Drop Dead Gorgeous

Chapter One

"The memory of you is like a drug to me." –Jeremy Aldana

"Jeremy?" I called that afternoon, letting myself in through the front door and running up the stairs so quickly I almost fell over in my impractical ballet flats.

I burst into his room and looked around to find him dressed in another one of his usual black shirts. He was toweling off his dark hair after a shower, and turned around, surprised. "Per?"

"I need a hit," I told him, breathless and shaking. "Please."

"Perrie, I'm sorry," he told me.

"Jeremy, please," I whispered feverishly, scratching my forearm with the need for release. "I need another shot."

He sighed, but nodded. "Okay."

He moved to his cupboard, and I looked around his room, which was dark and gloomy, but organized. I rubbed my neck and tugged at my hair, eager for something to numb the pain and make me feel human.

I felt hot and sticky and confined in my funeral outfit, and desperately needed to get it off to feel like myself again. I kicked off my shoes and rolled down my stockings, happy to have my legs free. Then I unzipped the corseted black dress and let it fall off me, so that I wore only the thin black slip. I scratched my arm again and tugged at my hair, which had been intricately pinned back for the memorial service.

My hair fell in a tumble of messy blonde waves around my face, and I rocked forward on his bed, burying my face in my hands and taking a deep breath.

I felt warm and gentle hands tugging persistently at my arms, and met Jeremy's gaze. I noticed him holding the rubber tubing and the needle, and sighed in relief.

I held out my arm, and he begrudgingly tied the orange rubber around and uncapped the needle. I turned away, and hardly felt the pinprick of pain as he inserted the needle. He pulled it back out, and I immediately felt the rush of endorphins and release. I sighed and shut my eyes, savoring the feeling of euphoria.

"That's so good," I whispered, giggling airily to myself.

Jeremy threw the needle carelessly on his dresser and sat on the bed next to me. "You okay?" he asked.

I opened my eyes, feeling the initial sense of joy escaping me, and a tender melancholy replacing it. "My best friend just died, Jer. How do you think I feel?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know it was hard on you."

"You don't have to pretend," I whispered. "I know you hated her."

"But you didn't," Jeremy replied. "And so I'm sorry that you lost her. I never wanted to see you as hurt as you are right now."

"I just wanna forget," I told him. "I want to be anyone but me. Everyone thinks I killed her."

"I know you didn't," Jeremy replied, squeezing my shoulders comfortingly.

"Every time I close my eyes, all I see is her lying there in that river, lifeless. She was so cold. She died alone and scared. I should've gotten there in time." I looked up at him tearfully. "Why does it hurt so much?" Jeremy pulled me into a hug, and I gripped him tightly. "She didn't deserve to die."

"No one deserves to die," Jeremy whispered. "I promise it'll get better."

"When? How?" I asked. "My best friend is dead. And look at me now. I'm just a junkie with no friends."