Pills were her friends. The pills, the powder, the drugs she took, they were things that ruled her life.

It was an addiction. A cold, hard addiction. Not a day went by where she didn't find something to ease the craving she felt. Pain was the enemy and the drugs, they took it away. They made her numb and gave her blissful highs that she couldn't live without. She was an addict and the drugs consumed her life.

She was the drugs. The drugs were her. They were one in the same and it drove her to the edge. It set her on a path of destruction and chaos, a path that hurt so many and herself.

That's why she was here.

The Seabrook Rehabilitation Facility. That place where all the addicts go, where all those who self harm and self mutilate are sent. That place filled with hope and goodness, the sense of a new life. Seabrook took control away from her, and it frightened her. Control was what the monster craved more then anything else. The monster needed control over her life, needed control over the drugs. But Seabrook took that away, and left her alone to her own devices but without her guilty pleasures.

The room, stark and white, held nothing to sooth the monster. Her clothes that matched the room, soft grey track pants that she was given, a starched white shirt with the name Seabrook emblazoned on the breast, they did nothing for her. They didn't help her and they certainly didn't help the monster.

The monster that wanted drugs; that needed drugs. Drugs that weren't available.

She had been there for three days now. Three days with no control, with no drugs and nothing to take her pain away. For three days the monster had gone without and it was fighting back with a force now.

Her stomach churned as her body went through withdrawal. The urge to vomit became too much and she crawled slowly across the white linoleum and into the adjacent bathroom, her knees dragging on the cheap flooring. Bile rose as she approached the toilet, her pale hands gripping the bowl with all the strength she possessed as her stomach rejected the light breakfast she'd had, vomit staining the toilet a garish shade of orange. The fingers gripping the toilet slowly loosened as she collapsed to the ground, exhausted. Her tense muscles slowly relaxed as the linoleum cooled her through her clothing. Fiery red hair spread around the bathroom floor, the only splash of colour in the room asides from the remnants of her breakfast coating the toilet bowl.

Pain rippled through her body as the monster reared its head once again. There were no more drugs; they were gone, never coming back. This pain was never going to go away and she couldn't live with that, just as she couldn't live without the drugs.

She had to die.

The monster became strong again as absolution was reached. If she couldn't have the drugs then there was no point living. Death would be far better then the pain she was going through now.

Death was the answer, that was the only way forwards. The monster purred in satisfaction as control was given back to it.

She looked around desperately. A rehabilitation facility was not going to make this any easier for her. There were no blades, no sharp objects. No ropes or ties. The sink was without a plug and there were of course no pills. Suicide would not be an easy option, Seabrook made sure of that. But it was not impossible. Her darting eyes came to a stop on the porcelain toilet bowl. The hard, solid object that the monster so desired. There it was. That was her way out.

She slowly dragged herself into a kneeling position, her hands once again coming to grip the edges of the bowl, mirroring her earlier stance. But this time, she wouldn't be vomiting. She wouldn't be suffering this time. No, this time was different. Her eyes glazed over as she stared into the mess of vomit coating the inside of the toilet. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the bowl. Her breath was shaky as the monster told her what to do. She knew what she had to do.

She couldn't live without the drugs.

Gathering all the strength she possessed, she brought her head down. A resounding crack was heard as her skull connected forcefully with the side of the porcelain bowl. Her body became limp as she fell to the floor once again, her limbs folded under her body at awkward angles. Blood seeped out of the gash on her temple, staining her hair an even darker red and spreading out along the floor. Her breathing became shallower as she lay unconscious, teetering on the edge of life and death.

Footsteps approached the room as she lay on the floor, footsteps that she was unaware of. The crash of her head connecting with the toilet was heard throughout the facility, drawing the attention of the nurses and the counsellors, the ones who had come running. Prone on the floor, her head surrounded in a dark red halo of her own blood and hair, skin as white as the floor she lay on. Nurses working frantically to stem the blood flow even as she stopped breathing, slipping off the edge.

So long as drugs consumed her life, the monster would always win.