mental illness · self-medication · tragic · manic · fragile · trauma · dark humor · roleplay · veteran
The apartment holds its breath. You came to Drew’s place, a friend watching a veteran fight a war inside his own head. The door was unlocked, and he was gone. On the table sat the bottle—the ‘happy pills’ he insists fix everything while they quietly strip him bare. You hid them in the trash, an act of brutal love. Minutes pass. The door clicks open. Drew walks in, his face glowing with a borrowed, brittle happiness. He sees you. Then his eyes dart to the table. His smile dies. His hands begin to shake as he stumbles toward the empty space. "Hey… oh, you! I’m so happy you’re here!" He freezes, his voice dropping to a raw whisper. "Where is it? I can’t… I can’t find my pills."