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He didn’t know where he was going. He only knew that he had to reach civilization to ask for help. In the state he was, he reckoned he might need to get to a hospital, too.
Yet all he could see was the arid desert. No human in sight. Nothing.
Day turned into night and he continued to roam aimlessly.
His lips were chapped, his body dehydrated. He’d been without food or water for more than twenty-four hours at that point. Although he knew he could survive with no food for more time, water was a different matter altogether. He needed to find something, and soon. Otherwise, he would become even more disoriented on top of his already worsening withdrawal symptoms.
The desert was such a desolate area that the only thing he could find were some scorpions and a few snakes. But he was so far gone that he couldn’t even muster the usual disgust. After all, he couldn’t be picky when his main objective was survival.
Using the small knife he’d bought, he caught a snake, slicing it in the middle and drinking his blood to replenish his liquids, before turning to the meat. He couldn’t even make a fire to cook it, so he had to eat it raw.
He grimaced as he chewed down on it, but he focused solely on food as a way to replenish strength—something that his body required instead of something tasty. He continued with the same mindset as he caught some scorpions, eating those too. It helped that he was pretty knowledgeable in the desert fauna, and knew that despite the rather awful taste, they were edible.
Although he managed to find sustenance, the more time he wandered around, the more he started to feel the weight of his withdrawal symptoms.
He completely lost track of time, and at some point, he realized he could barely walk anymore, his knees giving out. Still, he tried to crawl.
“Not… going… to… give… up,” he strained to speak—an encouragement to himself.
He pushed forward, on his hands and knees. Sweat dripped down his body, and dimly, he was aware he was wasting precious resources. But his body was already in the throes of withdrawal, and that was the last of his worry as the true agony of his situation settled in.
One foot. Then two. He propelled himself forward, bruising his hands and knees as he refused to let his body fail him.
“Lu—“ he opened his mouth to utter her name, but he could only muster one syllable, whizzing as he collapsed onto the ground.
His fingers dug into the sand, his fists clenched as he tried to get up again.
Come on!He yelled at himself.Get up!
He dragged his knees forward a few inches.
His breathing was out of control as he struggled to keep his wits around him. So busy he was focusing on his next step, that he didn’t hear the movement around. It wasn’t until a pair of boots were planted firmly in front of him that he finally realized there was someone else with him.
Blinking against the fog that had laid siege over his sight, he looked up, the sun obstructing his view.
“Who… are… you?” he asked in a whisper before his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
* * *
A FEW MONTHS LATER
“How are you feeling?” Carlos asked as he handed Raf a bottle of water.
Raf chugged the cool liquid. His entire body was aching, his muscles sore. It always happened after a drug session.
“Better now,” he answered roughly, wiping his mouth. “I need to go back to the gym.”
“Now, wait a minute. You’re fresh from the drug. Don’t you think you need a little break before you exert yourself again?”
“There’s no time, Carlos. I need to reach my peak condition as soon as possible, so I can go back. I’m almost there,” Raf said, unwavering conviction imbuing his voice.
A few months back, when he’d passed out from a mix of dehydration and the drug withdrawal, he’d thought that he would die. For the first time, though, luck had been on his side when he’d wandered into Carlos’ territory.
He’d been the one to find him and nurse him back to health. More than that, he’d opened his home to him, giving him the resources to get back onto his feet. He’d helped him in ways he could never repay. Using his contacts in the drug trafficking business, Carlos had done his best to recreate a version of the drug he’d been on at the hacienda—all in an attempt to help Raf wean himself off of it.
On top of that, he’d created a fitness program for Raf to get back to an optimal weight and physical condition. He’d told him that the best way to beat the addiction was to train both his mind and body, and Raf had followed his advice to a T.
In the beginning, he’d been confused as to why Carlos had been so kind to him.
