The hesitation, however slight, was just enough to convince Colby that the idea was idiotic. If he tried to escape, he figured that they'd only keep him in longer. It wasn't a prison, granted, but the people who worked at the hospital were people he was familiar with; who he had grown close to during his frequent visits over the years. If he tried to leave, they would only be more desperate to help him to stop the escape attempts being repeated in the future, and he hardly wanted to extend his visit, however much he liked them. He wanted his freedom and, ironically, escaping (and inevitably being caught) would only make that more difficult.
However, something did push him over the edge and force him to attempt (and eventually succeed in) escaping, albeit not for very long. During the night, before he had to sleep, he often borrowed one of the nurse's phones to absently scroll through his social media; not posting anything, simply browsing. It was almost impossible to fight the temptation to scroll through his ex-boyfriend's Instagram or Twitter. It upset him on most nights to see how happy Foster was... but seeing him in the arms of a new boyfriend instantly angered and upset him. Deciding he needed to see Foster in the flesh was the catalyst that caused him to pick the lock to the office, steal a pair of keys and head out.
Inevitably, he didn't find Foster; the boy had moved out of his apartment and further into central London with the rest of the band in order to help along their music careers. With the only reason he escaped now pointless, but not wanting to return to the hospital, Colby did what he knew best when he felt things he didn't want to feel - he contacted his dealer and got his hands on some drugs. It was far from wise, but when he was as emotionally distraught as he was about his ex, getting high didn't seem to be the problem; it seemed like the only solution he had.
Even though he had made an escape from the hospital -a fact they discovered around breakfast time the next morning-, Colby was found hunched up on the steps just outside it, shivering and murmuring incoherently under his breath. Within the hour, he was taken in, checked over, given a bath and then forced into something warm and comfortable after walking around in the freezing night with no warm clothing on. It was that that made him sick, which left him coughing hard and sneezing when he was finally allowed back to his room.
"...Don't fucking talk to me about it, I ain't in the mood for be patronised, Jacob," he muttered as he collapsed onto his bed, absently rubbing his arm where he had shot up just hours ago. The reminder of what he did only caused him to audibly groan... especially when he had no recollection of what he had done, only that he'd gotten high. He vaguely remembered almost getting into a fight with some drunken party-goers, but everything else was a blur, and that was beyond scary.
"I'm an idiot," he eventually grimaced, holding his pillow to his chest as his still bloodshot eyes took in Jake. "...It was only a-a little heroin, it wasn't... I... I guess that's still bad, but... I needed it; I fucking needed it. They shouldn't keep me off it if I need it to cope, right? Like, that's just fucking cruel."
