BLOOD AND BONE | rewritten

43

Kane stared down at the white powder through heavy-lidded eyes.

Real, authentic Visage was easy to buy if one knew how to find the right people. And Kane had years of experience.

It had also been frighteningly easy to lie to Finn-who Hunt had sent out with Kane on a scouting trip-by telling him he'd simply gotten lost. The little bag in Kane's pocket seemed to weigh like a brick as he spun the tale.

What was stopping him now? The powder was on the desktop, even made into a perfect little line. All he had to do was inhale.

Kane had been sober for almost a month now. Nearly thirty days since he'd been high. Thirty days since he'd been happy.

No, not exactly happy. It was only the absence of pain; he was allowed to forget, but only temporarily. That was an important distinction. The drugs were not happiness. He would be happy if he found some way to take the weight of the world off his shoulders without destroying himself in the process. And given his craving for euphoria's sweet embrace, that was severely unlikely.

That reminded him of why he'd gone down this treacherous road in the first place. His brother. Just a kid born into a cruel world with a taste for children too desperate for their ages. Cut down for trying to survive. That was Kane's final straw-being left alone with no one to steer him the right way. That was where he plateaued. After that, he knew there was nothing left for him but the same kind of end. Inevitably.

Kane swallowed the lump in his throat, not wanting to imagine what his brother would say if he could see him now. For so long, he had hidden everything inside himself. Yet his brother, his only friend in the world, would see through his silence.

Kane heard him now: Stupid boy. So stupid. Did I give my life only for you to become the one thing you promised me you'd never be? You knew better. It's just like you to have taken all the help I gave you and piss it all away to kill yourself. How sad could you possibly be to stoop to this level? What a fuck-up. There was really no use in trying to fix you, was there?

Pathetic. Unremarkable. Worthless.

He had no choice.

That was untrue as well. Kane always had a choice. Only he picked the wrong one every time without fail. It really was pathetic when he mulled it over: drugs were the only thing that would never leave, the only thing that made him feel like he had something else to rely on. Because he sure as hell couldn't rely on himself. Perhaps this time they'd finish him off. They were slowly sucking the life from his body as it was. So why couldn't he find it within himself to care?

This was hell on earth. He had no choice.

All the noise in the world fell silent as he leaned forward to snort the powder into his system. And as he did it, even as he felt healed by the idea of its comfort, he knew it was a grave mistake.

Almost immediately, his face went numb. He blinked wildly, realizing this high would be more powerful now that he'd gone so long without it. Thank god.

Then, like a strike to the face, the euphoria set in. He closed his eyes. That was what he did it for. The feeling of complete control. Every single one of his limbs was hyper-powered. In that moment, he was invincible.

When he opened his eyes again, the world was different. Even the colors of his drab room were vibrant. No more of that awful gray haze. His body, which normally felt like a brittle husk around weak bones, was alive. Like flowers were growing from his ribcage. Like he was a dead thing brought back alive.

He stood and immediately began circling his room, savoring the excitement coursing through his veins. Visage was one hell of an upper. Sure, it cost a lot. But even if it cost him his soul, he would buy all the stock in the world.

His mind was a chant of more, more, more. He had enough to get higher. To feel even better. The gate to heaven was already open. Why would he choose not to enter?

His nose was beginning to run by the second line. Then the third. And fourth. He should have been worried that there was none left, but he didn't feel anything but pure bliss, even if none of the hits were as good as the first. Someone could have shot him right through the forehead and he wouldn't mind.

Itching for something to do, Kane's hands sought a piece of paper and a pencil. Before he knew it, he was writing out all the things he needed to get done while he still owned such incredible energy. Barely a few moments passed before he was jumping out of his chair, feeling as though his bones might combust if he remained in one place too long. Bugs crawled underneath his flesh, but they made him feel real.

He wanted to go out and do something. Like jump from a balcony to see if he could fly. He felt so certain about it. He might open up a window and yell, just to know he'd be heard. Or he could talk to someone. Everyone. And now he actually wanted to, instead of being trapped in his embarrassingly shy shell all the time. At last his heart didn't race at the thought of starting a simple conversation.

Kane spun around, arms held out as if receiving applause from an invisible crowd. What had he just been on the verge of tears about? He couldn't recall.

He was at the top of the world. This was energy like he'd never known before. This was elation. This was happiness.