“You don’t know shit about this, mate,” Cal sank back into his seat, shook his head slowly, “you think it’s all some big choice, like I fucking want to stick needles in my arm, just for kicks. It’s more than that, Shan, it’s a physical fucking need. You ache for it, you itch and it’s fucking easy to stand outside and say ‘Man, don’t scratch’ – I get that. But if it was really that easy, bloody rehab centers would be out of business.” It wasn’t that easy, it wasn’t that cut and dry. Yes he made a choice on some level, he was aware of that, but it wasn’t the one that his brother seemed to think that it was. “And then you think, fucking hell, I’m doing good and then you get a little off track because your brother is a bloody prick, but you’re still not using. Then some quack comes and shoots you up and FUCK, there it is. So no, you got no fucking idea what this is or how it feels. But you stay right out there looking in and fucking judging. I guess it’s nice to know you really thought I was scum this whole time. We’re playing at being brothers, pretending we got all this shite in common and you thought I was a fucking wreck the whole time.” Cal shrugged lazily, “At least I know the truth. And it shall set you free.” He chuckled, finishing off the cigarette he held. “Yeah, yeah. You care, course you do. That’s why you said all that shit, that’s why you walked away. That’s why every time you come back it’s to fucking push me down that much more. You fucking wreck everything you love.” He’d left Cal in his wake and Eden not long after. Even Juniper hadn’t been able to keep from becoming collateral damage.
What else did he have? He didn’t have a family, didn’t have a girl, but he had his addiction – it never failed him, it never walked away. It was the one thing he had in common with all those people that were supposed to care about him. In a sick way, it made Cal feel like he was a part of something, like he had a connection to something for once. It didn’t hurt that it numbed the pain, that shooting up left him feeling less alone or at least less aware of the fact. “And you think there’s not some sucker out there who does have a family? Who’s managed to overcome it? You’re fucking talking like an addict now, mate, welcome to the fold.” Who knew that heroin and fangs had so much in common – neither of them could live without their substance of choice, nothing made them feel better than that first taste. And yet, for as similar as the two were, they couldn’t manage to see anything from the other’s point of view. Neither could see past their own pain to try and mend anything. And Cal couldn’t make himself feel it all at the moment anyway; he wouldn’t have wanted to even if he could. He liked numb – numb was good. “Doesn’t get much worse than a dirty fucking addict,” he assured him wryly, eyes dark and empty as they met Shannon’s across the way.