Jesus Christ. He'd spent so long getting fucked up with Mike that he forgot what it was like to see somebody fucked up when you're sober. He used to use words like 'junkie' and 'pathetic' to describe Mike Warren. Right now, the only thing coming to mind is 'lucky son of a bitch'.

This is going to be harder than he thought. Between Mike's current state and the drugs on the table, it's hard not to remember what it feels like. How fucking great it feels to let go. Better than any bourbon he's ever tasted. He's been drinking a lot more to compensate for the sudden lack of drugs, but it's still better. He can't lose his job for drinking, but he sure as can for smoking oxy. He's always been a drunk anyway. At least that's not new.

He faces away from the drugs on the table. He can't let himself look at them. He wishes he were here to take Mike up on his offer. He wishes he could be that weak again, but he can't. He fucking can't.

"No." He does help Mike up though. By grabbing him by the back of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. "I'm done with that."