Marcus didn't say anything as his man pushed Evan's sleeve up and stuck the needle in his arm. The dose was small—just enough to dull the pain for a moment, but not enough to really help. Evan sighed as the drug hit, but the craving didn't go away. It just got worse. It was like getting a single drop of water when you're dying of thirst.
Marcus leaned over him. "That's all you get. You better get used to this."
The men left the room. The lights flickered on again, even brighter. Loud sirens and banging echoed through the walls. Evan put his hands over his ears, but it didn't help. He tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, the noise or lights would jerk him awake.
Sometimes, Marcus came back with the syringe. Sometimes, he came with nothing. He watched Evan beg and cry for another dose. Sometimes, Marcus would give him a tiny bit more, just enough so Evan didn't pass out from the pain. Other times, he would just watch Evan suffer, a small smile on his face.
