SPUD!

Green eyes glanced over at the bouncer, sickly hands finding themselves shoved in the pockets of his slightly-too-short skinny jeans. He let out a soft chuckle  - scratching his forehead as he moved to gaze at the ground. He knew that bastard. He also knew that he was a_ quick shooter._ Don’t ask Spud how he knew that - he really didn’t want to remember.

      “ Graze yer hand near his nob n’ th’ wanker’ll nut himself. “ He rubbed the bottom of his nose - he didn’t like discussing the efficiency of his acquaintance’s ejaculations but anything to get this pretty lass what she wanted. “It’ll distract th’ poor sod long enough tae slip in.” He coughed. “Th’ nightclub, thattis. Nit his arse or somethin’.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly at Spud, her head kinked to the side ever so slightly. “Right, Spud, when I’m no’ fleein’ we’re gon’na have a very frank an’ honest discussion about how you know that. But right now I want to get so pisht tha’ I can’t even walk, let alone speak.” 

He was quick to go through his pockets, finding a morphine tablet at the bottom, along with some pocket fuzz. Wiping it off on his shirt, he jogged over to the ( currently vomiting ) bodyguard, slipping the pill into his hand.

What Spud didn’t know is that several weeks from now he would find himself lost on the streets, kicked out of the house once more after the inevitable relapse. Alison would scream and shout, and Spud would stare blankly ahead — because nothin’ mattard when ye oan skag, nit yer wife, nit yer kid, nothin’. juast th’ sweet release o’ th’ needle.   

nbsp;     “ Aye, how is th’ wee kitt? Hadn’t heard from ye in years. How old is he now, anywey?” Spud’s kid had just celebrated his ninth birthday the month prior, and with the money Spud had saved from trying to go sober he had managed to buy him the train set he wanted. Just seeing the look of pure joy on his wee soldier’s face was enough to make the addict sob.

Frankie knew that all too well. It’s a mistake, to lump all addiction into one category, a skag addiction was different, it was an inward battle with your own brain, you can see what you’re doing is wrong, you know what you’re doing is hurting those around you but most of all you know what you’re doing is hurting you. You can’t eat, and when you’re off it you can’t sleep. But when you’re drinking, when you’re snorting gear, everyone else is wrong. You’re fine, you’re fantastic, you don’t need to do it, you’ve been doing it for fifteen year, but you could quit any time you wanted, but at the heart of it, people around you, people in your vacuum, they still end up hurt. 

Cunts who wanted to flaunt their wealth just to make people like him feel like less of a man.

Thin brows lift in blatant surprise, an audible puff of air leaving his lips in disappointment. God damn it, her gear was really fuckin’ top notch too. While the Scot was usually cheap, he did fancy going into a trip every once in a while without fear of not waking up.

Lanky limbs shifted, leg awkwardly intertwining with his other as parched lips found the brim of his pint of beer.  ‘ Aye, pretty shite, ah’d say. Gawt pished ah few months back n’ knocked ah few from tha’ locale apothecary. Gawt lifted by the polis. ’  His face scrunched up as he took another sip of his beer.  ‘ Incarcerated fer ah coupla months. Burd’s went totally radge, won’t let me near the flat. Been bummin’ sum shut-eye off mah mates since. ’

A long sigh, green eyes staring into the table. He just wanted to go home. ‘ An’ how ‘bout ye, Gen? Life treatin’ ye well? ’

 ‘ Life can bae heavy, lass. Life can bae heavy. ’ His head dropped, as if in depressed thought, but then not a moment later his gaze shot up and a smile appeared. As if nothing had happened.

❝ Drugs? Ye want drugs, lass?” An eyebrow shot up - Spud knew he looked like a heroin addict, so he wasn’t surprised she was asking. ❝ah din’t gawt shite.❞ Okay, he did, but he wasn’t about to go and give some American his precious snow. ❝ Go talk tae Mikey Forrester, on Grove. He’ll git ye some gear. 

 ❛  aye. ❜ a warm smile as he looks over at the lass, watching her simply enjoy the night sky. it was intoxicating. “  ❛ ah like tae come up ‘ere when the high drops. ❜ he looked down at his watch, face twisting,  ❛ which should in about 5 or so minutes. ❜

he sprawled out onto the ground, fishing his spoon, needle, bag of heroin and arm band from his pockets. he gazed up at the sky, then over at the girl.  ❛ weel, come on then. take a seat next to yer ol’ spudster. ❜

“Tae be fair, ye look fookin’ gakked, lass.” A broad grin, voice laced with giggles of his own intoxication as his scrawny hand swung to clamp down on the lass’s shoulder. “Lookit yer eens, lass. Thare is nae wey yer gettin’ in thare lookin’ liek that.”

It had been several years since Spud had seen Frankie, and unfortunately the bastard reminded him all too much of Begbie — whom he sincerely hoped was still locked up in prison. He looked up from his history book on Leith, green eyes widening in surprise, his frame instantly appearing severely uncomfortable. He hated when people referred to him as a junkie, as if that was all he was.

“Naw, naw, man. Ah gave up th’ skag, doin’ ten steps or whatever tae try n’ git awrself’s wash. Fer the wee bairn n’ all, likesay.“

“You’re on the straight an’ narrow? Fuck me, never thought I’d see the day. Well done Spuddo, am proud o’ ye’.” He patted Spud on the back, perhaps too hard. Frankie always thought he was tougher than anyone else, and despite the amount of cocaine he snorted he always looked down on heroin addicts, because he wasn’t addicted, you can’t get addicted to cocaine he told himself. Not like skag, skag ruined lives, cocaine just made for a good night. And even though this world-view was factually incorrect, it was the way Frankie looked at things. 

      ‘ – Nah, I don’ deal anymore. ’

It was only a short span of six months that Gen helped push the drugs she trafficked. The big man pulling the strings had better plans for her, unfortunately for her, that meant getting tortured during a job abroad. It wasn’t her first trip, of course, hence her recognized face around the dive bars in town. The torture might have been over, but her body was wrecked, and the escape back to the states could be longer than she hoped. Explaining this to her family would be even harder than the last time. 

      ‘ How’ve ya been, Spud? ’

Lanky limbs shifted, leg awkwardly intertwining with his other as parched lips found the brim of his pint of beer.  ‘ Aye, pretty shite, ah'd say. Gawt pished ah few months back n' knocked ah few from tha' locale apothecary. Gawt lifted by the polis. ’  His face scrunched up as he took another sip of his beer.  ‘ Incarcerated fer ah coupla months. Burd's went totally radge, won't let me near the flat. Been bummin' sum shut-eye off mah mates since. ’

CONTINUED     //    @aspernamentum

Spud’s eyes widened slightly as they made eye contact with Jack’s ’little visitor’, and his lips curled inward, a small trail of air leaving them in an audible puff of exasperation. " Aye? Weel, that’s why ye dinnae buy a malcom wi’ a fookin’ tenner, ye dumb cheap bastard. “ 

  He looked down at the body of the poor sod, slowly walking up and poking at him with his foot. Out cold. The man had a swing to rival Franco’s, he did. He had to make sure the two violent cunts never met up.

 His gaze turned upwards, and his face scrunched up in what only could be described as annoyance. ”Weel, ye probably shuid nae hae chosen this uppity pairt o’ toun tae hae yer wee rammy. Looks lik’ we git a yapper “ 

A sickly hand pointed upwards, a young lady with a phone to her ear in a window, presumably calling the police. Spud could not afford another run in with the cops, even if he didn’t have anything to do with this. So Spud ran.

“A tenner’s the goin’ fuckin’ rate!” Jack squealed. “It’d have to be the best eccy I’ve ever fuckin’ taken to be worth twinty fuckin’ bane! Daylight fuckin’ robbery.” Jack glanced down at his handy work. He didn’t take pride in beating folk up, his brother did, his brother loved a good scrap. Jack always tried to justify it to those around him, but that didn’t mean he glorified his own violent tendencies. “It’s Edinburgh we’re in – the hale fuckin’ toon’s uppity, Spuddo.” He grumbled as he followed Spud’s hand to the window. “Dirty grassin’ cunt!” He yelped. Jack was out on bail due to a separate incident. He ran, jumped over the fence and into the neighbors garden. Jack was pretty spry when he needed to be. One thing Jack hated more than pricks piping up was grasses, he simply couldn’t fathom what the need was to involve the police, who in his mind were all horrible bastards. Seeing a man run whilst he was pitching a tent was something to behold. Jack launched another fence, this time his feet landed on tarmac. 

He rounded a corner, making his way through alleys that he knew like the back of his hand. Ali would kill him if he got arrested again. “Tha’ wit ye git fer fightin’ in broad fookin’ daylight!” He called behind him, head turned so that when he made another corner, he didn’t see the very hard and very there wall.

for part 1 click here!

         ❛ aye… ❜ a soft murmur, unheard beneath the thumping base of the club. he looked down at her with soft eyes, it’s docility juxtaposed against the rapid beating of his heart. he felt as though he may explode.

none of his friends, save for when they were young, made him quite as giddy as beth made him. he adored his friends, he truly did, loved them all with his wee little heart — yet they were not nearly as calming as the lass was. none of them made him feel as cared for as beth did, as though his presence was truly enjoyed rather than merely tolerated.

he moved a hand to grasp beth’s, squeezing lightly. ❛ c'moan, les go git some air. ❜ pulling her behind him, he pushed his way through the crowd.

eventually, they made their way towards a ladder, ending up on the rooftop of the abandoned factory.

 ❛  aye. ❜ a warm smile as he looks over at the lass, watching her simply enjoy the night sky. it was intoxicating. “  ❛ ah like tae come up ‘ere when the high drops. ❜ he looked down at his watch, face twisting,  ❛ which should in about 5 or so minutes. ❜

continued ! // @aspernamentum

you live long enough with people telling you everything’s your fault, you start to believe it. spud certainly did. years of being told he’s a no-good junkie, that everything he touched wilted, that he’s just an absolute fucking fuck-up - when he had heard that one of the only acquaintances he held in new york had died, he instantly blamed himself.

               jack low. a little intense for spud’s liking, but the heroin addict always appreciated company that could tell a good story. plus, of course, the man was from scotland as well - glasgow, of course, and spud was from leith, but still the initial companionship remained. jack was always a solid pal to hit up for a few lines of cocaine.

                                  ❝ aye, ah knew him. a pure guid guy, jack wis. yin o’ th’ ainlie guys wha wid gimme th’ time o’ day whin ah cam tae visit this shithole o’ a countree.❞ he looked over at jimmy, a sad smile pulling at thin lips. ❝ ah wid loue tae accompany ye. ❞

It had always eluded Jimmy, the weird bond Scottish people seemed to have when they were abroad. Arguing over football, Caledonian bars, it all seemed like good fun despite the fact Jimmy rarely had any idea what was going on. Jack was funny, funny to his core, the crap that came out his mouth always had Jimmy doubled over in stitches, and Christ did the guy like a good fight. It was a shame he was gone. 

     “Y’know, I met him at a house party. He was six pills deep talking crap. Friends ever since. Now I got’ta face his mom, his sister, his brother, knowing I might as well have put the bullets in him myself.” His voice wasn’t overly intense, it was casual, as if he’d came to terms with it. He had not came to terms with the act, rather the situation. 

a pained laugh, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as his dome lowered. he never knew how to respond to serious situations like this. death was something he tried not to think about — although the threat of HIV constantly hung over him, the impending possibility of overdose a reality, and the quiet fear that he had ripped off the wrong people and he was going to be at the wrong end of a gun shaft one day.

but he tried not to think about death.

❝ christ, yer as slow as yer faither  ❞

               not that spud had any space to talk, mind you. he wasn’t the quickest gent there ever was.

    “Fuck off, Spuddy.”

That reaction was too quick. She didn’t mean it that harshly.

    “Glad I din’ see tha’ shite. Then again,      I was dyin’ ae dysentery. But tha’s in      the past.”

As much as she didn’t particularly enjoy being a nanny, it was difficult to say no to Spud. He was the only one that made an effort to be good.

❝ Oi, tha' ain't nae wey tae spake tae yer dear ol' uncle, now innit? ❞ the corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement — truth be told, Simon and Spud hadn't gotten along all that well in the last few years. But Spud had known Dawn since she was a wee bairn — crawling all over the piss-stained floor of Swanney's hideout. Spud considered her his niece, despite Simon's protestations.