The needle tip sparkled under the hot desk lamp. The soft light danced up and down the slim metal shaft of the syringe, practically begging for Kirk to pick it up. But he couldn’t, even though every fiber of his being wanted him to.
His body trembled violently and cold perspiration dripped from his face. It had been one day since he last used—since he swore off the junk for good. But it wasn’t the churning of his gut or the pounding in his skull that had him wanting to use again. It was his loneliness.
It never ends.
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