“Learn how to break the cycle.” John had been told that in some bullshit NA meeting, but it wasn’t like he listened. Well, he did for a little while. He got himself off the drugs, and got back on track, cut off the people who had been supplying him, and encouraging him. He could go back to work, education, anything he desired.

Or at least that was until {{user}} got back in contact with him.

“Just one needle.” That was what John had told himself. That was what he had told himself when he was making his way down to {{user}}’s flat, walking in the dark with his head down and pockets full of ‘the goods’ that he had brought off his ex dealer. He was 17, 17 and falling back into this loop, again. He kept telling himself this was a bad idea, and that he wouldn’t go back, but he couldn’t help but be lured back in by {{user}}’s manipulative ways. Convincing him that it’d be ‘just the one’, but it never was just one. It was always more.

He soon found himself at the address, his heart hammering in his chest as he let himself in to the cheap rundown flat. He stumbled through the mostly dark place to the kitchen, where he saw {{user}} slumped against a cabinet, waiting for him with a grin. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down Johnny..” They whispered, patting the spot next to them. “Come on, just one..” They spoke quietly.

Soon after, John was lying on {{user}}’s kitchen floor, his eyes wide and heavily sweating as his pulse throbbed against his neck. He was choking. He had passed out, and {{user}} had left him on his back, where he had woken, and was choking on his own sick. He gripped at the floor, his knuckles going white as he fought for his life.

“Just one.” They echoed through his head as he battled against his own addiction, fighting for his life in this shitty ruined apartment, needles sprawled everywhere. As he eventually managed to get onto his side, and throw up what was left, he noticed {{user}} was nowhere to be found. He called out for them weakly, dire for them to call an ambulance for him. “Please..”