|Christopher Silas (nojewfrohere) wrote in immune_ic,|
@ 2013-03-20 00:06:00
|Entry tags:||# 2013  march, rae, silas|
Keeping secrets was a slippery slope. Silas hadn’t ever wanted to keep things from Rae, but she didn’t deserve to have to deal with any of this shit either. Hadn’t he put her through enough with getting shot? She didn’t need to be the audience to his fucking relapse. And that’s what it was, as much as he’d tried to deny it in the beginning. He was close to being hooked again, to using shit he didn’t need just because. He knew she was noticing things too, if some of her questions lately was anything to go by. And still he hadn’t been able to open his mouth and admit that not everything was okay.
He hadn’t gone into recovery with the intention of abusing his medication. Hell, he thought he was smarter than that. He thought he’d learned his lesson with two stints in rehab before the world crashed. Guess not.
Maybe it would be easier to get things under control now that he had a space of his own that wasn’t his cell. It was still fucking small, but bigger than a cell and more private. Fuck, maybe he’d just lock himself in the damn place and detox. Because staying hooked on the damn meds wasn’t an option. But it was easier said than done.
Reg, Brandon and Rae had moved most of his stuff in, but he was just kind of shuffling things around and trying to clear his head after PT. He was sure that Samson was noticing shit too, but wasn’t saying anything, and wasn’t cutting him off from the medication, so maybe he was just being paranoid. Evan, the couple of times he’d seen him during PT didn’t seem suspicious, thank fuck. He didn’t know what he’d do if Evan got it in his head that he was somehow putting Rae and EJ in some kind of danger.
But yeah, it helped to be thinking about something else, and being away from Rae’s gave him a chance to come down a little before he saw her again. He knew, he fucking knew that he should just give his meds over to someone else to handle, but he couldn’t. And he couldn’t help taking twice what he should after PT. His muscles had hurt, and he was just at that point where he’d take any justification.
Which didn’t make any sense. He was happy; he didn’t need the fucking high. Not like before. Damn addiction and the convoluted way it worked.
There was no fucking way he was taking the last shot he had in his back pocket. No way. Even if he had that itch in his fingertips and the thrumming in the back of his head. Maybe it’d be easier to have it somewhere else. The desk. And he was halfway to putting it there when he caught the twisting of the door handle in the corner of his eye.
There was only one person his brain jumped to. Rae. Why the fuck was she here? And there was no way she wouldn’t be able to tell that something was up.
He was screwed.