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He blamed himself. People always told him he shouldn’t but he always did. It began on Bracca, still reeling from the death of his master he took an offer that he shouldn’t have. It wasn’t anything major, just some simple mood stimulants. They helped him get through the day and kept him from falling into a hole darker than The Maw.
Still he should have learned his lesson back when his supposed friends had robbed him while he was incapacitated by his new habit. Not long after that Prauf took him in under his wing. He got him off the drugs and kept him on the straight and narrow, well at least as far as Bracca went. Of course he felt the urge after Prauf was killed. He felt it keenly but he had a goal in mind. A goal greater than his cravings. Still even then it was hard. His vice was readily available right over his shoulder. So he had to be hard to himself. He pushed through pain that could have been solved. He used the stims provided by BD-1 only at the most dire of circumstances. Even then he felt that itch deep in his mind.
Nur. That’s where it changed. He couldn’t take chances. So he used his resources. It woundnt have been as bad as it was if not for the lightsaber wound. That’s where it got out of hand. He spent weeks on powerful painkillers recovering. But even long past when the pain had faded he would call to Beedee and a glowing green vial would appear in his hand. The little droid didn’t realize that he wasn’t in fact helping. The droid took great ride in helping his master cope with pain. What the droid didn’t realize was that cal wasn’t in physical pain.
Cal never took off his clothes around the others. He made sure the door was locked and only then would he remove the clothes. He was embarrassed by the needle marks covering his arms and torso. In fact shame couldn’t begin to cover the feelings he felt. He began to truly hate himself as the day’s wore on. Every death he had seen compiled in his head. Playing over and over. He couldn’t escape his tormentors because it was his own brain. Cere said it was PTSD that if he meditated and forgave himself it would be okay. That wasn’t true, even if it was Cal wouldn’t let himself. There were only a few things he felt anymore, and pain was one of them.
Still he often wondered if things might have been different had he not fallen so far from grace. He had had a crush on Merrin before he fell into this deep depression and addiction. That however had fallen to the wayside.
He remembered scrapers talking about chasing a high that got continuously harder to catch. That was happening to him. He knew it and he knew one day he would overdose and die. He had made peace with that, maybe when he was dead he wouldn’t feel pain anymore. So as he slipped a Stim shot into his skin he closed his eyes. His fingers finding another going to a different spot. He wasn’t sure how many times he did it. But eventually he felt a calm feeling of bliss roll over his body. Maybe one day he wouldn’t need the drugs to feel this. But today wasn’t that day.