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TRIGGER WARNING
IT’S COLD TONIGHT. Not the kind of cold that pricks your skin and makes you zip your coat up. No. This one gets inside you-sinks into your bones and makes everything feel… hollow.
I walk down the path, the street lamps casting pale yellow light over the swings and rusted goalposts. I’m not at home. Couldn’t stay there. Couldn’t breathe there.
The walls were pressing in, and every corner of my room screamed at me. It’s been two bloody weeks, and I can’t take it anymore.
I don’t feel like me.
But the worst part? I only ever feel like me when I take those stupid pills.
A dry laugh escapes me. It’s pathetic. What kind of person needs to be high to feel normal?
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my grey zip-up, head bowed. I don’t care that it’s late. Don’t care that I’m alone in a dark park where anything could happen. I feel like I’m falling apart from the inside out and I need something—anything—to feel normal again.
I glance up at the basketball court. There are a group of guys lingering over there, none are Jude though. Letting out a deep breath, I scan the area and notice three girls sitting at a bench, cigarettes in hand.
The more I head towards them, the more their eyes narrow at me skeptically.
“Do you guys know where Jude is?” I ask, voice even, pretending like I’m not desperate. I am.
One of the girls cocks a brow. “Jude Walker?”
I hum in response, keeping my gaze steady. They’re all judging me—I can feel it—but I don’t have time for that. 0He has something that I need.”
That makes them relax. One of them snorts, and another chuckles, flicking ash from her cig. “Why didn’t you just say that then?”
“Go out the park this way,” one of them gestures down the road, “and head left. There’s a house party tonight. He should be there.”
I nod. “Thanks.” Turning on my heel, I leave without another word. Every step I take toward the house makes the urges claw harder inside my chest. It’s like something’s tearing me apart. My skin itches. My hands are shaking in my pockets. I should turn back. Go home. Drink some water and go to sleep. But I can’t.
I don’t know why I thought I could live without them. I’ve gotten too attached, I guess. It’s a necessity. Something I need to live.
The music hits me before the house even comes into view-bass heavy, windows vibrating. The house is narrow, attached to the ones beside it, paint peeling, grass overgrown. People linger outside-alcohol bottles in hand, couples snogging in the shadows, smoke curling into the air.
I push through the front door. The air inside is hot, sweaty, reeking of weed and cheap perfume. Bodies press against each other, music blaring from cheap speakers, lights flashing.
Aaron crosses my mind for half a second. Is he here? He lives in this area. It’s a possibility.
I push the thought away so fast it makes my head spin. He can’t see me like this. No one can. Especially not him.
I tap a girl on the shoulder. “Have you seen Jude?”
She gives me a once-over, then shrugs. “He’s in the garden, I think.”
Garden. Right. I squeeze through the crowd, shoving past a couple of lads throwing back shots in the kitchen, then slide the back door open and step into the garden.
There he is. Jude. Talking to two of his boys like he hasn’t just wrecked my life by disappearing for days. He’s in a black hoodie, a cig tucked between his fingers, hair buzzed short just like before, and jaw sharp as ever.
“Jude,” I call.
He turns, sees me, and for a split second, there’s something in his eyes. Not surprise. Not annoyance. Something else. Something unreadable.
He walks over slowly, exhaling smoke. “I can’t, Academy.”
My brow furrows. “Can’t what?”
“You know what.”
The tremble in my limbs worsens. My throat is dry. I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, and I’ve got nothing holding me back. “It’s been two weeks,” I whisper. “I need something.”
He sighs. “You’re young. You’ve got so much to live for.”
I laugh. A bitter, broken sound. “I don’t, Jude.”
He looks at me, jaw tight. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
“Why?” I snap.
“Because you’re-“
“No. That’s bullshit,” I snap. “Tell me the real reason.”
His eyes flash. “I fucking can’t, okay? I’m doing you a favour. You deserve better than this shit.”
“Fuck you,” I scoff, stepping back. He had no problem selling to me before. What’s changed?
Because if he thinks he can save me? It’s too late. I tried. I tried to stop and look at where it got me? Alone, in a stranger’s house, at midnight, begging for pills from someone who barely knows my name.
Shouting erupts from inside the house, catching both our attention. A girl—black hair, leather skirt—getting shouted at by some guy.
“Wait,” he mutters, already pushing past me.
I huff, arms raised in frustration. Brilliant. What now? Then I remember. What I took from Aaron could help.
My chest tightens at the thought.
No.
Taking it in the first place was wrong. I shouldn’t have. I already regret it. I press my palms to my eyes, trying to block the memory. Stop, Carmen.
“Yo,” a voice interrupts my thoughts, deep and unfamiliar.
Looking up, a guy stands a few feet away from me, short light brown hair with the sides shaved, hoodie halfway off his shoulder. I’ve never seen him before.
“Jude won’t sell to you, huh?” he asks.
I scan the garden. There’s no one but me and him. Jude’s friends must have followed him inside the house. Shit.
I don’t bother making eye contact as I try to walk past him. Bad idea. He grabs my arm. Firm. Not rough. Just enough to stop me. “Wait, I’ve got something for you.”
My gut twists. This is bad. This is so fucking bad. But not worse than the urges.
Before I know it, I’m following him back inside, though the crowded hallways until we reach the stairs. That’s when I hesitate.
“It’s just up here. Don’t worry.”
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. It’ll be fine. I’ll take what I need and leave. Before I know it, I’m following him up the steps.
“In here,” he says, pushing open a door. It’s a small room. There’s a bed against the wall and a dresser to the side but that’s it.
“Dylan!” a voice calls out.
I glance back.
Another guy. Taller. Blonde, wavy hair. Arms crossed. When his eyes land on me, they soften.
“Cal,” the guy who I’m with, who I now know as Dylan, replies.
They both stand there for a few seconds, arms crossed, glaring at each other like words should be said but no one is speaking up. What’s going on?
Cal looks between us, then opens his mouth but Dylan quickly interrupts. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” he says quickly, then nudges me inside and shuts the door.
The room’s dim, the only light coming from a cracked lamp on the dresser. I wrap my arms around myself, biting the inside of my cheek nervously, as I watch him walk towards the black bag in the corner of the room.
He picks it up, grabs something, then throws it back on the ground. My blood runs cold. It’s not a bag of white pills. No.
It’s a needle.
“What’s that?” I ask, taking a step back as panic rises in my chest.
“Just something a little stronger than what Jude sells.” A step towards me.
“I’ve only taken pills.” A step back.
“Don’t be scared, love.”
My back hits the wall, breath shallow as I glance around the room—no escape, just us. “You need something for them urges, yeah?” He raises his brows.
I nod. Just barely.
“Then this is your answer.”
My eyes fall onto the needle. What’s in it? How strong is it? A part of me is screaming no, while the other is desperate to try it.
He softens slightly. “Listen… you wanna know why Jude won’t sell to you?”
I frown, my brows furrowing in curiosity. “You know why?”
A smirk grows on his lips. “The whole of Trinity knows. Word travels fast,” he chuckles. “When Aaron fucking O’Connor tells Jude to keep a particular blondie off the list, people pay attention.”
I freeze.
No. It can’t be.
He’s wrong. He has to be.
If what he’s saying is true then Aaron knows. Knows that I’ve been taking pills and for God knows how long. He knows. The one thing I didn’t want to happen, already happened and I had no idea. Everything inside me spirals.
“You must be a special one,” Dylan mutters, “if Connie went out of his way like that.”
My chest burns. But it’s not anger. Not really. It’s shame. Thick and sharp and clawing at my throat.
“Well, it’s not his business,” I snap. “He’s not my boyfriend. Not my dad either.”
Dylan raises a brow. “So… you want this?” He gestures to the needle. Swallowing hard, I nod. He tugs at the hem of my hoodie. “You might wanna take that off.”
It’s okay, I tell myself repeatedly. My shaky hands reach for the zipper and pull it all the way down before taking it off, dropping it on the ground, and leaving me in just my white tube top.
“Alright, love,” he sighs, grabbing my left arm. “This might sting a bit.”
And without a warning, the needle pierces my skin, causing a wince to leave my lips.
Then still. Just stillness.
The warmth spreads through my body like a wave. A sick, sweet wave that makes everything soften. The world blurs. My limbs feel weightless. My head tilts back, my eyes fluttering.
Fuck. This feels so good. It shouldn’t but it does.
Dylan catches me before I hit the floor, lifting me and laying me on the bed. “You’re feeling it already,” he murmurs.
I nod slowly, my body sinking into the mattress like it’s made of clouds. Everything’s fuzzy. Distant. Like I’m watching the room through a fogged-up window.
I hear something. His voice. Like he’s trying to speak to me. “What?” I don’t know if I actually said anything. Maybe it was in my mind.
“You wanna know why Connie told Alexander you’re off-limits?” He sounds distorted, as if he’s miles away, but I understand him just barely.
I nod weakly. Why would he do that?
“Because his poor mum died of an overdose,” Dylan mutters, crouching beside me. I feel his cold hand on my cheek, his thumb rubbing in circles.
I flinch away. “What?” Am I hearing things? With my eyes barely open, I try to stand up only for him to push me back down.
“Yeah. His mum. Overdose.”
The words hit like a train. But it’s too late. I can’t react. Can’t cry. Can’t move. My body’s floating and my brain’s already slipping.
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