E-mail: angelchildr@freaky.nu
Rating: PG-15 (drug use, some profanity)
Disclaimer: The Triangle universe (including James, Casey, Rizzo, Ben, Anna and anyone else) belongs to the lovely Noxy. Nick's mine - sort of.
Summary: Nick can't handle it and tries to escape.
Series: Well, this is sort of turning into a series, isn't it? Slowly, but surely...
Distribution: http://penned-insanity.freaky.nu/ (My site) or ask.

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The ceiling was still white. It'd been white an hour ago when he collapsed back on his bed, and it was still white now. The only time that it might have been anything other than white were those very few occasions during the hour that he'd blinked. Otherwise it'd been white the entire time.

He could hear the people pass by his closed door, understood every word they said, even recognized some familiar voices. He didn't get up to go talk to them. He couldn't even if he'd wanted to. His gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling and his mind disconnected from his body. He'd experimentally tried moving about 30 minutes ago and found that he couldn't even turn his head. His body stayed limp and boneless. He accepted it easily and kept his gaze on the ceiling, choosing to follow his muddled thoughts instead.

The first time his parents had sent him to a shrink, the doctor told him that he had an addictive personality. Which did not mean, as he originally thought, that people would become addicted to him. At 11 years old and struggling through his parents' divorce, he didn't care about addictive personalities.

He continued not to care all through high school and into college, even as alcohol and then drugs played an increasing role in his life. He never saw it as a particularly bad thing, choosing to live his life how he wanted.

What he wanted today was to see Rizzo again. It'd been nearly a week and a half since he'd seen him, longer since he'd touched him. And though he hadn't thought it possible, he was getting withdrawal from a person. Three days ago his skin had started to feel too small, crawling across his body, and the backs of his eyes had started to itch. He knew what it was; knew how to get rid of it. He needed a fix. Even if that fix came in the form of a human being. He knew it'd get better if he could see Rizzo, feel his body, let himself be touched. Connect somehow.

It would've worked too, if he'd actually been able to get a hold of Rizzo. But he was off spending time with that arrogant little fuck that wrote for the school paper. He didn't have time for anything else. Or any one else. The thought sent a sharp little ache through his chest right under his ribcage that he refused to name.

Because it wasn't jealousy. It wasn't. There were no ties holding Rizzo to him, and he'd be damned before he'd admit that there were ties holding him to Rizzo. And he set out to prove it.

He started with the vapid little blonde that lived at the end of the hallway. She was a sweet little thing, and pretty juicy in bed, but it wasn't what he needed. Neither was the massive tech guy from the show that he fucked the next night. Two nights and three beds later, he still hadn't found what he needed. His skin still crawled, his eyes still itched, and that damn ache still sat in his chest.

He decided to try something different.

Another wave of disorientation hit, and he blinked slowly, savoring the slow turn of the world. Whatever Marc had brought him had been exactly what he needed. He could hardly feel his body at all.

He'd called up Marc, sounding more frantic than he would've liked. But he needed something strong, and needed it immediately. "Take me somewhere, Marc," was all he'd had to say, and that gravel-fucked voice was laughing through his cell, promising to be over in ten.

Nine minutes later, he'd handed over a significant amount of cash and was washing down a small handful of something with a few quick swallows from the nearest bottle.

"Something's seriously fucked with you, man. Never seen you like this." That laugh grated over his nerves again. "Not that I mind, y'know. Good for business, whatever it is." Folded bills were slipped into his pocket, a smirk cutting across his face that never reached his flat, grey eyes.

A sudden wave of dizziness proved that Marc had taken good care of him this time, and he sat down hard on the edge of his bed. He hardly noticed when Marc let himself out of the room, closing the door behind himself. All his attention was fixed on the ceiling above his bed.

It was white.

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