He sighed and looked up at the beautiful starlit sky through dark green eyes. When his hair wasn’t in his face creating a black blanket over his vision, the world really was beautiful.

He dreaded the next day. He was going to another therapist. Another person that was going to tell him that he needed medication to keep his addiction at bay. This addiction, if done with the appropriate caution, wouldn’t kill you, like cigarettes would. So why go to someone for it?

He tapped his fingers restlessly on the rail of the plain pine porch and shook his head. He growled at the thought that his razors were gone and he didn’t have anything to satisfy the craving, as he called it.

He pounded his fist on the railing. How could he be so weak? What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he stop? That was a question he’d never asked himself before. Why couldn’t he stop?

“Come on, Nathaniel, you’re better than this,” he whispered.