<b>Re: !!!BROKEN HOME: DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY RP!!!</b><br/><br/>Another sleepless night. By his count, he was on two full weeks without sleep. Fourteen days or sleepless nights, and the booming nightlife of the downtown city. He had returned late last night, or early in the morning. . . He didn't know which. After awhile, time was irrelivent, and everything just blended itself together into on cohesive day. During the day, he had mild sleep naps, but none more than two hours. He barely ate anymore, and his already skinny body, showed each individual rib, and some even said, they could watch his heart beat. Needless to say, he was not the healthiest living man.<br/><br/>The bathroom door was locked, as it was whenever he was home. Inside, he chopped up a rock of cocaine with a little razor blade, the man had learned to house on the roof of his mouth. With a fan in the background, the chopping of the substance, on the closed toilet, and making it into little lines, the male looked toward the door. Quickly, he turned on the shower head, after his sister had used it, and used the sound of the flowing water to hide his snorting. He sat back against the wall, and enjoyed the feeling for just a moment.<br/><br/>Brian almost had no money. He was never reliable for anything, whether it be as a friend, as a brother, or as a boyfriend. That is, unless one wanted drugs, Brian<i>always</i>had drugs with him. He usually had the best drugs, and he was always good for a meeting, anything for more drug money. He didn't believe that old motto: "Don't get high off your own supply." He did it all the time, and nothing seemed to be wrong. He always covered his tracks though, no matter where he would go. Should those<i>pigs</i>, the police, pull him over, he would be screwed. He had already dodged a bullet once.<br/><br/>Slowly, he sat back up, and slipped the makeshift cutting board into his pocket. He stood up shakily and looked himself in the mirror. With heavy, black bags under his eyes, he rubbed them with the base of his hand. His brown hair hung into his face, and his Billabong Hoody, was needing a trip through the laundry machine. His hand reached for the door and heard the click, of the mechanism unlocking. He made his way outside and toward the family room, apparently looking for his brother, Derek. He had something in a little glass vial for him. . .