Junk Love.

twenty-five.

Mel can remember the speeches that defined her adolescence. Don't have unprotected sex -- worry about STD's or babies. Don't stay out after curfew -- there are psychos out there. Don't do drugs -- they will kill you. At least, she imagines that's what a normal parent would say.

Her upbringing was different. Sex before marriage -- sin and damnation. Stay out after curfew -- recite Bible verses in front of the whole church. Do drugs -- you've let the devil in child, eternal fire and brimstone! Those were Dad's lessons and it didn't matter she'd worn a chastity ring to appease him.

Younger Mel was a notorious scoffer. Every lesson from her Father was terrifying as it was embarrassing. By sixteen she'd flushed her chastity ring down the toilet. That was also the year she let the Devils in.

Until recently she hasn't given much thought to how she was raised. Being trapped in a stuffy room does that to a person though. Old memories bubbling up from an otherwise listless surface.

A stench of rubbing alcohol masked in cheap detergent permeates the space and sterile white walls close in around her. Mel's gaze is level, resolute, on the bed Carter lays in. The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor accompanies his sleep.

Unlike other parents, the consequences laid out by her father were eternal and altering. She never fathomed she'd agree with him. Tonight she does. If she was high, waiting for Carter to regain consciousness, she would have been a bundle of nerves. Practically seizing in the rickety plastic chair ready to bolt out the window at the slightest disturbance.

Sober, she waits fixedly. Patient and still in her contemplation. Perhaps Dad was right about the demons. She smoked or snorted chemicals until her own mind became a black hole heaving everything into obsolete.

The monitor beeping picks up speed and she startles, tugging a hangnail she'd been picking at in an awkward angle. Carter's eyes flutter open to Mel's reacting half wince half grimace. Although she's hot with rage, she softens when he almost resembles the innocence of a boy. He looks at her bleary eyed and confused.

Balling up his leather jacket, Mel tosses it at him harder than necessary. "Get up. We're leaving."

Carter almost appears scared as he glances around the room. "How'd I get here?"

"The hospital?" Mel's chuckle sounds manic in its dryness. "Well after I spent half the night looking for your ass I saw a fucking battalion of cop cars in front of a pub. Apparently before you OD'd you bashed some dude's head in with a whiskey bottle."

"Fuck." If he gets any paler he's likely to turn completely transparent. "My head hurts I don't remember any of that."

"You're lucky that's all that hurts." Mel twists her tongue, tracing the ridges of her teeth as she struggles to keep collected. The hospital is the worst place to yell but her gut is churning.

Every part of Carter is a rigid edge. Like he's a lopsided glacier bobbing along uncharted seas.

"Seriously Carter? You should know as well as me that the weekend warrior shit gets you dead. It's too easy to OD."

"How'd you know I was only using on the weekends?"

A shadow of her childhood smirk haunts her expression. "Because you're not as good at hiding it as you think."

"Look Mel..."

Presently, his explanation is going to be the final nudge she needs to erupt entirely. "I can't talk about this right now. They had to detox the fuck out of you. Any minute the cops could come back and I want us out of here before that happens."