"What're you doing?" I ask when I see her pull a needle out of her drawer. She turns to look at me, her gold eyes have changed to a dark, hazel colour. She tilts her head.



"I'm showing you what makes me happy," she says simply and turns her back towards me, pulling out a bag of some foreign substance that I am not familiar with. I look at her face while she digs through the drawer to find the rest of her supplies. Her dark, blonde hair covers most of her face but I see that she's frowning in concentration. She finally turns her eyes towards me, there is the usual haunted look hidden in the depths of them, and walks towards me when she's got everything she needs.



She sits on the bed next to me, laying her supplies down in between us. She takes the belt and starts wrapping it around her arm, above her elbow. She tightens it with her teeth and turns her eyes to glance at me. She gives me a quick smirk and I give her a small smile in return, despite how uncomfortable I am with this situation. She releases the belt from her mouth once it's tight enough and continues on with the process. I stare into her eyes. I would have felt angry that she was doing this right in front of me if I hadn't of saw the pain and confusion in her eyes. I did though and now I can't feel anything but pity for her. No rage, no disgust, just pity.



As she sits there, her eyes tired and face sunken in by the years of abuse and countless number of substances that she had put into her system, she presses the needle into her arm, breaking the skin and injecting the drug into her veins. I watch as her head falls back and she allows her mouth to fall open slightly. She closes her eyes and lets her high take over her. I watch as she opens her eyes after a few moments and looks at me. I find no trace of the sadness and emptiness that usually adorns her pretty, hazel orbs.



She seems like a different person completely as she removes the needle from her veins and unwraps the belt from her arm. She seems... happy. There is a haziness that had taken over her eyes as the drug went through her system. I look into her eyes, trying to find something left of the girl she was just minutes before. I find nothing. There is nothing there that says she is the same person anymore. She has let the drug come in and take over, allowing her and the substance to become one. I see the foggy, happy look that takes over her face. Is this the closest she will ever come to knowing happiness? Is this her only comfort? Will she ever be able to escape the confinements of the four walls of this stuffy, worn down apartment?



She lets herself fall onto her back onto the bed and closes her eyes, breathing in deep and exhaling. I watch her chest as it rises and falls with every breath she takes, every time she breathes in life. I wonder how long she will continue like this. Will it be until death comes to take her? Will she quit before it gets to that point? Will she ever live to be satisfied with her life or will she continue to run to the comfort of a needle to make her happy? Won't she ever stop?



I find the answer when she opens her eyes again and turns her bright, hazel gaze to mine. I see that she will never know a sober happiness. I see that this is the only thing she can trust and run to when her unhappiness becomes unbearable. She'll never let this addiction go, not while she still draws breath. She has taken this habit and molded it with herself to become one. Her eyes say that she will never let this go. They say this addiction has become a part of her and will forever have her under it's dangerous control.



"I guess I'm the one with the problems, then," her soft voice whispers, her eyes not leaving mine. I stare right back, not even thinking about breaking the contact.



"Why do you do this to yourself?"



"It makes me happy," She says as she shrugs, looking care-free. I look down at her arms, my eyes roaming over the marks and bruises there. I gulped audibly and focus back onto her eyes.



"Show me."



She looks confused and sits back up. She tilts her head and stares at me, trying to figure out what I mean. She shakes her head a few times before she responds.



"What do you mean? I just showed you-"



"No," I interrupt her in mid-sentence. I shake my head, reach my hand out to grab her soft hand, the one that's still holding the needle, and I bring the needle to rest against my arm. Her eyes widen as she understands now what I mean. She brings her dark eyes up to meet mine, a questioning look in them. I just nod in answer, making it clear that I am sure. I want to know how she feels, I want to feel the same comfort that she does. I want to feel the same false feeling that she gives herself every time she does this, every time she turns to the needle.



It takes two more words from me before she is doing the same process, that she did on herself, on me.



"Show me."