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For Danny - Debut
Oct. 14th, 2013 06:17 pmThey won't let her into the club, the assholes. Sons of bitches say they're her friends, they love her and the second hard times fall look who's nowhere to be fucking found. Brooke fired her ass months ago and as of yesterday she is no longer employed as an exotic dancer at Foxxy Box because of her tendency to not be precisely on time and just like that she's shit out of luck, on her ass with nowhere to stay and only one, real option.
She can go out with a bang. Brooke's always been way too trusting and Rachel has it on good authority that she hasn't been to the Chelsea apartment in weeks. The blows her last five hundred on heroin, the good stuff and shows back up with an offer to party on her. She feels, briefly, bad as the apartment gets royally trashed within an hour but Brooke owes her and soon she's flying too high to care about anything.
Time slips and slides by in jerks and fits. One second there's a throbbing, sweaty mass of bodies and the next, she's alone on the couch with daylight starting to stream in from the windows. Jesus, she's sick. She needs another hit and as she kicks off her shoes and stumbles to the bedroom, she's already tying off and sliding the needle in. It hits her hard, harder than it should as she stumbles through the doorway, the purple bedspread starting to melt and ooze into something different. It's wrong. There's fucking dirt and it smells and as her eyes start to roll, she has just enough presence of mind to start and panic.
She can go out with a bang. Brooke's always been way too trusting and Rachel has it on good authority that she hasn't been to the Chelsea apartment in weeks. The blows her last five hundred on heroin, the good stuff and shows back up with an offer to party on her. She feels, briefly, bad as the apartment gets royally trashed within an hour but Brooke owes her and soon she's flying too high to care about anything.
Time slips and slides by in jerks and fits. One second there's a throbbing, sweaty mass of bodies and the next, she's alone on the couch with daylight starting to stream in from the windows. Jesus, she's sick. She needs another hit and as she kicks off her shoes and stumbles to the bedroom, she's already tying off and sliding the needle in. It hits her hard, harder than it should as she stumbles through the doorway, the purple bedspread starting to melt and ooze into something different. It's wrong. There's fucking dirt and it smells and as her eyes start to roll, she has just enough presence of mind to start and panic.
