Minutes turn to hours, hours to days, as Jackson drifts in and out of sleep. He gets worse before he gets better, sick and shaky and furious with Drake before the drug's spell finally breaks. Finally, he starts to feel that little bit better every time he comes to, rather than worse, and a week after this whole process started he finds himself able to think with a clear head of something other than the next bottle, or syringe.

Instead, he's mostly thinking about how desperately he needs a bath.