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For a decent chunk of his upbringing, Chipp was well-convinced that he’d long hit rock-bottom. Living as a squatter in and out of condemned buildings, peddling syringes and pills and powders and looking over his shoulder for the cops all the while. Always struggling to restock for his relentless buyers, yet never having enough money from drug hustling to fully silence his growling stomach.
That wasn’t even getting into the rages his customers could throw out of nowhere, the random street fights he stumbled into when he was just trying to make a few sales, and his own body’s internal pleadings for another hit to keep him going, begging for just another pill, another syringe in his veins. All of it nonstop, with barely a moment’s rest.
He would gladly take it all back if he didn’t have to take the fucking withdrawal anymore.
He’d been the one raring to go in the first place, finally ready to get off the shit that was probably gonna get him killed before he turned thirty. Past-him wound up being a huge goddamn idealist, and he wanted to kick the guy’s ass. His own ass? Fuck it, thinking hurt too much.
The first day hadn’t been miserable. It was part of the reason he’d been so damn enthusiastic to finally get clean. Chipp was used to the quiet burn in his limbs, the little bit of mind fuzz that showed up when a hit was wearing off on him. If he could stay tough, especially with his new master supporting him, how hard could getting clean possibly be?
“H-urk!”
The nausea was by far the worst. It felt like someone spent all of last night kicking him in the stomach. It’d explain the shit night of sleep he got, anyway.
“Bucket’s on your left, kid, don’t miss this time.”
“G-go fuck yourself with a- oh god, nnh- !”
He was barely able to turn and stick his head over the bed’s edge before another round of nausea hit. The yellow bucket perched by his side managed to catch the stream of sick that forced its way out of his body a moment later. The taste of acid made him cough and spit, irritably rolling over on the ratty mattress and clutching at his aching stomach through his old t-shirt.
“You shouldn’t turn over like that. It’ll make you throw up again. And you know you’re just gonna have to do it again in a few minutes, anyway.”
“Go suck a dick, you old bastard.”
Truthfully, Chipp was amazed that Tsuyoshi hadn’t dumped him back on the street yet. He knew that he wasn’t such an asshole normally, but the withdrawal was bringing out the worst in him. He almost felt bad for the poor man.
An equally-prominent part of him wanted the hurled insults and cursing to finally get the man to stand up and slam the door behind him. Chipp knew that he’d be losing one of the only chances he’d ever had, but his body was aching for another shot, all but screaming at him to find the biggest needle he could, jam an arm full of heroin, and chase it down with enough downers to make him numb for a full week. And even if he could bring himself to move more than a few feet, he knew Tsuyoshi wouldn’t let him leave the room.
The last round of vomiting had only sharpened the ache in his head. The motel room’s weak overhead almost seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart. Staring at it made him feel even dizzier- and with it, more nauseous- but his eyes were drawn to the peculiar sight. It was the closest thing he could get to a high.
The older man was sitting across the room, calmly perched at the rickety table. His vision was mostly focused on the magic-powered hotplate that was currently boiling a teakettle. Every so often, Chipp could see his one good eye glance over at him for a moment, before quickly returning to the kettle.
“What the fuck is that for?” He demanded.
“Language.” Tsuyoshi calmly chided, shaking his head. “I’m making tea.”
“No shit, you dumb bastard. Why the hell are you making tea now?”
“I’d say we could both use a drink.”
It was a simple response. Still, Chipp took it as an excuse to let out a furious growl and bury his face in a pillow. Moving all of a sudden only made everything ache more.
“I know it hurts.” Tsuyoshi’s voice was ever-patient. “But I will do my best to help you.”
“I don’t want your goddamn pity,” the teen hissed back, “I want some fucking heroin.”
A sigh heaved behind him. “I know you’re strong. If you don’t clean your body now, I fear you won’t live much longer. I don’t think anyone can thrive in an environment such as this one.”
Chipp wanted to hurl more profanities, but merely curled in on himself. He wanted to get clean. He really did. It was just the drugs talking. He couldn’t live like this anymore.
Stiff, trembling hands clutched at his ears. The teakettle began to whistle, sending more little throbs of pain across his skull. A hiss escaped his throat.
“Turn that fucking thing off!”
“I am, calm yourself.” The mechanical shriek quickly softened into silence. “Better?”
“T-thanks.” He had to remind himself.
The room went into blissful quiet. Well, as quiet as things could get when it felt like even the feeling of skin rubbing together was almost too loud. Chipp considered it better than nothing. It helped, if only a little.
“Here.” Tsuyoshi approached his bed. In each hand, he held a teacup. “Drink this. It will help you.”
Chipp sat up, slow and stiff as to avoid making himself sick again. As soon as he smelled the unusual odor of whatever was in the cup, he flinched away and covered his nose.
“I don’t want it.”
Tsuyoshi sighed in dismay. “You’re becoming dehydrated.”
“It smells like shit!” Chipp protested in turn. “And I feel like hell already, how is hot tea gonna make that any better?”
The man was silent. Chipp watched him place the teacups on the edge of the bed. Before he could pull away, Tsuyoshi reached out and pressed the back of one hand against his forehead.
“Your temperature has been fluctuating all day. It will take a bit of time for it to stabilize again. It does seem like you’ve got a bit of a fever again. Still, you’re dehydrated, and the sweating isn’t helping that at all. If you feel like you can keep it down, I’d like you to drink something.”
It would have been an easy excuse to say that he didn’t, but Chipp didn’t like that very much. Reluctantly, he held out a hand. “Give me the fuckin’ teacup, already.”
A smile poked out under the man’s moustache. “Glad to hear.”
The first sip was hesitant and awkward, but the rest flowed easily. In spite of his initial wariness, the faint sweetness and heat was oddly soothing to his burning throat, and the steam helped with the dizziness and itchy sinuses. He didn’t realize just how thirsty he had been in the first place.
“Feeling any better?”
“I guess…” He admitted. “A little. Maybe you aren’t- fuck-”
Chipp could hear the teacup shattering as it fell off of the mattress. He hardly cared, too preoccupied with frantically grabbing for the bucket as another wave of nausea hit him. Having the bucket in his lap made it easier to aim, but the reeking stench of acid and bile hurt his nose and made his eyes grow watery with tears.
“God…god dammit…” He gasped between heaving sobs. Everything hurt. Even the pleasant feeling of the tea had been replaced with a sickly saccharine taste that he couldn’t get off his tongue, no matter how much he gagged and spat.
Tsuyoshi looked no more concerned. “Oh my. I suppose I’m going to have to go see if I can get something to clean up this mess with.”
“Huh?”
In the time it took him to respond, the man was already at the door. “I’m going down to the front office, to see if I can get a few towels. I’ll only be gone a minute. Will you be alright until then?”
He was actually gonna leave him alone? “Y-yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it, Sensei!”
An odd look was sent his way at the sudden title, but Tsuyoshi turned back and left. “Behave yourself.”
Chipp rubbed at his watery eyes, even more red than they usually were. Shit. The whole damn room was too hot. He was melting just sitting there.
Carefully, he eased himself off of the bed, trying to find his balance while also avoiding the mess of ceramic shards and tea that he’d made. Outside would probably reek of city-smog, but Chipp still felt drawn to it, wondering if the the air would help cool his warm skin. If he couldn’t get his highs on drugs, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to restrict himself here, too.
The door opened slowly, the boy flinching at every axle squeak as he peeked out. When he caught no sign of Tsuyoshi, he let out a sigh of relief, and let the door swing open. The banister a few feet in front of him was nothing more than a stack of cinder blocks overlooking a worn-down city district. The afternoon sky was full of dirty gray clouds, and the air stank of cart-food, trash, and sweat, but something about it felt infinitely more free than the four walls of that one room.
He slumped over the railing, propped up on his arms. A faint breeze ruffled his hair. Yeah. That was the good stuff. It felt nice against his hot, sweat-soaked body.
Something moved in the corner of his eye. He glanced at it with panic, but realized that it was merely a ratty-looking kid, probably a couple years younger than him, lingering on the walkway with his hoodie pulled up to his ears.
Just the sight enticed him. Chipp knew exactly what this kid’s deal was. His brain was telling him to turn tail, slam the motel room door behind him, and pretend like he’d never left. The impulsive part of his brain, the one that was always getting him into trouble, made him look over at the stranger and sign him over.
A too-shiny grin sparkled under the hood, matched with glowing green eyes that he was all-too-familiar with.
“Hey, buddy. Need a hit?” His voice was far too raspy for his age. Probably snorted too much of something too quick and got himself hooked.
Chipp flicked his eyes over both ends of the walkway, making sure nobody was coming. “What’cha got?”
“Ohhh, all sorts of good shit, man.” One sleeve was pulled back, revealing a menagerie of baggies that had been taped to his skin. “What are you craving?”
“Anything. Shit, anything.” He was already in too deep, and he knew it. Just the sight of all those powders made his heart speed up, the veins in his arms aching. The last scraps of his mind were screaming for him to turn away. “What’s the strongest thing you got?”
The kid’s smile widened. “A man of simple tastes, eh? Me too.” He gestured to a little packet of gray pills. “Handful of these, and you’ll feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven.”
Chipp was so antsy, his hands were already shaking as he fished through his ratty jeans in search of a few dollars. “How much?”
“CHIPP!”
Both boys froze in place, turning at the exact same time. Tsuyoshi was storming over to them, his good eye blazing with fury.
“S-Sensei, I-” In the sudden panic, he watched the other boy vault over the barrier and take off running as soon as he hit the ground. He couldn’t watch for too long, though, as Tsuyoshi grabbed his shirt collar.
“One minute I said, ONE MINUTE!” Each word was like a stab to the chest. “And WHAT do you do?! Run off and decide to get high again!”
“I’m s-sorry-”
Chipp felt the hand on his collar tug roughly, dragging him. In his panic and disorientation, he let himself be pulled along back to the door.
Tsuyoshi swiftly kicked the door open, gaze stony and unreadable. Chipp stumbled along for a few more steps before a firm hand planted itself between his shoulderblades and shoved him roughly towards the bed.
“Sit down, shut your mouth. I don’t want to hear anything from you for a while.”
The sheer force made his body bounce as he landed on the mattress. It jarred something loose in him. Though he intended to be quiet, the sudden scramble to try and find the bucket he had put down was noisy and awkward as he began retching.
“Here, here, be careful- !”
The container was oriented beneath his chin. Chipp didn’t have much time to question, too occupied with the spasms that overtook him. They swiftly ate through the last of the energy in his body, and all he could manage to do was to curl up into a ball and begin trembling once it had ended, moaning in pain.
He heard a little sigh. The mattress dipped as he felt Tsuyoshi sit down next to him. Careful hands lifted his head up, letting it rest in the other man’s lap.
“S-sensei…”
“Shh…stay strong. It will be over soon.” Chipp felt fingers running through his hair, pressing against his throbbing temples. “You can make it through this.”
“I c-can’t…” Without thinking, he found himself tearing up again and sniffling. “I can’t-”
“You can. I know you can. Someday you look back and realize just how far you’ve come. And this will all seem like a bad dream.”
Chipp let his body gradually go slack. The hand in his hair and the low, soothing reassurances were enough to relax his taut, stiff muscles. And before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep.