Detox was like being on the food tube in reverse. At first, my dreams and sensations were as vivid as they had been when I was tripping balls, but there was an entropy to them. Colors bled to grey; sounds receded, tastes went bland, and smells dulled, leaving behind an empty, metallic ring in my ears, rust in my mouth, and ozone in my nostrils. Then, there were the splitting headaches – magnitude eleventy migraines. Sleep was hard to come by, and when it did, it was only with the assistance of Aptat’s modest pharmacy.

One day we woke to find that Aptat had removed our tubes. And that, oddly, had brought with it another type of withdrawal. They’d been so important to us, we’d become so used to them, that it was like having a limb removed. I suffered the weight of finality that I would never again receive nectar.

Worse than all of that though, was the crystalline hatred that I had for myself. I was weak and selfish, and yeah, I had been addicted to cosmically powerful drugs, but I’d known what I was doing. And Patton just... let me do it. It was the worst part about having him as my closest friend. That he let me be myself when he deserved so much more. Sure, he’d sort of barged through the door and invited himself along for our misadventure, but I should have known – okay, I did know – that he’d refuse to be excluded once I’d told him about my internet connection with Earthrbro_99. He was unflappingly loyal. And having no illusions about who he was, I’d let him in on it anyway. Because I’m selfish.

I’d said I was sorry a million times, and Patton’s response was always the same: It’s okay, no worries. He wasn’t being obtuse or passive aggressive. He truly meant it. But his lack of anger, or even the faintest expression of hurt at my betrayal cut the deepest, because it meant he hadn’t expected more of me. And that told me everything. It was the clearest picture anyone had ever shown me of who I really was.

I wished for the chance to start over from the beginning, to recognize this friend whom I’d always taken for granted. To make it better. But life wasn’t a game of Simon. There was no starting over.

* * *

Reflections of my third prior began filtering in, indistinguishable from everyday thoughts or ideas; just as those of my earlier priors had done throughout my life – though those two had largely gone silent. It was like the dredgings aboard the Timelance had pushed away the earth and rocks above a rich deposit of oil, leaving it free to geyser upward.