[ Everything is warping in and out of focus. He's finally starting to catch his breath — his throat keeps spasming with urges to cough, which he's starting to fight down with gulping swallows — though, every breath in is still a laboured wheeze. He hears that same voice talking, telling him something, though he can't focus on what the words are. The voice sounds so faraway, so distorted. God, everything hurts. Everything hurts. He needs to get out of here. He doesn't know where to, he just knows he needs to scram.
He starts trying to push himself up again — his skinny arms shake under the effort, his whole body trembling — and it takes every ounce of strength he doesn't have to shove himself onto all fours. He winces, and grunts like he's in panicked pain, and manages to clamber onto his feet. He lurches, staggers, and his weak legs buckle underneath him. Losing his balance, he tips forward; he catches himself with his hands slapping on the ground, bent over double. He's a mess; a sick, heroin withdrawing mess. He starts shoving himself unsteadily upright again, and he coughs another gagging cough as he takes a stumbling step forward like he's trying to break out into a run. ]
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He starts trying to push himself up again — his skinny arms shake under the effort, his whole body trembling — and it takes every ounce of strength he doesn't have to shove himself onto all fours. He winces, and grunts like he's in panicked pain, and manages to clamber onto his feet. He lurches, staggers, and his weak legs buckle underneath him. Losing his balance, he tips forward; he catches himself with his hands slapping on the ground, bent over double. He's a mess; a sick, heroin withdrawing mess. He starts shoving himself unsteadily upright again, and he coughs another gagging cough as he takes a stumbling step forward like he's trying to break out into a run. ]