Adam took a nervous drag from his cigarette with one hand while the other tightly squeezed his three-month chip in his pocket. He stared down at the coffee table and the line of coke stared back patiently. His head was throbbing, as the reasons why he shouldn’t flush it down the toilet would not stop harassing his thoughts.

Another drag, this time he noticed how much his hand was shaking.

“One snort won’t do much, and it’s not like you have any more, so what’s the big deal? No point in wasting,” said a voice from somewhere inside his tortured mind.

With a churning stomach, Adam’s eyes darted, searching for any source of reassurance; the voice was all too familiar to him. It was the same voice that would tell him to cut himself whenever the Xanax used to wear off. The same voice that told him he was in grave danger on the first night he went to the hospital. Now, the voice was back, seemingly as wise and inviting as the first time he heard it. After putting the cigarette out with a trembling hand, he got up off of the couch in hopes of doing pushups, but his legs weren’t working. Something pushed him back onto the couch. A few tears trickled down his cheek. The term cold sweat made sense to him all of a sudden.

That white powder was all he could clearly see, his vision blurred in agony. More tears, this time served with a weep that would make a sociopath feel empathy. Except there weren’t any sociopaths in that dimly-lit room, only Adam and his demons. They fed off of his misery, quenched their thirst with his tears, and devoured drugs for dessert. His appearance was the epitome of utter despair. It was like watching a suicidal mime. Adam took his three-month chip out of his pocket with his sweaty, trembling hands. Gripping it hard with both hands, he put it up to his lips; his eyes shut and he prayed hard to me.

It’s amusing. Silence is the most dreaded answer for the ones who deserve it, but a part of Adam welcomed it nonetheless. All shaking stopped, tears dried and the glimmer of false hope ceased to shine. He reached for the one-dollar bill on table and rolled it up. After insufflation, his head stayed bowed for a second, and single tear fell onto his jeans. As he slowly raised his head a heinous smile appeared on his face. One can see emotions in someone’s eyes if they observe carefully. Adam’s eyes housed equal parts: anguish, euphoria, and emptiness.

I put his demons to sleep at that moment, although their whispers were silenced the second he made the decision. A wave of relief swept over him, and an obnoxious laughter became audible.

“Au revoir, my child” but he couldn’t hear me, for people in his position never can.