B. C. Prolouge-So Dehumanized

His hand twitched as the needle pushed through the thick flesh of his arm. Brian winced and caught his breath, but it was over in an instant. He looked down at his arm and saw the silvery glint of the needle and its full syringe hanging delicatly out of his vein, like some weird medical tick. He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath before pressing the plunger down fast and smooth.
He didnt feel it right away, the cold liquid seeped into his bloodstream, and he imagined its path through his arm and into his heart, and his heartbeat quickened. He smiled, feeling the happiness pump through him and into his brain. He wanted to stand up, but knew better than to do that, thinking of what had happened yesterday. Cleaning puke out of a white rug is a pain in the ass. So he sat in his favourite chair, letting the happy race through his blood. His fingers trembled, so he tapped them wildly on the arm of the chair to distract himself. No worries, he felt nothing but tingling bubbly warmth thoughout his body.
Soon the heat faded and Brian was covered in a cloud of complete relaxation. He tried to turn his head to look at the clock but his neck was too soft, like jelly, and it just flopped. He smiled, giggling lightly. It was so nice not to worry, to think. Images floated in and out of his thoughts, faces, but he could't make them out properly. He didn't want to.
After a while he felt the calm start to recede, first from his fingers, then it trickled up his arms and legs, then it took over his chest and finally his head. Cold fingers crawles into his brain and drove away any last lingering effect of the drug. He desperatly willed his mind to stay inside the fuzzy serenity, but it wasn't there. The happiness was gone, and all it left him with was confusion and pain seeping back into his thoughts, along with other things he did not want to think about.
Zacky. He didn't want to think about Zacky. He didn't want to know him right now, nothing. He was too much to handle. Brian pushed himself up from his chair slowly, grabbing the syringe roughly and yanking it from his skin, where he'd left it after being consumed by the heroin. He threw it across the darkened room, where it clattered into a corner. He ripped the tourniquet from his bicep and slowly made his way to his empty bed, where he craweld under the covers with his clothes still on.
How was he supposed  to go on, with this temptation right before him, so close he could taste it? He wanted to taste it, every time he laid eyes on him. It was hard, too hard, to contain himself. It was terrible. But worse than that was knowing that he knew he never would get to taste it. Conflicting feelings roiled inside him, monsters clawing their way to the surface, which was all to close. Hate, hate, HATE........Love.
"Fuck this," he said, gripping his pillow tightly. He groaned, pushing himself up from his bed again and making his way to the corner where the syringe had ended up. He picked it up with a sigh and sat down in his chair again, unable to deal with it all.