The cap popped free of the bottle, spilling a handful of tiny white tablets.
He emptied the entirety of its contents, the pills filling up his hand.
Just two to dull the ache.
Three to put him to sleep.
If he took five, he’d regret it come morning but, it was worth it if it’d take away the pain.
With six, he wasn’t sure where he’d be; he’d never taken so many at once, but he wasn’t afraid to see. Not if it meant it’d stop the hurt even if just for one night.
“What are you doing,” came that hated voice, the one that never gave him peace. “Take one, is all, that’s what the doctor prescribed, one and you’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
“What the hell do you know?” He spat. Disgusted that he could never be left alone.
“What could you know about this pain? What could you know about how it feels? To hate waking up. To hurt with every breath. What do you know? You don’t!”
“One pill,” again, so calm and serene. Like every waking moment weren’t washed in agony.
“One pill,” he conceded before sneaking two. ‘One pill’ that he downed with a half bottle of booze.
One pill was nothing. It took two to dull the ache.
Three and he’d be able to sleep.
Five could put his health at stake.
Who knew what six would do if he dared to go that far.
Seven, maybe, to quit this world.
Tomorrow, for sure.