I laugh quietly to myself as I look my closet. Every shirt I own is a long selved one. No one's ever noticed that though, never noticed my own addiction, or addictions, either.

I've always believed that everyone has their own addiction. Some even so small and petty that they go unnoticed. So I guess that you could call it a habit. But then again, isn't the definition of a habit something done all the time? And it also does say that the slang term for a habit is an addiction.

So my biggest habit is as bad as Roger's or Mimi's or Collin's. Or perhaps its worse, one slip of the hand and I'm dead. With them it's as simple an overdose.

I shouldn't have thought that. It makes it sound like I don't care. And I do. I don't want to have to burry another friend. And I doubt they want to burry me, so that's why I'm packing all my stuff and leaving, for rehab.

I finish packing my bags and walk out of my room. No one's here. Roger went out with Mimi tonight, leaving me all alone. I walk into the kitchen and found a note pad. I quickly scribble down a note for Roger and left it on the table. I knew if I had to say those words to his face then I'd never leave.

I picked my bags up again and walked out of the loft and down the stairs as fast as I could. I'd called a taxi earlier and it was waiting there for me. I threw my stuff in the back and got in.

"Where to?" the driver asked. I told him and we left.

But there was one thing he missed. He missed Roger, standing out on Mimi's fire escape, staring down at him in interest.

Roger got back to the loft earlier than normal the next morning. He went to Mark's room first. The film maker wasn't there. He checked the entire loft and Mark couldn't be found anywhere.

He finally walked into the kitchen and found the note. He read it five times before it dropped from his hands and he fell to the floor in shock.

'Dear Roger,

I'm leaving for that rehab center Collins tried. It's closer than the other ones I looked at. I'm going because I need too. I've been hiding it from you and every one for so long and about a month ago I'd almost killed myself. I don't want you or Mimi or Collins or anyone else to have to go threw my death. I'm leaving. I'm leaving because I cut myself. It seems realer now that it's said. Well, written, but you still know it and that makes it more real to every one. But that's not really all; lately I've started drinking, too, and when I drink I cut more and that month ago I'd cut deeper than normal and I was also drunk. I know I shouldn't be surprised by how easily a life is lost, but, this just brought the realization closer.

I guess I'll write, when I can, so… Don't move or lose the loft.

Good bye,

Mark'

It was written in Mark's, if seldom used, cursive.