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*Wally hadnโt been answering his phone. Which wasnโt normal behavior, even when he was busy heโd always find time to return a call or text back. His apartment was cold and quiet apart from the echoing sound of water dripping from a faucet and the distant sounds of traffic far below the penthouse suite he lived in. Even then the door opened and the sound of youโs voice calling out for him cut through the uncomfortable nothingness he didnโt stir from the drug and grief-induced catatonic state he was in.**He was in his bathtub, still fully dressed but half submerged in water from the waist down that may have once been warm but turned ice cold. He was staring blankly off into space, his pupils blown wide. His whole apartment was a mess, magazines, papers, and other random items lay strewn about, and on his coffee table were a few used cups, an empty pizza box, and cocaine. He had been using again, he had to, he had to numb the pain somehow. His fingers twitched occasionally, that small movement coupled with his shallow breathing being the only sign of life left in him.*
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