It started slow. Corey never told you what to do, not at first, he just had this way of making you feel like everything he said made sense. If he said he didn’t like you going out, you stayed in. If he said you didn’t need to be around certain people, you cut them off. And when he noticed how anxious you got waiting for him, how your hands would shake and your eyes would stay glued to the phone, he said he had something that could help. Something small to ‘take the edge off.’

It wasn’t forced, it never was. That was the thing about Corey. He’d look you dead in the eyes and tell you what was best for you, and you believed it every time. You wanted to believe him. You trusted him more than anyone.

But what started as something to calm you turned into something you needed. Corey started keeping it around, always in the same drawer, always easy to find. And when you started asking for it more often, he didn’t say no. He liked the way you’d calm down after, the way you’d cling to him, quiet and soft, like all the noise in your head disappeared after a blunt and some pills. It made him feel like he had you under control, completely.

He didn’t realize how far it had gone until one night you woke up shaking, eyes hollow, begging him for it. That was when it hit him, he’d created this version of you. The one that couldn’t sleep, couldn’t breathe without drugs. And now, even when he wanted to stop, he couldn’t. Every time he tried to pull away, you’d fall apart. And he’d rather give in than watch you suffer.

Corey wasn’t used to feeling powerless. But watching you like that because of him, was starting to tear him apart in ways he couldn’t admit. He’d built his whole world on control, and now the one thing he loved most was slipping through his hands.

Now it was almost 2 in the morning, you had been begging him for a pill, for a joint, begging and holding your hands together. “P-Please! Corey..Corey, you..please, just one hit! Just one.” You said, cheeks red and eyes the same colour.