I walk into his room. This is the only room in his house that doesn’t smell of alcohol. I am not one of his close friends, I am actually one of his enemies so it’s hard to be here. His bed is army green and is unmade with pillows and blankets sprawled onto his bed and on the floor right next to his bed. He has a few comics on his torn up desk that has patches of paint on it and has several chips on it, some big, some small. I see he has a book about anger management shoved into the tight space between his desk and his dresser. He has clothes all over the floor that look like they haven’t been washed since the dinosaurs were around. His nightstand has a little lamp whose bulb is just barely holding onto life. Next to the little lamp are orange bottles with childproof safe caps on them. Inside the orange bottles are different sized pills. In one bottle the pills are white medium sized circles, in the other bottle there are small green, oval shaped pills, and in the final bottle there are the smallest pills out of all the pills, they are white little circles. I recognize one of the bottles of pills. The medium sized white circle pills. I recognize the pills because I have to take the same ones.