Saturday, October 1, 2011

{before the great revelation}

he had been awake for more the 36 hours. the secret had been successfully hidden for some time. he was supporting the habit with the income earned from his various appearances. on the cusp of a full reveal, frankenstein grappled with the notion that he was eventually going to be found out.

once a rather amiable fellow, he could be quite the life of the party (even with his limited vocabulary). now he was avoiding and dodging all of his closest companions. he no-showed the ghost that their regularly scheduled sunday brunch date. he hadn’t returned any of dracula’s messages in weeks.

sooner or later, they would come to know the reason for his absence.

{during the great revelation}

as the key turned and the door opened, the ghost and dracula were aghast. his apartment was a disaster. not the kind of disaster you would expect from a bachelor (he and the bride had been separated for some time), but a sight that would indicate severe emotional distress. sifting through the debris they unearthed the clues and indicators that when pieced together, told a dismal story.

the (once dark) cherry wood coffee table was stained with the heavy sprinkling of a pharmaceutic grade white powder. half crushed pills and assorted contraband were ground into the couch cushions and carpet. crumpled pieces of burnt tinfoil were scattered on top of the television and bookshelves.

it was painfully obvious; frankenstein had become a franken-junkie.

{after the great revelation}

rehab suited him. he enjoyed the confines of his new existence and held an appreciation for the ritualistic quality of his regimented schedule. it was easier to not have to make any decisions. the food was okay and he was making friends with the other patients. his therapy sessions were going well and he was encouraged by all the progress he was making.

he took a liking to his therapist. she listened to him (which is more than he could say for the bride) and filled him with a sense of renewed hope. he was working the program and was really looking forward to a more simple, sober life.

he did still feel slightly anxious and a little apprehensive about leaving. re-entering the underworld again would prove to be a challenge, filled with deliciously tempting vices. Could he really change and more importantly, did he actually want to? these were the questions that kept him up at night and were the thoughts he shared with no one.

{post rehab}

dracula picked frankenstein up the day of his discharge. he was armed with a myriad of literature on drug addition and the 24 hour line phone number to reach his therapist.

when they arrived at his home, he stepped inside a very clean and sanitized version of his once almost uninhabitable apartment. (the ghost had cleaned for days) a wave of shame and guilt filled him as he realized what his friends had witnessed.

after dracula left, he decided to unpack. 15 minutes had passed and he was at an utter loss. he had no idea what he should do with himself. he hadn’t been home for more than an hour and was already starting to itch. he knew the odds were stacked against him. he could visualize himself knocking off a Walgreens or CVS and could almost taste the unearthly bitterness that preludes the joy of being spun out on a pharmaceutical tweak.

he was so fucked. maybe he just needed some prozac.

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