Chapter 1

{ AUTHORS NOTE }

I did not write this story to offend or judge anybody, I wrote it to express a story of going about things when shit hits the fan. Please don't kill me. Thank you.

Slowly slipping off the ran-down couch, I drop the needle filled with my poison. Gripping my arm tightly, I hit the hot, sticky floor. Tucking my legs into my body, I close my eyes. The rush hits me like a wall, causing me to shake for a brief moment. This. The way I have ended up wasn't ideal; I'd actually hoped things would be different. Though they aren't, but the fix/drugs make me happy (momentarily). Which I suppose that this is the best I feel I can do; so I'll stick to it. No broken home, just my functionality without my 'poison' seems to be nonexistent. Though being bullied in school probably pissed away my chances of being completely normal, so I don't even try. I suppose it was broken? But then again, apart from family, what part of me "hadn't" been broken? The million dollar question seems to be, “Why didn't you seek help?”, and to answer that is I didn't want help. I like doing things by myself most of the time, having to ask makes me feel useless in some sort of mentality. 

Then of course when I reached my breaking point I decided to hurt myself, but from my perspective, using drugs is a form of self harm. Stupid, very f*cking stupid if you ask me, but Irrational Neah of course she'd do that. Scars always hidden, nobody knew, nor suspected a thing. It's kind of sad, I should be an actress, but my parents never found out. They never questioned why their little girl suddenly faded into the distance, because they had something else that caught the twinkle in their eyes. My little brother, though I'm not going to try and blame this on him, since it's my own personal issues that got me up shit creek without a paddle. Yes, of course I was jealous, but I took everything into my own hands. I no longer do that stuff, though it did whisk me into the gateway of drugs. 

My interest peaked on how it was said to make you feel numb. That was all I wanted, though sadly they don't really fancy lobotomy anymore. I first ventured into the world of drugs when I was about to turn 15, introduced to me by the one " Friend" I actually had in high school. He's still my dealer today; evidently I hold a special place in his heart. Considering that's the only human who gave me attention, It was about the same for me. Though he has forced himself on me, we all have our flaws. I'm not throwing away the only thing I really have. Alix, the guy's name, has really been the only person I have heavily relied on since I was that age. Him selling/supplying to me was a plus, he only smokes pot, which I don't think of him as addicted unlike me. So he shouldn't be completely screwed. 

A tiny laugh escaped my chapped lips, causing me to feel lighter than air. The short moan that followed made me want to bite my lip. Licking my lips, I begin to slowly slide my fingers into my mouth to bite my nails. Continuing to giggle ever so slightly and I continue through the rush.

Though he basically does sell everything; which I have tried since I get little discounts. It may be a tiny bit sad, but I'm surprised I haven't died yet. Even though I am headed for my 6 feet hole in the ground. All of us are, I'm just speeding myself up, and then sometimes I think of how my parents would feel. Betrayed, sad, the fact they overlooked everything for my brother. He would surely blame himself, and I don't want that. I didn't inject too much, but you won't have to listen to this part about me much longer. Currently I'm in college, Major in Fine Arts, and I am a stereotypical burnout/drugwhore. I'd throw a party for finally getting to the end of my own background, but I'm in no shape to even attempt to make myself a cake, or order pizza.

 The hours seep by as I come down off my high; the taste of slight blood stains my dry mouth. My attention move to my fingers and a smirk emerges. Reaching behind me I try and pull myself up with the couch to stand up before greeting the floor with my body again. I look down the hallways as I huff, "Fuck me.", before trying to push myself to the bathroom door. Slowly I drag myself before I'm hit with a wave of dizziness before my vision is washed over with a cloud of black.

Drifting back into consciousness, it appears that I'm being shaken violently. I inhale before I open my eyes to find the person or thing shaking me. The familiar scent awakens my senses and excites me, making me rush to open my eyes. Being greeted by a pissed off Alix wasn't ideal, but nothing usually is ideal for me.

"Wake the Fuck up!” His screaming scared me internally but my body can't react. 

His rough fingers are gripping my arms tightly, he stops shaking me as he realizes that I'm awake. His breathing softens before his face turns to a frown expressing that he is less than pleased. My eyes roll off to the side to see if he was the only one here, and it seemed he was. He violently shakes me once more to get my attention. He drops me after releasing me from his grip, and stands up slowly. He turns his back and steps away before reaching in his pocket and fishing out his cigarettes. I try and move myself up, but the disorientation still lies within me causing me to stay down. Rolling onto my elbows I try and crawl to the couch whilst listening to him light his death stick. Hearing something hit the floor I hear a huff as I'm abruptly picked up and tossed on the couch. 

"Fucking Christ. I'm so irritated with this. You always over-do it, and it pisses me off. What are you going to do when you die?" He screams at me as he takes a seat and flicks his ashes into my floor. The atmosphere was thick and I didn't want to speak. He huffs another whiff off his stick before continuing to bitch me out. 

"More importantly, what will happen to me? I could get in a lot of trouble just because you don't fucking listen, and honestly I'm getting to a point where I think I should cut you off. I need to cover my own ass." He said flicking another set of ashes onto my gross floor. 

My anger flushed around in my stomach as I wanted to get up and slap the shit out of him, even though I know what would happen if I did that. Moving my legs off the couch, off his lap to touch the floor he stops me. Firmly grabbing his hand I push it away, and move myself away also. Becoming more aware and getting myself back to normal, possibly allows me the ability to kick him out. Low chance, but it could happen. Opening my mouth to speak, I stop to think.

"I'm in my own home, and you are in no position to tell me what to do with what I buy. You can't make me do anything, and if you think you can then you are surely mistaken." My tone was weak, making me instantly regret what I said. 

His facial expression softened to show no emotion and he yanked my legs back onto the couch pressing down firmly, he flicked the ashes of his cigarette once more before hovering it over where he was holding down. Time moved by slowly and it grew closer before him pressing it hard against my right leg, making me wince.

"I can do whatever I want, and you can't do anything about it, Neah. You think you can ever escape me? Well you can't." He pauses before discarding the cigarette into my floor, before climbing on top of me. Fear set in as he pinned down my arms, moving closer to my face before kissing my cheek.

"Leave, I don't need you. I don't want you anymore." I stated loudly, catching him off guard for a comment like that. His expression changed once again, he released my limbs. He sat back staring at me, looking generally hurt, because I have never said that. His face softens even more, and he reaches for me, but I don't want to reach back. I don't want this anymore. My feelings are apparent now, I don't need him.

 There are other people who sell, who won't rape me, or play with my feelings. He moves closer to me, still not saying a word. I push myself back, fumbling off the couch onto the disgusting floor away from him. His eyes grew wider as the air grew thicker, making it harder to breathe. 

"Leave." I said harshly.

Snap

He crawls off the couch quickly and tries to get closer to me, I push myself back against the wall into the corner. My dry eyes follow his hand as he raises it, I knew what was coming. Closing my eyes I try and sheild myself as I wait for impact. 

A moment passes, nothing hits me. Taking a tiny peek, I was greeted by him with a stern look on his face.
I was seconds away from being possibly taken without wanting it, and then I said something I had never said before that will change everything.

"Get the fuck out of my life, I said I didn't want you." I screamed.

Regret fills me from head to toe; I didn't want to think about this anymore. As I awaited for him to leave, moments pass. Very uncomfotable ones for that matter. He eventually does get up and leave, but I knew this wasn't the end.Peeling myself off the floor, I stand on my wobbly stilts eotherwise known as legs, and move down the hallway holding on to whatever furniture/wall that's there. Reaching the bathroom I push the door open. The smell of mildew invades my nostrils and lungs. Stepping onto the ice cold tile causes me to shiver, I move my eyes to focus on my bathtub. Closing the door I lock it and launch myself to my destination, causing me nearly fall. I quickly strip off my clothes, before sitting down in my underwear.Weakly I push into the tub and turn the rusted knob for the hot water and plug the drain before laying back. My reality is very apparent now, what just happened is replaying in my mind and I'm analyzing the possibilities. The question that lingers from every observation is the same each time.
What have I done..