High Hopes In Low Places

Chapter One: Amphetamines

CONTENT WARNING: DRUG USE, CURSING, SEXUAL HARASSMENT, HOMOPHOBIC SLURS, MENTION OF SUICIDE

THIS IS NOT A STORY FOR THOSE UNDER 18, READER DISCRETION ADVISED

--warning concluded--

"I was born in a messed up century, my favourite flavoured sweets are raspberry amphetamines. I bought a car, Beretta, age 16. I brush my teeth with bleach 'cause I ain't got time for cavities..."

The blinding sunlight pours into my bedroom through my cheap curtains, blasting me in the face like a knuckled fist.

"Fuck," I groan, "Fuck the sun." I'm really not in any mood for something that volatile to be shoving itself in my face this early in the morning. 

I force myself into a more vertical position, slouching onto my knees; a wave of nausea washes over me, so I reach for one of the many half-drank water bottles on my night stand and my lock box. I still feel extremely tired and was nearly tempted to collapse back into my bed and fall asleep; I take a swig of stale bedside water before taking an adderall from my faded pill bottle and slinging one into my gullet, swallowing the plastic-feeling thing down. 

Come on, kick in already please... I think, kicking my feet like an agitated sleepy toddler.

I need to get a better container for my pills, and I need to get more. Only three more left. Great.

I was hit with a wave of nausea and hoped it would die down soon, but I'm not one to hold out hope on that matter-- amphetamines aren't really touted for their anti-nausea properties.

I cap and shut the bottle, opening my night stand drawer and slinging the bottle back in. Not leaving it on top like I did last night. I pick up my phone and check the time: quarter past seven. Impressive, I haven't gotten up this early in about two weeks. I get up off of my bed and make my way to my closet; no door, so it is rather easy to pick my outfit for the day without the hassle of a damn door. Black crewneck with a splotch of bleach by the neck, old blue jeans, socks from the monster pile on the floor, and black checkered slip-on shoes. 

Yep, that's what I'm going with. 

I left my room with my clothes in my arms, stopping by the closet in the hall to get a towel and a wash cloth, and heading to the bathroom to get a shower. I could take my time since nobody's up and I don't have any classes for four hours. I won't, though. Ten minutes in, grabbing breakfast, and getting the hell out before mum and dad are up.

Ten minutes later, I am out of the shower and dried off. Teeth brushed, hair combed, armpits deodorized, body dressed. I run back to my room to get my book bag and then to the kitchen to make a quick sandwich. I hear my dad loudly yawn from the other room. 

My cue to leave. 

I gather my keys from the kitchen counter, shove the sandwich into my mouth, and bolt out the door. I dive into the driver's seat of my car, tossing my bag into the passenger's seat and cranking up the engine. I pull out of the driveway and onto the street, waiting for a red light before I take the sandwich out of my mouth, laying it on my right leg. I reach for the middle console, picking up my lone pack of cigarettes and noticing I have two left not counting the one I retrieve to light up.

Shit, I need more. 

Putting down the dwindling pack, I pick up my lighter, and deeply inhale as the flame kisses the end. Everything in the world gradually becomes calmer, so put the flame away and I take another drag.