Aleksandr clenched his fists as Sylv began speaking in what appeared to be some manic-depressant trance.  [I]Ah, the truth...[/I] His blue eyes studied Sylv's grave expression.  His eyes darted to his father, who was thumbing through his prayer rope faster than ever.  His eyes landed back on Sylv as she spoke in a monotone voice.

"Lord have mercy," Father Seraphim half-whispered.

Aleksandr looked at his father, unclenching his fists. A small breath escaped his lips as he concentrated on the situation.  He was no sympathetic fool.  His father and he had seen families go through a great deal of pain due to drugs--especially growing up in the rural parts of the country.  Meth was a big one--he had seen it tear through the very heart of their parish at one point.

Father Seraphim looked worried, "Sylvia," he gracefully interjected through Aleksandr's thoughts, "Has this happened to you before?"  He was most curious and ready to take action. Aleksandr didn't move as his father talked, he was stiff, again, holding his breath.  His father was officially in priest-mode.  It wasn't that his father ever wasn't not a priest; it was just sometimes, his pious nature took full control and the second nature was no where to be seen.  His father normally felt like a stranger when this did happen.  The feeling always made Aleksandr uncomfortable--as if he lacked the ability to share his own father with other people.

[I]"Aleksy.  I'm home!" his father opened the front door.  He turned the lights turned on and called out again, “Aleksy! I’m home!”

The faint voice of Aleksandr was heard, “Dad…” He sounded sick.  

“Aleksy? Where—“ he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his son.  Aleksandr was huddled in the corner of the living room.  His clothes were spread on the ground and his fingers were digging into his bare skin.   Father Seraphim closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, “Aleksy, what’s wrong?”

“The lights…” his voice was quivering, "They won't stop..." He was rocking back and forth, steadily.

Father Seraphim dropped his black brief case.  It crashed with a thud onto the carpet.  He knelt down by his son, looking into his son’s face, “Do I need to call an ambulance?” He had a suspicion of what was happening but first things first.

“Dad, I’m…” he paused. His lips were dry and his breaths were quick, “I am so fucked... up... right... now,” he stuttered.
[/I]

Father Seraphim closed his eyes for brief moment as he remembered his very own Aleksy dealing with drugs.  It was still a fear in the back of his mind—for good reason, too.  One of the last things he wanted was for his son to turn into a parent like Sylvia's mother.  He would be having another anti-drug talk with Aleksandr post this evening in regards to such an event. [@Arista]