0 comments/ 8200 views/ 0 favorites Painkiller By: Shamus121074 Alone in a room smothered by darkness, with only torrential rain beating against the window breaking the silence, Simon Matthews lay back on his couch. Not for the first time in recent months, he succumbed to his overwhelming feeling of paralysis. He'd been plagued with a bad lower back for months, but recently the pain's severity had increased, managing to push his depression to a new depth. Looking at the pills on the glass coffee table next to him, Simon contemplated his next move. Painkillers. The term itself made him laugh. Painkillers: killers of pain. Physical pain maybe, and only temporarily at that, but mental pain? No, not a chance. For three months he'd been on the Diazepam, 12 weeks longer than recommended. He hated to admit it, but he was hooked. Simon Matthews, who for so long had stood on his soapbox preaching against the use of drugs, had become an addict. For years he'd looked down his nose at those who couldn't get through a day without a toke on something that could take away the stress. Throughout his University years, he'd upset more than one individual with his stance on the subject, even going so far as to alienate himself from his fellow students in order to preach about the use of narcotics. He'd been an idiot, a narrow-minded fool. He'd since felt the immense gratification the pills brought. The feeling of ultimate pleasure was one he found impossible to describe. Alone in his new house, his new wife out by herself doing the shopping because he couldn't walk properly, Simon Matthews felt the weight of hypocrisy resting on his shoulders. He felt claustrophobic as the depression enveloped him. Churchill had called them Black Days. Although Simon had often suffered from depression, it was usually something he could cope with. This time was different. This time he had a wife, a good job, a nice home, a great life. This time he had an addiction. His Black Days were darker than night. He'd no idea what had caused the back pain, and it had been going on so long, he struggled to remember when it began. All he'd done was stand up after having his supper. There was no heavy lifting involved (unless you count an empty plate as 'heavy') and there was no click to indicate damage had been done. All he did was stand up and seize. He couldn't move. His wife had to help him to the bed where he lay till the morning full of Paracetamol. The following day, he'd been unable to budge! That was the start of a long and winding road that eventually led to Simon Matthews contemplating an ironic end to all the pain and addiction. He'd tried it once before. He'd been living with his former girlfriend of eight years in a little known town at a time he now considered beyond the distant past. She'd often worked late which meant he would get a couple of hours a night in his own company - something that had been a rarity when living with his parents and brother in a small two-bed roomed bungalow. As far as he was concerned, he thought they were happy - they certainly seemed happy... they were planning a holiday to America - a round the Country tour and they'd just bought fitted carpets for the house after spending time together decorating. It was a cold night in more ways than one when she came home and told him she was moving out. No, there wasn't anyone involved and yes she still loved him, but she had to get out; she needed her space. He thought he was fine over it. He understood that everyone needed time and space... he never expected her to go out the following day and find a new house to rent, a mirror image of their own. Two days later she moved the majority of her stuff out. He was left bemused. Not once did she offer an explanation, no matter how many times he asked. She reiterated that it was her and that no one else was involved. Her actions would have made it impossible to believe if he hadn't been so close to hand - all his friends and family had said so. She led him on. For eight months after moving out she let him believe there was a chance that she'd move back in. For eight months she'd come round to what was soon to become his home, use his bath, and sleep naked in his bed. But if he so much as tried to touch her, she became stern, telling him 'how dare he' and that 'things are over'. Then she'd kiss him goodnight. This was when the depression started to kick in. The 'straw that broke the camels back' had been one late May Evening. She'd spent the day at the house, laughing and joking, and they ended it all with a meal. She held his hand over the dinner table; he held hers back, hope rising in his chest. He'd taken her back to the house and watched her as she climbed into bed. As he slipped in next to her, she simply said, "Do you want to buy my share of the house?" In that moment, he knew it was over. Knew that he'd been made a fool of. From that day on, she never slept in the house again. What followed still hurts Simon every time he's reminded of it. It doesn't need a specific event, but the smallest of things have the ability to drag him back to his lowest point. He battled with her, wanting to keep the house, wanting revenge (secretly wanting her back), wanting to hate her. He had a survey, they agreed on an amount. The Building Society weren't willing to hand over all the money and she wasn't willing to accept anything less. He had to get a loan. He phoned around. His Bank didn't want him, nor did his Building Society. He had to settle for the legal equivalent to a Loan Shark. They didn't quite break your legs but they got everything back and some. She didn't care; all she wanted was the money - in cash, in a small, plain white envelope. (She even asked for this after he explained that the Bank had refused him the Loan.) His love for her rapidly became hate. She came over to 'discuss' (for discuss read 'demand') how things were going to happen. She then told him she was seeing someone else. But by that time, he didn't care... his depression was the only thing that concerned him at that moment in time. She only told him so he'd either demand she stop seeing him (thus revealing any pain and feeling he still held towards her) or for him to simply offer his blessing. He did neither. He simply waited for her to leave. Three days later, she came for her money. He gave her the five grand in the envelope she'd specified. There were no words from him, a simple 'have you got it?' from her. When he followed her out the door, his anger finally got the better of him... in her car was her new lover. He was the physical representation of the humiliation she'd dumped on him. "Who the hell do you think you are, coming round here with him! Don't you ever let me see him or you around here again, otherwise I don't know what I'll end up responsible for!" It was with an embarrassed satisfaction that he watched her leave, tale between her legs. But that outburst hadn't been enough to stop the depression. A week later, it hit him like a brick wall. It was October. His Birthday. He'd gone the pub with his Dad and his Brother. After forking out a fortune on someone he now thought of as a glorified prostitute, he was short of money, unable to buy a drink. Something unthought-of in his family. After being made a fool of with his ex, he was now the subject of ridicule with his family. He'd stormed out of the pub, not caring to hide his tears. He was at his car when his Dad caught up with him. An argument ensued, his Dad wasn't willing to let him drive and Simon wasn't willing to stay. For some reason, his Dad felt that a confession would make him come round... he decided to tell his eldest son that he was having an affair and was leaving his mother before Christmas! Where as his ex telling him he could buy the house from her whilst lying naked in his bed had been the 'last straw' with his relationship, this revelation from his father was the last straw for his depression. He climbed into himself, refusing to return. Not long after that, he'd taken the pills. Paracetamol, Aspirin and Co-Codamol, swallowing 40 in total, along with half a dozen bottles of beer. He'd wanted to take more but he puked them all out, the powder coating and booze being too much for him to take. Lying on the couch, contemplating once more putting himself in that position, Simon Matthews felt a tear slip down his cheek - it was a tear he remembered from all those years ago. He'd let his head hang over the toilet pan, nose close to the freshly regurgitated pills. Alcohol fumes spiralled up from the U-Bend, forcing his gags. The retching only stopped when he brought up something thick and black, something a Doctor later told him was probably part of his stomach lining. Simon Matthews remembered this moment. Whenever he'd suffered from depression since, he usually thought of this time, using it as a catalyst to bring him back to normality. But his grip on normality had been changed. Where as before his depression had been an emotional thing, it was now physical. Even worse, it was chemical. As if in appreciation to this, his back sent a twinge surging through his body, making his need for the Painkillers stronger than ever. He'd been in therapy. Actually, it was a combination of hypnotherapy and psychotherapy - he figured that if he was paying £35 a session, he should get his monies worth! For the first 20 - 30 minutes, the therapist would ask him questions to try and find out what was wrong with him, and more importantly, determine the methods in which to put that something right, before spending the rest of the session under hypnosis. Hypnosis was a weird thing for him. Time had no meaning... his visions became reality, yet despite seeming as if he were in a far off world, he was always conscious of where he was, always clinging on to the therapist's voice. Three sessions at £35 a time. Money well spent, or so he thought but as it turned out, most of his therapy came from books and self-belief - something he was in vast need of. He spent two years in a hole, either wanting to give his suicide attempt another go or wishing someone else would do him a favour and try euthanasia. He remained celibate for those two years, not having the ability to trust another woman. When that changed, it came from the most unexpected source. His depression had brought one piece of good news: he'd gotten back in contact with his friends - friends his ex had refused to let him see. In order to yank himself out of his pit, he started going out again, enjoying someone else's company - someone who wasn't going to judge him; someone who wasn't going to laugh at him. He felt something close to a recovery. One night, he met someone. Someone he thought would end his days of celibacy, without the ties of a relationship. All it would take was a couple of dates. He figured he was getting closer to the Holy Grail known as a 'shag partner' - one thing his previous relationship had scared him of was tying himself down in a relationship. A couple of date's later, celibacy still in tact, he called it off. The girl had wanted to settle down with kids and wasn't prepared to sleep with him until he agreed to such a thing. It was close to sending him back into depression. If it wasn't for a chance remark his mate had made, he probably would have succumbed. One night, their talk had been of relationships in one form or another. They both agreed that the only way something was going to happen was if they were either set up with someone at work, or went to a Dating Agency. The following day, Simon Matthews signed up to Internet Dating. Lying on the couch, he heard his wife return from her shopping. He'd been much better recently. The 'Bad Days' had been kept at bay by the love of a woman he'd never dreamed of meeting. He'd refused at the beginning of their courtship to believe they were serious... but then something changed; something he couldn't explain... he fell in love. They'd gotten married within twelve months of knowing each other and were soon discussing something Simon had always said he'd hate: having kids. That was before his back packed in. That was before he began to feel useless, paralysed but able, weak but determined. Every time he did something, whether it was lift a chair or vacuum the Living Room, his back put him agony, crushing him with a feeling of weakness. So far he'd seen 5 people consisting of two doctors, a nurse and two physiotherapists and all had given different diagnoses. All Simon wanted was an end to the pain. He was sick of struggling to sleep, tired with waking and his first question being, 'how's my back?' Each time he reached for the Painkillers he felt nauseous, the small white disks a talisman of his addiction. He had a problem. The man who claimed he was bigger and better than drugs needed pills to get him through the day. Not for the first time, Simon considered the unfairness of life. His wife called to him, asking him what he wanted to drink. He didn't answer; he simply turned his head towards the pills. There was a certain irony in ending his life with the one thing he hated more than anything - something he thought to be his enemy would be his saviour. He thought back to everything he'd been through. He'd been embarrassed, used, humiliated and abused. He'd been dragged through the mire financially, physically and emotionally... he'd still be alone if it wasn't for his own initiative. His Father had managed to dump the mistress after realising his mistake but that hadn't stopped the family arguments. His mother found out everything on her eldest Granddaughters Christening. Simon's name was mud then for not saying anything and despite the veneer, he was certain that his name was still mud deep down. It had to be true; his depression had forced him to believe it. His wife called again, concerned he hadn't answered. He heard her climb the stairs to him. His decision was made. Rising, he reached for the pills... Painkiller This is dedicated to my dog, Shandy, who died around the same time I had my wisdom teeth out. And of course, my lovely lady, Liv. The events in this are fiction, but the background with my teeth and dog actually happened. RIP Shandy 4/26/02-5/5/12. You'll be in our hearts forever. Hope you like it. I had a hell of a week. My dog died on Saturday and I had my wisdom teeth yanked the following Monday. I couldn't eat much and could barely talk. I missed school 3 of the 5 days that week. And my family was mourning over our dog, a 10 year old German shepherd. This really sucked! Anyway, my girlfriend, a college freshman (going into her sophomore year) named Liv, was home from college for the summer. I was set to graduate high school next month. I was going to the same college as her, but I can't say what college for privacy reasons. Enough rambling, back to the story. Liv texted me, asking "How r u feeling baby?". I replied "I feel like shit, but the drugs are helping lol." I was fucked up on Novocain from the surgery, but my lower lip and chin were numb and I could barely open my mouth. "Shit :( I hate seeing u sad. Can I come over and help relieve the pain? ;)" "Sure. The door's open. Just come in." "Ok. :) be right over. Love u." "Love u 2. C u soon." I put my phone down and settled back to watch tv. That's when my mom came in and said, "Hey honey, feeling better?" "No. I thought sore throats were bad, but this is horrible. By the way, Liv's coming over to see me," I paused and ran my tongue over my jaw, wincing. "Ok. I'm off work for the rest of the day but I'll be going out in like 20 minutes. Shout if you need anything." She smiled and left the room. Looking back, I don't know how she never suspected us of doing stuff. We were both young adults and saw each other a lot. Anyway, I sat there watching tv for about 10 more minutes when I heard Liv's car pull in to the driveway. The door opened and shut. Then she called, "Matt?" "Down here," I called. I was in the basement. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, then Liv appeared, holding a smoothie, and wearing flip flops, daisy dukes, and a low-cut T-shirt. I should probably give a description of us. She was about 5'4" with light brown hair and hazel eyes, with light freckles across her nose. She had a gorgeous body, with soccer legs, an amazing, firm but soft ass, and 34 C or D cup boobs. She had a nice, toned stomach and a belly button piercing too. I wasn't tall, about 5'8", with dark brown hair and bluish-gray eyes. I didn't like my rather large and hooked nose though, which I'd broken when I was 14. Other than that, I didn't care. I played guitar for an alternative rock band and was in ok, not great, shape. We met in high school but actually started talking last year, when she was a senior and I was a junior. She looked at me with a frown and said, "Aw, is my poor little guy feeling bad?" She walked over and sat next to me on the couch. She handed me the smoothie and said, "I made this for you before I came over. I take care of my boyfriend." I tasted it. Raspberry, my favorite flavor. "Thanks Liv. I'd kiss you but I don't wanna screw up my mouth." I pulled her in for a hug. She smiled, that entrancing smile that I fell for when I asked her out last year. "No problem. Wisdom teeth suck, I know. And I heard about your dog. I'm sorry. Hang in there, babe. Let me know if you need anything." She kissed the top of my head and wrapped her arms around me. We just sat there for a while cuddling. Until my mom came back downstairs. She said, "Hi, Liv, take care of him for me. I'm going out now. I don't know when I'll be back. Dad should be home in about 2 hours if I'm not. Ok? Bye!" She smiled and left. Liv turned to me with a devilish smile and said, "She doesn't need to ask. I'm going to take great care of you. Just sit back and relax." She licked her lips slowly and seductively, then grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me in for a kiss, being careful not to touch my post-surgery teeth with her tongue. I tried kissing back but my lip was still numb so I couldn't feel her mouth or tongue at all. "Mmm, that smoothie tastes good," she said softly. "I wonder what your cock will taste like." She winked at me as her hand snaked down my jeans and groped for the button. I had just sat there, not quite believing this, but I moaned as her soft, silky hand found my dick. Slowly, she got off me and knelt down. "This should help with the pain," and she plunged it into her waiting mouth. It felt fucking amazing! Her mouth was so warm and wet, and her tongue felt nice. She looked so hot like that. I groaned and sat up. She stopped suddenly and leaned up and pushed me back into my seat with, "Whoa, don't hurt yourself any further. Let me handle this." She licked my cock and stuck it back in her mouth, slowly stroking it and pumping it in and out of her mouth. I moaned in pleasure and ran my hands through her hair, loving this. She looked up at me with a twinkle in her hazel eyes. Then Liv took me even deeper, deepthroating and humming softly. This drove me crazy as my fuckstick started throbbing. I groaned loudly and closed my eyes, trying to hold it in. Liv knew this but kept going. I finally gave in and shot my load, straight down her throat. She swallowed every drop. It felt fantastic. She finally finished and put my cock back in my jeans. She crawled into my arms and we just lay there for the next hour. She finally asked, "Is the pain gone yet?" It had subsided, but it came flooding back as I remembered why she was here. "Fuck, it had gone but now it's back. Liv, that was mind blowing! I should have surgery more often." She laughed. "I don't know about that. But if you don't mind, I could come here every day and help with 'pain management.' As long as your parents aren't home." How the hell could I refuse a blowjob daily until I healed? I might even drag it out and exaggerate the recovery time. "Fine with me. As long as you don't mind." Liv really was the best girlfriend ever. Dedicating her time and energy to pleasuring me and relieving pain? That's dedication and love right there. I said, "How do I thank you? No girl has ever done this for me." "You don't have to thank me. I'm doing this because I love you, Matt. As long as you enjoy it, that's all I want. I don't do this regularly. So, same time tomorrow?" "I look forward to it, baby. Even if my parents are home, we can just hang out." "Cool. Now I have to go home before my parents start getting suspicious. I told them I'd only be gone half an hour." She got off me and stood up. I finally got up too and stretched. Then I picked her up and wrapped her legs around me and carried her upstairs, kissing her furiously the whole way, despite my numb lip and teeth being sore. I finally set her down by the door. She smiled and said, "Feel better, you sexy piece of ass." "I'm working on it, but I'll still need your help," I said with a wink and a smirk. She punched me with fake anger. "Listen Mr. Smartass, I don't do this for everyone! You have hands that I could happily make you use to relieve pain instead of me. But I don't. Why? Because I'm fucking girlfriend of the year!" She laughed and hugged me. "Good to see ya. Ok, I'm going now. Bye. Love ya." We kissed briefly and she turned and walked out to her car. I waved and went back downstairs to watch tv. My phone rang about 30 minutes later. There were 2 pictures of Liv. The first was her frowning and holding a teddy bear with a caption, "Feel better soon