Chapter Text
The first night was the easiest. From there, a furious battle waged; Haizaki remained in constant turmoil with decisions, and most of them were bad ones. His parents, of course, did not provide him with any more product after getting him hooked. It became his priority, and responsibility. They did, however, refer him to a nice dealer. He had not asked, but they were kind enough to save him the embarrassment and let his typical hangout location slip in a small conversation the morning after his first ordeal. And for a few days, Haizaki avoided going to him. Desperately he attempted to forget that immeasurable high. It was just one time, so he felt confident that he could keep it that way. He could not be addicted, not so soon.
Haizaki began to realize that his cigarettes were running out faster than before, and at an increasing rate. The nicotine did not satisfy him for long enough. He kept going back for more, and more; his small stash of money was running out quickly, though. Cigarettes were rather expensive. How much did they say one dose would cost? 1700 yen?
It started cheap. Haizaki bought one dose to begin with, but it was not quite the same as last time; he was not able to achieve the euphoria he felt once before. Could something have been wrong with what he was sold? His initial doubts drew him to a heat of rage over his wasted money. Haizaki got halfway through roughing his dealer up before he spilled that a high was harder to achieve with each round of heroin. This guy acted pretty sleazy; he could easily have been lying. Haizaki, skeptical at first, happily obliged when he was offered a free double dose just so this guy could prove his point. He must really have wanted the business. Taking the needles happily, Haizaki returned home to give it a shot.
From then on, he returned to that spot on a daily basis.
Haizaki stopped showing up to school altogether. At first, he would miss a few days out of the week. Since he started skipping meals, the hunger pains kept him in bed the majority of the time. Before, although he was not in the fittest shape, he felt much stronger than he did now. The difference--- that which kept him coming back, despite his health--- now became happiness. Happiness could be bought at any price, as long as he got what he needed. Though his arms were tired and swollen, and he often trembled, Haizaki did not have the capacity to cease. He sold his old basketball shoes, but he did not miss them. Only when he came down from his high did he regret their absence.
Months trickled by slowly, and in that time, Haizaki's room became much less cluttered. He got along better with his parents now; people grow closer when they share something important. They bonded when they got high together. Haizaki was the only one who no longer noticed the way they twitched and scratched, and in turn they did not notice the vomit on his breath, or how his fingernails were cracking. Or rather, it was not a question of whether or not they took interest in these things or even realized they were happening, but instead that their own selfishness took precedence over their compassion for each other. They no longer cared about the deteriorating health of their family, or themselves. Haizaki and his parents only worried about their next fix.
At school, Haizaki was known for being a delinquent and a bully. Which is why, he pondered, none of his peers were curious of his whereabouts. When others got sick and missed school, or for any other reason, their classmates would show concern. However, Haizaki was left alone. People did not call him, or show up at his door. They did not ask what was wrong, or bring him his missing work. And in a way, Haizaki felt grateful; he would rather not be bothered with such trivial things, for they were of no importance to him. Only one small detail kept nagging at the back of his mind, enough to make him question his own motives at times or to even feel the slightest twinge of remorse every time he felt that cold needle pierce his veins.
Every other day at least, Haizaki's phone buzzed with one message. Each one said something different in terms of language, but they were all the same in retrospect. Over and over, steadfastly, unwavering, Nijimura would ask him how he was. Or what he was up to. Or where he had been. And over and over, steadfastly, unwavering, Haizaki would ignore him. With each oncoming message, he would hastily eliminate them from his phone. He had not the patience for such an annoyance. Yet he never asked Nijimura to stop, and never answered him in order to satisfy his curiosity. Haizaki continued to let them come, perhaps finding a sort of solace in the idea that at least one person still cared. And yet still it was not enough, for Haizaki found himself wondering that if his old friend cared that much, would he not have done more? Wouldn't he have shown up at his house if he truly felt compassionate enough? Wouldn't he try a little harder? A selfish ideal it truly was. Haizaki had nothing else but his insecurities at this point; he had expelled all else from his life, aside from the one thing that kept him going. The constant feeling of cotton in his mouth was enough to shut him up for now, but with the dark path Haizaki set himself on, it was merely a matter of time before he reached the end. Then, and only then, would the trouble truly begin.