[attr="class","dibody2"]He understood.

Carver understood the allure of the drug. The feeling of bliss and euphoria that nothing in the world could seemingly match and, truthfully, nothing could match it. Chemically concocted to trick the brain into dumping all of its stores of dopamine nothing could beat out the feeling of shooting up. It was sheer joy injected straight into your arm, happiness simplified. It was an easy way to run from your more grisly demons. Heroin's yoke was not one could easily shed and rarely one did so willingly for themselves. 

It had taken Carver years to realize that it was not the happiness he wanted and that it would not bring the death that he had craved. At first, he was too proud to look for help, objecting that he was strong enough to kick it, cold turkey, on his own. It ranked among one of his stupidest decisions as he ended up in the ER from withdrawal within the first few days. 

Addiction was rarely a demon one could exorcise with out help.

As the scrawny youth slithered into the kitchen Carver eyed him. Fragments of names and broken faces tried to make a connection. Carver knew the boy's name, knew it well, but his own battle with addiction had made it frustratingly difficult to put a name with a face.

Camshaft, Cameron, Cam. The names clicked into place suddenly.

Carver saw so much of himself in the Cameron. Equal parts pride and stubbornness that would send him down a path to disaster. 

"No can do, Camshaft. This was a special request from the boss-man 'imself. 'Sides, even if it wasn' I'da come and found ya myself. Heard from a little bird that you been spendin' a lot of time holed up in your room and avoidin' the shite outta everyone. Can't be havin' that."  The little bird in question was not the bird that Cam likely thought it was but Carver wasn't above a bit of misdirection to get his point across.

The bearded recruiter turned counselor pushed himself up from his perch and sauntered toward his young charge. He placed a tattooed hand on his shoulder and give him a light shove towards the door. "Figured that you wouldn't wanna talk here. Since the new kids turned up place has been a bit too crowded. Besides, my usual pack mule isn't available since he went and got himself a job and I ain't about to haul it by myself."

"So, consider yourself conscripted. Don't think about this as you bein' forced to talk about whatever's goin' on. Think about it as two guys just hangin' out. Except one guy doesn't really have a choice if he wants to be there or not. " Carver gave a half smile as he began to direct Cameron out of the kitchen and towards the driveway where his cherished Barracuda slumbered. The grip on the boy's shoulder left little room to argue.