...

He awoke. There was the familiar pain. Tightness behind his eyes, hot needles shooting as he blinked. He wiped something wet from his face and his stiff hands cracked and groaned. They were thinner now than before. His skin was leather tightly pulled over cold bones. Groaning he reached for his glass, which stood on the small stand next to him.
It was dark. The only light came from the kitchen, pooled in the hall, trapped in the deep carpet, and refracted against the faceted glass, distorted through the cracks. There was a clink and a sigh and the man stood unevenly. The little earthquakes began. First the head, then down the spine. Each hair on his body writhed and stood on end, his head spun.
"Ugh," he managed.The act of standing had aided his shirt and pants back into position. At his waist were dozens of tiny welts where the metal brads of his jeans had dug into his flesh as he lay motionless and barely conscious. His feet slid across the pale linoleum and he slumped over the sink, shoulder blades piercing through the thread bare shirt which hung off of him. His palms found their place on the sharp edge of the counter. He cradled his head in his arm, his cheek falling through to the chilled plastic of the counter. His other hand turned the knob and the water ran.
His skin crawled. He detested that rushing. That rushing. It echoed through his brain as if he would never hear another thing again. He was deafened. He put his hand into the cold stream and wiped cool water onto his face. He brushed back his matted black hair. Below his stomache churned and he fought it, swallowing back the taste in his mouth.
His face glistened blue green in the artificial light. The bottle reflected it back.Trembling fingers wrapped around it and brought it towards him. The tiny ridges in its base rang a high pitch as they scraped across the rough counter top. The cap whistled off with a similar tone. Clear and smooth as water, he breathed in the liquid as the bottle gulped for air, collecting it at it's base.