If I’m right, I understand Paul now. I no longer have any ill-feelings for him. If anything, I’m impressed by how well he’s coping. It’s a big contrast to how I remember Alexander.
Alexander didn’t cope anywhere near as well. We weren’t close friends, but I still remember stumbling across him as he crawled his way out of the alley. I bundled him up and took him to the hospital, but he didn’t stay long. When they started questioning him on what happened, he jumped up and fled. I chased after him and took him back to his place. He was terrified of any physical contact. I stayed with him for a couple of days, but one morning he was just gone.
I tried to track him down, but I didn’t hear anything from him until someone gave me a tip off almost two weeks later. He was in another alley, drugged out of his mind. I found needle tracks down both his arms.
I tried to get him to somewhere or someone who could help, but he was scared – he just pushed everyone away, including me. He wouldn’t go to the police and report what was done to him – he didn’t think they’d care. Instead, he’d turned to drugs to help him cope.
He was found three months later, dead from a heroin overdose.
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