It was cold. Matt leaned against a wall lighting another cigarette. Terribly nervous and feared he felt. But the only thing he could think of was that it was his own fault. He had wanted to show them all he could perfectly go on by himself. Like Mello. He had wanted to show he didn’t need Wammy’s support, he could be alone. But he had failed. Miserably.
And now he was standing there and now he urgently needed money, because otherwise he would come to withdrawal. He himself was to blame, not anybody else. It hadn’t been that nobody told him of the danger of taking drugs. About addiction. About everything. And yet he had tasted the stuff, right after he realized he wouldn’t find Mello. Now he was addicted. One time he had tried to withdraw. He had began to tremble, felt terribly cold and finally it had been one of the most difficult things to get his syringe into his arm.
And now he stood there and knew if he couldn’t get something in the next few hours, he’d be on withdrawal again. The difference was that this time he wouldn’t be able to do anything against it.
If he’d had a computer he would have hacked somewhere to get money, but the only things he took from Wammy’s was his vest, his googles, a set of clothes and not too much money, which he had spent yet- but nothing very useful in his situation.
It was then when he realized he had to go on.

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