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my baby loves the coca

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It started out simply enough, doing a couple lines every now and then. To feel good, sure, but mostly to get my Ancient Runes homework done.
Then I started craving it and cut myself off. Simple.
But the stuff I used to come down, the pot, well, I love the shit. My anxiety levels come down from through the roof, I quit craving the blade, and everything’s just better. Less shit.
But then I started running out of spending money. Mum and dad certainly weren’t sending much my way, and winning bets wasn’t as easy as I made it seem.
By the time I needed weed that bad, I was in second year. Hadn’t started the coke yet, of course. The bloke I traded cash and favors for it was now a sixth year, and I asked him if he wanted distribution help. He laughed, and said he doubted a twelve year old could help him.
“Dude, I’m almost 13! Literally five days!”
He laughed again. “Alright, mate. I’ll pay you in grass.”
“That’s all I want anyways.”
“Yeah. I know.”
It was the night before the full moon, and I made a quick shortcut to Honeydukes run.
“Hey, Remus. I got you some chocolate.”
“Huh? Oh, thanks, Siri.”
I sat down on his bed, resisting the urge to kiss his forehead.
We sat there for ages, eating chocolate and me making him laugh. When it was time for bed, he grabbed my wrist as I went to stand. I closed my eyes, the boy’s light grip hurting. “Stay,” he said.
I obediently laid down beside him, resisting the urge to go up to the astronomy tower and bum cigarettes.
“Why do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Y’know. Cut yourself.”
“How’d you-”
“I’ve never seen you in short sleeves, and you panic every time someone walks in while you’re changing or showering. Or when someone touches you, especially near your, erm, wrists.”
“Yeah. Well. I don’t really know why I do it. Helps I guess.”
Remus yawned. “With what?”