more, this would be the point where god would come down from the sky and either bless or abandon you. Whether you believed in him or not, metaphorically, it happened. Life hadn’t gotten this good until now and it will never be this good again, each time the feeling grows dimmer and dimmer, but the body was a strange thing. It was only Brent’s job to fuck with and see just how far he could go without dying, testing the limits, pushing the boundaries it didn’t matter what you called it because it was all the same.

One day he would die, but at least there were thousands of highs that he could use the memory of to keep warm however the million more of agony and loneliness. It didn’t matter who else was with you at the time or who else was going through the same thing, without it he felt so alone. Alone wasn’t the right word.

He felt abandoned.

Looking up and seeing some rush of emotion on Del’s face was satisfying enough, his job was done and it was done well.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

Now it was  h i s  turn.

“No problem, man. Any friend of Fetch is a friend of mine.” The full extent and meaning of the word had always been unclear to him, he had friends back in high school who were people he had to abandon for the sake of his sister but ever since then he hadn’t really thought about making any or even considered many people (if any at all) to be one. Brent would look it up in the dictionary if he could but there were more pressing matters at hand, in his hand actually. “Might wanna label your needle, I don’t wanna mix ‘em up.” Brent already had a special leather bag where he kept the syringe, it was sturdy and the only other person who had used it was Fetch, nobody else would ever lay hands on it with the intention to use it before Brent would take a gun to their head and empty the clip.

Bang bang bang…

Good riddance.

The preparation ritual started once more, the careful movement and attention now automatic, if was a bad idea to keep somebody stoned all alone when somebody could be stoned with them. Watching the other closely, just in case there was some adverse reaction— the only thing he’d be able to help with was before he dosed up himself, injections were more immediate and if he didn’t spasm out in the time it took to get Brent ready, he probably wouldn’t for the rest of the duration. “Do you normally sweat when you’re on this?” He older one asked Delsin, noticing that a few beads of sweat were collecting on his temple. “Are you feeling alright?”

Depends on your definition of alright.

Depends on your definition of feel.

All of which, depended on nothing.

//downward

sickeyes:

“Fucked up?” He said, as if it didn’t bother him much. Oh, Delsin k n e w. He was conscious of it. Completely and utterly conscious of how far he had fallen.

And suddenly, he wanted that needle in his arm so much more.

He scoffed though, rubbing his eyes as he thought of Fetch and how irritated she was going to be with him. “She might even be coming over sooner rather than later, so I’m sure I’ll get my ass kicked either way Brent.” If there was one thing that still kept him grounded, aware of reality, it was Fetch and how fucking good of a shot she was with that neon. He was shot in the ass far too many times, mostly for target practice, other times because he had succeeded in pissing the woman off. Though he listens to Brent’s warning, forcing himself to get up and walk into his bedroom, grabbing a belt from the hook on the wall and coming back out.

“In all honesty, it might a welcomed thing,” he hummed low, more so to himself than anything, “And yeah, yeah. A tourniquet.” Delsin figured it’d be better to use something to cushion the area beneath the belt, but there was no way in hell that he was getting up again. He tightened the belt on his upper arm and tensed the muscle for a few, flexing his hand a few times as he watched the veins darken beneath his skin.

He scoffed, feeling tired, tired, wanting release, wanting just to lay down and close his eyes for forever. Reggie would be so disappointed; “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Yeah, a little fucked up… it suits you.” In all truth, Delsin looked bad– like real bad. The drugs took a toll of everybody, some were able to play it off better but now Brent looked over 5 years older than he was. Skin growing pale and sickly. The warm glow of life slowly being sucked out each time they ante’d up until all that was left was an empty husk. Going through the motions and falling victim to old habits that had now become their life, their living, and ultimately the cause of their death.  

Nodding he looked at the conduit who was ready with the belt around his arm, damn right he was ready, for some reason it almost made him feel bad. Brent was already the one who had introduced him to the world of hardcore drugs, skipping a couple of stones and steps on the way. It would be unfair not to teach him this, the track marks that were speckled across the skin of his inner forearm reminded him that it was the best decision he had ever made. The intensity was incomparable to everything else and the dreary gray world had filled up with color temporarily for as long as the high lasted. For as long as they could pretend that everything was okay.

“Take a deep breath.” Upon hearing him do as he said he stuck the needle into his arm, it was probably the best way to distract from the annoying pain. The one thing that kind of related to drugs that he remembered from getting shots at the doctor’s office, from a life so far away, so distant. Fetch used to cry and whine and even go as far as running around the office to avoid the vaccines but once she was caught and calmed down they told her to take a deep breath in and gave her a lollipop right after. Brent used to grab those free lollipops in the baskets at banks to give her after she had sobered up a little. It was a little tradition that they always stuck through, one that never fully went away.

He pulled the plunger back, drawing blood into the barrel and then injected it all back into him. Welcome to the part right before rock bottom.

We've been waiting for you.

//downward

sickeyes:

“Ayy,” he softly sighed as he walked out, running his fingers quickly through his hair until vertigo took over and forced him to stop. It amazed Delsin how much Brent was…much like a business man. It made him smile.

It was so stupid.

Though he walked into the kitchen, towel hanging loose on his neck like a feather boa, and fetched him both a spoon and a bottle of cold water. Delsin didn’t ask questions, because hell, he didn’t have to. Brent was the only one he trusted with the harder drugs; everybody else was stupid and wild. Not that they weren’t, but at least Brent knew what he was fucking doing. “Not a big fan, but not opposed,” he commented, tossing the towel back into his floor, not even bothering to make an effort to hang it up. He’d deal with it later. Delsin moved Jane Eyre and The Awakening from the coffee table, putting them back in the book shelf careful not to lose any pages that may have been bookmarked.

“Nah,” He rubbed at his eyes, body screaming in pain now that he was moving so much, “I trust you. I’ve never liked needles but I feel like shit, so…”

Brent’s next question threw him off guard though, and he thought about it even after handing him both the water and the spoon. Taking his place back on the couch, he bit his bottom lip. “Well, your sister gave me molly to hold onto…pretty sure I accidentally swallowed that last night with about two painkillers and some vodka, and I had six of those this morning.” Damn, it felt shitty to say it out loud.

“I’ve lost count, really.”

Brent looked rough, though.
Not that he hadn’t looked rough at other times before.
But he looked tired, like he had just woken up, or come down off a hit.
Del watches as Brent worked, and it was more interesting than anything. He was so concentrated and precise, and it seemed so much like second nature that if Delsin wasn’t tossed in the middle of this life style, it’d be a bit intimidating, worrying. But, he was good at what he did.

Damn good.

And when a pause settled between them, he tacked on a “Oh man, she’s gonna kill me for taking that molly.”

“It’s going to be a little pinch, but it might hurt a bit more since you’re all…” Brent shrugged and pointed around his face, Delsin didn’t look all too well and Brent just didn’t know how to say that he looked like shit without sounding too mean. It wasn’t a good idea to say that to anybody who’s ever muscle was literally aching for comfort, the kind that only comes after their first most priorities have been met. When Brent heard that Delsin had taken his sister’s molly an eyebrow raised in confusion, being aware that his sister had a thing for him– nah she was definitely going to beat the shit out of him.

“I can try and convince her to not to hurt you too bad, but no promises.” He proceeded to tear the wrapping off of the high grade syringe and pick up the fluid mixture through the filter of the cotton. Looking up and Del, he pulled the needle out and pointed it at him, “You better be taking notes because I’m not going to be the one responsible if you die. Now go grab a belt.” If you weren’t careful the fillers in the pill will make it into your bloodstream, they’ll harden and stay there until you’ve had too much. An old friend had died a year after he began IVing, shooting up the wrong way with shit that wasn’t meant to be shot up was a bad idea.

Besides, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to going to Fetch and explaining that her boytoy’s cause of death was basically him, he wasn’t exactly sure what Abigail’s and Del’s relationship was but that was what he had figured by the way she talked about him all hopped up on cocaine. Speaking of which, he should probably have her over and give her a gram so she’d end up cleaning his place again. Fetch was a little bitchy throughout the whole thing but as her older brother, he’d never seen her that passionate about picking clothes off the floor and yelling at him whilst doing it. The comedown was even worse because she would snap at it every time he moved from that one spot next to his desk and in between the lamp.

She’s a little strange.

“Get the belt around your arm, man, like a… uh, tourniquet." Brent didn’t know the actual word for it but he remembered hearing about it in some war movies and it sounded like it would work, if he was wrong he just hoped that the conduit hadn’t noticed. "You’ll definitely feel it this time, you ready?”

//downward

sickeyes:

“Popping, snorting…” he muttered, pushing his hands through his hair. It’s soaked with sweat, and he can only sigh afterward as he listened to the other rummage around and get ready, “Yeah that’s fine. See you soon.”

Delsin decided to try and…at least clean up a little bit.
For how fucked up he is, the apartment isn’t too terrible in all honesty.

Willing himself to get up from the couch (the promise of drugs is sweet enough to get him up) he picked up the trash, the dishes, and well, he tried to vacuum but it hurt his head so he quickly shelved that idea.

A shower sounded nice, so he left the door unlocked for Brent, if the man decided to appear during the time he was in it, and stripped, throwing his clothes haphazardly at the hamper in his room. He eyed the bra tossed by the foot of the bed and the two or three pairs of women’s underwear and shrugged to himself, tossing them in his hamper too. He’d wash them for her. Delsin didn’t know how she left without them th – oh. Yeah. She had fucking clothes everywhere here. Half his drawers had at least something from her.

He’d call her later.
He missed her.

God, his head hurt.
And it was getting harder and harder to do things, because his hands shook and trembled and he couldn’t get them to stay still. Practically dragging himself into the shower, Delsin felt as if he was scrubbing a week of grime off of himself. He had taken a shower a couple days ago too, it wasn’t like he went an actual week without one. His nails felt good against his scalp. He dug them in. Pulled at skin. Scrubbed till it hurt, and til he felt clean.

Delsin imagined this was how it felt to be normal again.
Minus the churning stomach.
The shaking hands.
The heavy arms and his dry mouth.
And the urge to fucking slit his throat.
…that probably wasn’t too normal.

Turning the water off, he slowly climbed out, holding onto the to the sink so he wouldn’t drop to the ground. Walking back into his room, he pulled on a pair of clean shorts and a tanktop; they stuck to his hot skin uncomfortably and he used the towel to dry his hair the best he could.

“Brent?” He called out, not sure if the man was there or not.

“Yo, in the living room.” Brent answered, having already wiped the coating with a wet paper towel off of the pills he brought for Delsin. And then tossing them into an empty bottle with the name of a dead old lady on the label. She was taking these for some really bad arthritis and the pharmacy doesn’t mind filling up her prescription as long as everything was paid for in cash. Sometimes it made him feel like a doctor of sorts, except he made no vow to help people and he wouldn’t care if he did.

“I need a spoon and some cold water." He had brought everything else, even the pill crusher and a small handful of woolen cotton balls. With a cigarette hanging out of his mouth Brent nodded at the other, sitting on the very edge of the couch carefully crushing the pills over and over again until the were reduced to a fine dust. "How’d you feel about using a needle?” Leaving the materials on the small coffee table the dealer reached inside his bag and pulled out the bad of syringes he had taken straight from the hospital,

“They’re all still in their packaging so nobody’s used them if you’re afraid of catching something.” It wasn’t in his business to give his clients and his friends some life threatening illness, having them alive was crucial for his business to run smoothly. It’s not like there’s a shortage of people looking for a fix in this city but the faithful customers are the ones who help pay the rent and put food in his stomach.

Ever since he picked up dealing again, he’s been moving up to the harder things, taking everybody else along for the ride as well. Continuously adding to everything that he’s had, all the connections he was able to make before had panned out. The people whom he money too had completely forgotten, the drugs wearing their memory down in Brent’s favor and now since he was making them a decent amount of money they wouldn’t even care if they did somehow manage to remember. He stared at the conduit who looked broken and beaten by his own body, “Don’t look too good. How many did you take again?”

Brent motioned for Delsin to hand him the cold water bottle and the spoon, dropping in enough water to dissolve the powder which he slowly eased into the liquid and began stirring.

He wondered if the conduit could feel his life slipping away and into the darkness like Brent had.

He wondered if that even made a difference at all.

Sometimes all the pain was in watching yourself slowly lose yourself and then everything else. 

Sometimes.

//downward

sickeyes:

Delsin was about to reach through the phone and strangle this mother fucker until he answered.

And then, all he felt like doing was sobbing in joy.

“My oxy isn’t doing it for me,” he tried to have some bit to his voice, but it came out more desperate than anything, “I need help.”

Maybe that sounded desperate.
Maybe it didn’t.
Maybe he was just another high motherfucker to Brent.
But he was Fetch’s brother and Fetch was always sweet on him; in return it seemed like Brent didn’t mind him all too much. They’d had their fair share of arguments, but they were always more out of irritation than anything else. Delsin always kept an eye on Fetch. Kept her near. Made sure she didn’t fuck herself up as much as they both did, or, he tried to at least. When they did get high together it was usually Molly or X, or something else that just made them feel. If he wasn’t so fucked up, part of him could have loved Fetch like she deserved to be. She didn’t deserve this. This asshole on a couch, shaking, calling her brother for a fix.

Calling her brother so they could get fucked.

So they could build themselves up and fall back, over, and over, and over again.

Or maybe she was just as bad, and Delsin just never asked because he didn’t want to know.

Some part of him didn’t want to believe in that.
Please, don’t let that be true.

“I need something,” he finally willed himself to say through chattering teeth, “I can’t deal with this right now.” His words were slow and he hoped he was getting his point across. Reggie’s birthday was right around the corner and Delsin didn’t even want to be conscious for that day. He’d rather be dead than conscious; the pain was still too real, too raw on his nerves and no matter how many times he told himself that he should celebrate his brother’s life, he wanted to do nothing more than to drown in all the disappointment he had brought upon his memory.

The entirety of it all.

Delsin turned his head while a coughing fit started. It rattled his chest and it hurt, it hurt his head. The headache on top of everything wasn’t helping and those six fucking pills weren’t even doing anything for him. They should have by now, “Please Brent. I’m about to fucking claw my own skin off, I’m going fucking insane.” His temper flared as the fit ended, more at himself, “I need help.”

It was about time that the kid’s tolerance had built up, popping them like candy like they were the only thing that was remotely sweet in his life, driving his cravings up a wall and straight through the ceiling. The brain lights up the same way cocaine would make it when it’s given sugar, drugs just existed to amplify things the brain already did. The problem was just, there was no safety cap, damages were out of their control and always would be but it was part of what gave it all the rush. Maybe this time, we’ll die, adrenaline pumping through the blood stream as they give themselves a higher dose that before, and the time before that, and then the time before that.

Brent put the phone on speaker mode as he scrolled through the received text messages, looking to see if there was anything important. There were a few who were trying to score and willing to travel all the way to his house to get it. “How’ve you been taking the pills?” he asked the other who’s mental and physical state seemed to be deteriorating rapidly in the short span of the call, “I’ll be right over, but I’m bringing a few things for people who want to pick up.” Delsin was a little different from the other people he had to deal with, it wasn’t about him being a conduit and being close with Fetch, whatever it was he simply couldn’t put his finger on it.

Just don’t mix business with personal life. So what exactly happens when your business is your personal life? Brent hung up the phone and put it in his pocket before going around gathering things, making calls to the people who had left him missed call after missed call and a plethora of angry, anxious texts; some asking to spot him some money or trying to bum a gram of whatever Brent had gotten them hooked on. Unless it was a gift, which he rarely gave unless it was something new and more expensive that what they were already on, he didn’t give things away to addicts. Back then he would manage to get dealers to give them something with the promise of paying right before him and his sister skipped town.

Setting up meets on his way to Delsin’s house he grabbed his keys and a backpack filled with ziplocks and those brand new syringes, Brent sets off to the conduit’s apartment. He better have some metal spoons at his place because bringing silverware to somebody else’s house was just plain fucking weird.