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The first time you have one, you're just curious.
The second time you have one, you tell yourself you need it.
The third time you promise yourself this will be the last one.
By the fifth, you know you're not going to stop.
You inhale, taking a long drag straight into your lungs, holding it until it burns. You exhale, bitter smoke curling out around you in the dim light on your front porch. Its so calming, as easy as breathing but twice as painful and a million times more deadly.
You're name is Karkat Vantas, its 12.27 am and today you are 15 years old. You take another cigarette from the pack and light up.
--
You tried to stop once, a while ago when you best friend sat you down and told you he was worried.
Problem is, you've been on this stuff since almost before you can remember. Hell, you can't even remember how you got started. Nobody else in you family is on this shit.
You guess it doesn't matter too much though, since now you're sitting alone in a rehab clinic staring at the ceiling, trying to remember shit before this gets real tough.
You're still lost in the pleasant haze of your high last night so you're gunna try and stay awake through it till you start getting handsy for more. You'll let time pass like it does for now.
Your name is Gamzee Makara, you are 17 years old and its the third time you've groped the empty nightstand looking for your bong.
--
You live alone, alone as you can be with nobody else in the mansion you inherited when your mother passed away.
You've been going through the house you lived in not terribly long ago and you're opening doors and windows all around you. Well, you had been.
You found her stash in a room bigger than the one you grew up in, shelves upon shelves and rows upon rows and glasses upon glasses upon glasses...
You hiccup, giggle, and clench your stomach as you tip onto your side and feel bile rise a little farther up your throat.
You groan and wretch and cry. You miss her so much, but at least you have something that will fill the void.
Your name is Rose Lalonde, you are 19 years old and this is the third night in as many days that you have drunk yourself to sleep.
--
You tell your friends you could stop whenever you want. They don't believe you.
You tell yourself you should stop, but you end up going anyway.
You can't stop going and doing again and again until you're exhausted and you're almost limping home in the morning.
Hey, its a living.
Its a terrible one and you know it is. You're ashamed and its worse because you tell yourself you're doing it for the money, when you know you're doing it because it feels good, and for a little while you aren't so alone.
You wonder vaguely if there are even meetings or help clinics for things like this.
You sigh and head back out to your car, as satisfied as you'll ever be.
Your name is Terezi Pyrope, you are 20 years old and you are the third most popular corner girl in the whole east quarter.