dollveins
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The needle slipped from Isaiah's shaking fingers, clattering onto the grimy bathroom tile. He caught his reflection in the mirror: pupils blown wide, lips cracked and dry, a sheen of cold sweat making his skin glimmer under the light. For a second, he didn't even recognize it as himself. He sank down to the floor.
"Jesus, you're pathetic," Lev said, leaning against the doorframe. He looked like shit too, his hair long and greasy, teeth yellowed, nails overgrown with muck underneath. Despite that, the insult still struck. Something in his smile made his confidence nearly convincing. "Need me to do it for you, baby?"
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Beck rolled up his sleeve and flipped his arm over to his wrist. Here was the cartography of his life: silvery crisscrosses and stiff horizontal stripes, and vertical lines during the worst days of his worst years. Some were so fresh they were still bright with trapped blood, crusting at the edges.
“If you need it so bad”—he thumbed yesterday’s cut—“you can do me.”
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26 Sep 2026