#gunstothank

"Ronnie, I’m going home, it’s--I’m too hot, I got a headache...”

“What?!” The man looked at Sky in disbelief, yelling over the thump-thump-thump of the monotonous bass booming from the walls. “It’s only two-thirty, kid!”

“No, I’m--I’m too tired, Ronnie, I wanna... I wanna go home...” Sky slurred, shaking her head and pushing Ronnie away with limp fingers. She was too drunk, too high for this. The strobe lights and flailing limbs of people around her were just overstimulating and claustrophobic now, and she felt like death.

“But you were goin’ out for us tonight, remember?” Ronnie grabbed hold of Sky’s arm and pulled her back, making her stumble on her platform heels and grab onto his shirt. “We got another couple pounds we gotta shift and they’re not movin’ ‘emselves-”

“Ronnie, I’m goin’--I’m going home, a’right?” Sky shoved him away, stumbling back slightly with the force of it. “I’ll make it up to you, dickhead... you can stick it in my ass or somethin’, okay? I’m leavin’ now!”

~

After battling through what seemed like an endless jungle of bodies in the club, Sky let her shoulders fall hard against the brick wall outside as she fumbled in her jacket for a cigarette, flicking her sunglasses with her free hand so they fell back over her eyes. She really was drunk, she really did have a headache, and she really was tired... and she really was going home. Only home wasn’t her apartment. Not really.

Sticking her arm out for a cab, Sky took a deep, long drag on the cigarette and ignored the drunken holler from a passerby as she tried to plan out what she was going to say to Jen. But she gave up after realising she didn’t really have to say much at all... she knew how her friend’s relationship had been going, all Sky had to do was show up.

~

So, when the taxi driver pulled up outside a tall, dirty white apartment building, Sky let her mind go completely blank as she forced her legs to climb the steps inside, the uneven sound of her heels on the concrete echoing in the silent hallways. She pulled her hair back and tied it in a high ponytail as she walked, and undid the top button on her shirt, so that her bra was only just visible, then knocked on the door of Jen and Quinn’s apartment.

Which it did, showing a tired and slightly annoyed Jen standing in the doorway. Sky grinned and reached into her pocket at the sight of her, pulling out an abnormally full bag of off-white powder.

Being on patrol in the city was never much fun, but it wasn’t horrible. It was what it was – Frank didn’t feel strongly enough about it to feel either way particularly.

Immediately upon getting into the van he looked around at who he’d been put on patrol with: two guys and a girl, the guys sitting in the front and the girl in the back, an empty seat next to her. Saying nothing and letting the others’ existing conversation take up the space, Frank slid into the van and sat right up against the door so that the girl wouldn’t touch him. It wasn’t as bad through clothes and when it was accidental, but he still hated it.

Good afternoon~

Since she’d gone back to the city, he’d spent almost all of his time sucking up to Red, the remainder being devoted to getting high, high as fuck, bad trip after bad trip followed by finally being numb and not feeling it when he fucked strangers for money. More money meant more heroin, more heroin meant less feeling, less feeling meant being able to fuck more, fucking more meant more money, and more money meant more heroin. Which meant less feeling.

Though all of this tended to add up and make him look like shit - only this time he had Red contributing to that. The skin around his eyes was dark, one of his cheeks was smeared with a dark blue and purple bruise flecked with spots of day old blood, and a black line split his bottom lip near the middle.

Without even considering his broken finger or the marks under his clothes - purple finger marks on his hips, scratches on his waist, black punctures up the veins on his arms and legs - he’d looked a lot better, even a week ago... just his luck that he’d be meeting Jen now, of all times. He hadn’t slept all night with the anticipation keeping him up, and even now he was high, albeit not so much as normal; just enough that he wasn’t going to start freaking out with withdrawal in front of her or anything. Jesus, if there was one thing he didn’t want to do, it was resort to shooting in front of her. No - he’d be able to wait. He’d have to.

It was one of those days where Skunk felt like he'd been walking forever, since he woke up. After a few hours he realised he must be way further out in the desert than he'd meant to go, and that he'd lost track of time on the way. Just his fucking luck - he had no idea where he was now, and it wasn't like there were many landmarks. In the distance one way he could see a cactus, and looking the other way he saw... another cactus.

Skunk spat angrily at the sand, glaring at it in frustration now he knew what he'd done. Good luck getting back by the time it gets dark, loser. God...

Biting into the inside of his cheek, he dropped his bag from his shoulder in defeat and knelt down next to it. Holding tight onto it he tugged the zip open, almost breaking it, then shoved his hand into the bottom, digging around until the familiar rough cold glass brushed against his fingers. He hooked them around the pipe and pulled it out, then took a bag of brown tinted, dirty looking translucent rocks from the pocket on his jeans. 

Tossing his bag aside, he tipped about half of the rocks into a bowl shaped hole at the end of the pipe and tugged a lighter from his jeans. He held the glass in his mouth as he crossed his legs on the sand and tried to sit at least semi comfortably, before flicking the lighter on and holding it beneath where the rocks were bunched together, taking a deep breath as he did and closing his eyes tightly.