Chapter 11Withdrawal sucks.
It’s more syrupy than the sensation of onboarding pills, Reza notes. Sharper than street drugs, offered by people with nothing else to entice him. More all-encompassing than a late dose, sending him listing off halfway through the morning or jerking awake as he suddenly remembers in the middle of the night.
Not quite like anything he’s ever experienced. Never has let himself experience it—prefers his sense of reality and stomach contents intact, for the most part.
They’re leaving him now, one a tad more messily than the other.
“I’m not going to clean that up for you, you know,” says Mason, standing and leaning on the wall opposite Reza, who is bent nearly in half, retching with awful sounds.
Reza doesn’t see why the man wouldn’t clean it up. It’s not much,
