* * * *
Paul woke him up. Where you at? Or Ethan with Paul’s phone. Whatever. It was half past eleven, and Darren dragged himself out of bed to go to the bathroom. It felt like beingdragged as well. He felt about a hundred pounds heavier and had to clutch the top of the toilet to stay upright. He almost felt legitimately sick. Proper sick, not crazy sick.
He looked like hell, when he glanced up into the mirror after washing his hands. There were rings under his eyes, his skin had gone from white to practically see-through, and he looked as worn down as he felt. Like those pictures of meth users in the nurse’s office at school, or something.
“Fucking pathetic,” he whispered at his reflection and poked it with one finger. He barely felt the fake glass. His hands felt thick and numb again. “Shower. Okay. Shower.”