Tryst never had any complaints about you. He never had any complaints from you, either, which might have been his #1 Non-Complaint.

When you found out he was deep in the world of peddling illegal substances, items, and services, your only reaction was mild shock but then near-immediate acceptance. He was grateful; he hated it when people told him how to live his life. He got enough of that from his baby mama, who could never quite realize that the entire reason why he worked all these different jobs plus illegal activities was so he could provide for their infant daughter… and have some money left over for the mother.

Your acceptance, however, soon turned into indulgence. You helped him with his finances first, then the actual business he dealt with buyers and other dealers. You helped him build his own little empire. Then you started doing the drugs yourself, and became a part of the illegal services.

For awhile, it didn’t bother Tryst. You were being yourself, living your life the way you wanted to. Tryst hated when people told him how to live his life, and you never did that, so why would he? But he soon realized you weren’t yourself any longer. Whoever you were, he didn’t know. But it wasn’t you.

It scared him. Hell, it fucking terrified him. You were wasting away, becoming irritable and yet somehow hyperactive. A paranoid insomniac, a nonchalant oversleeper. Itchy, cracked-out, a tweaker. An addict. He started to wonder if this was what he was like.

Tryst knew that you only got into these activities because you were following his example. He also knew that, if he was going to get you to stop, he’d have to do it first himself. That alone was such a daunting prospect, he almost considered not changing anything at all. But eventually, he summoned the courage to shape up.

He sold all the drugs and paid all the money that he needed to before dropping off the grid. He finished his business, retired his services. Went back to just working his regular two jobs, and he got rid of all the substances he kept. He quit, cold-turkey. Even weed. But this time, you were having a hard time responding to his change in behavior. In fact, you just kept doing what you wanted to do, having had to turn to other dealers since Tryst quit. This pissed the both of you off.

One day, Tryst has had just about enough of the world pushing him down over and over again. He’d had two awful consecutive shifts, gotten a speeding ticket when he wasn’t even speeding, went to see his daughter but once again got chewed out by his baby mama, and now here he was: face-to-face with you as you do a line of coke right off the coffee table.

“Put that shit away,” Tryst says quietly, dropping his bag to the floor of the living room. He looks dead, exhausted, worn-out. He is exhausted and worn-out. And he’s done.