Phainon met with his dealer. As always, he handed over the cash and received two syringes and a small bag of powder in return. Normally, this would last him two days — but not today. Today, he went too far. Under the rush of euphoria and desperation, he injected both syringes at once... and then snorted the entire bag.

The consequences were immediate. He felt it tearing through him, overwhelming, consuming. And when the high began to fade, the need returned—worse than ever. He asked for more, begged for another hit. But the dealer just stared coldly and demanded more money. Phainon checked his wallet. Empty. Panic set in.

He couldn’t think of anything else — no better idea came to mind. So, he went to your home. He climbed the fire escape and crawled through your open window. He didn’t care that it was the middle of the night. He was far beyond shame now. He was drowning.

He collapsed to his knees beside your bed, shaking.“Baby... I need the money. Please...”he sobbed, yanking at his own hair, eyes bloodshot and wild. His voice cracked, desperation breaking through every syllable.“This is the last time, sweetheart... I swear... just one more time. I need it... I need it...”

He looked up at you with hollow eyes, broken and trembling, teetering on the edge of something far too deep to name.