He vigorously scratched the mark on his arm, on the crook of his elbow.

He shivered, shooked, screamed in frustration, and cried void of emotion.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he ran his hands through his hair, soft, wavy, and golden.

He had took a hit. Smack. And it felt good. He needed more. He wanted more.

No one was going to stop him this time. No Mark, Collins, or Mimi. No one.

Except himself.

'No!' He internally screamed as the real Roger, trapped within the old as his hand grabbed the pre-filled needle and sunk it into his arm.

The clean Roger was gone, and once again the old one resurfaced.