Happy

"Once hooked, you're on a leash. Don't try drugs"

Christmas break of 1992 found Addison in a dingy alleyway in Secaucus, New Jersey.

She'd be back at school in three days, and she knew she had promised herself it would only be for the holidays, that she'd stop before school even came back, but it helped. She knew if anyone knew they'd be worried, they wouldn't like it, they'd try and stop her. But hadn't everyone been telling her for years that she couldn’t always put the wants and feelings of others before her own?

Yes, that's true.

If they knew, if they really understood, they'd be happy for her.

This was what she told herself as she bought enough to last her a school term and rotations from the same friend of a friend she had bought the Addys from. She didn't want to think too hard on how much she had to get from the ATM for it. But he was more than happy to have her as a customer.

Addison slowly swirled the brown-red liquid in the glass; the world slowing on its axis as she brought the glass to her lips.

The liquid burned in her throat as she swallowed and she found herself praying it would set fire to everything, if only for a moment. She would take relief wherever she could get it. When the glass was levelled again, she looked through the liquid. The world was rose-coloured and vaguely translucent and that simply would not do.

Addison did not wear rose-coloured glasses.

She was a realist. There was no escape from an often harsh world. She no longer told herself out of ignorance or fear that everything would be fine if she willed it so. Realism was the only reason she hadn't completely crumpled. Deep down, the pragmatist in her knew that pessimism was just as destructive as blind optimism. It was about balance; there was a time and a place for both. But life seemed so hopeless ever since she stopped the pills, her deep-sadness, loneliness felt so overwhelming that it was easier to sink rather than swim.

Because, in the end, nothing would change.

She needed more, needed something, so she could get out of this rut, and feel less itchy in her own skin and irritated of the fact that her best friend was thirty minutes late.

As she looked through her rose-coloured glass, she realised that it wasn't about optimism or pessimism. Perhaps it was just the act of grasping onto that last shred of integrity with both hands in hopes of fighting off the truth. Because the truth was nothing simple. She lifted the glass to her lips and drank the rest in one gulp. It burned, but she didn't wince. Instead, she relished in it and continued to hope that it would abolish her of all her sins.

"I'm so sorry I'm late — and you started without me," she heard her best friend's voice coming from behind her and turned, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Savvy."

She stood up to give her a quick hug, stumbling on her feet a little. She was all long legs and in heels after all. And not drunk at all. She wasn't drunk like she would like to be. Being drunk made the world run in slow, suspended motion. Made her forget; not nearly as much as the Pearl she was craving, but it was a hell of a lot easier to go through her day with something in her than not, lately.

"Oh, honey," Savvy said, holding her by the elbows as she looked her up and down, "You look ... wow. You look great. What diet are you on?"

"Medical school. Stress. And anxiety." she said, jokingly, and they both burst out laughing.

As they both sat down on their seats, she was aware that she had lost a bit of weight. She had hardly eaten because she was hardly ever hungry. But she never thought it was something anyone would notice. No one had mentioned it until Savvy just did.

"I wish that's how it is for me. I've got a lot of those too, you know. Law school. Stress. Anxiety." Savvy joked and they both laughed again.

"Don't sell yourself short. You look amazing, Savvy, as always." Shaking her head, "I don't see what you see." Addison said and Savvy took that as her cue to practice pleading her case and being the lawyer that she wanted to become she stated her arguments as though she was in court.

Once Savvy was through, case rested, Addison, the whole time, tried to look engaged, tried to match the appropriate expression to what she was saying, as though she really cared and was actually listening, she gestured at her glass, "It's my first glass, Savvy." she playfully said, indicating that it was too early in the evening for her to do her whole lawyery stint.

"We've never gotten a chance to talk about thatnight."

Addison tensed at her seat. The seriousness in Savvy's voice caused her to lift her head and look at her. Savvy was never one to beat around the bushes. "Right. That night."

If they were going to talk about that night, then she'd definitely need something more potent in her. And soon. Because she could feel herself vibrating with the need for it already.

Addison hesitated, then sighed. "Yeah, umm, okay, sure. We'll talk but I, ahh, really need the bathroom first —"

She watched as her friend's face turned into a frown. "Oh. I'm so sorry. Have you been waiting because of me —" Savvy began apologising but Addison was quick to stop her, "No. No. It's alright. Really." she said with a reassuring smile.

"Alright. But so you want me to order for us first?"

"Please. I'm starving." she groaned in exaggeration. And just noticing how truly starving she was. She hadn't eaten all day and yesterday.

She only had a banana yesterday, she thought to herself.

"Salmon, right?"

Addison nodded, clutching her bag tightly to her as she went.

Once in the bathroom, she locked the stall behind her. She was crashing, though she had just taken a hit at her apartment right before coming here, she felt it, and the black hole that was her existence would swallow her whole if she didn't do something to stop it.

The baggie, still filled was right in her bag and she knew it would only take a little bump to get through this dinner. That was why she didn't stutter when she pulled it out, didn't doubt herself when she tapped out a little on the flat part of her hand between her thumb and forefinger, didn't flinch when she closed a nostril and used the other to snort the powder.

Addison swallowed the taste at the back of her throat. The feeling was so weird and yet the burn was a pleasant kick to her system, like she was snorting ground glass. It was all worth it when her mind finally calmed down. She pulled up and tilted her head back, licking off the rest of the powder, sniffling again and rubbing her nose.

Pearl worked wonders on her busy mind. It gave her tunnel vision of sorts and it let her focus on just one thing, she saw clean straight lines, working as fast as her mind seemed to go, and she got things done. It was similar to Addy but so much more precise and pinpoint, instant and ingenious — it certainly made her feel that way.

"Shit," she cursed when she noticed the toilet paper dispenser empty, her nose was starting to run, and shook her head hard.

She blinked a few times, refusing to let her watering eyes turn into anything more.

She took one Addy to even out the high throughout the night.

Death didn't scare her. She had always had a feeling she was going to die young anyway.

She had managed to stave off the pills for a whole eleven months, maybe more, because — one; she had had a seizure, though mild, it had absolutely terrified her, two; the whole not sleeping thing for days and days on end was an absolute mindfuck, and three; she didn't like the feeling of being dependent on something and with her somewhat addictive personality, she knew she was already hanging on a thin line and was mere weeks away from spinning it out of control.

When she had gotten home from hospital, after multiple tests were done that showed no damage to her brain, she didn't want to — no, more like she couldn't get out of bed for almost a whole week. Physically, she couldn’t because her mind didn't want her to.

She would get really sick in the morning, sometimes all day, stomach cramping as she forced bile out of her throat. Then, she'd drink only water and sleep for the entire day, truly exhausted and drained.

"Addison," her eyes flew open at the touch against her skin, the depression of the mattress under Derek's weight as he sat near her head. "What's wrong? You've been like this since we got back. I'm really worried." he said, hands stroking through her hair.

Addison made a low, distressed noise.

"What is it, Addie? Are you in pain?"

And when she didn't answer him, he cupped her cheek and made her look at him. "Talk to me. Please. I wanna help you. What happened? What's wrong?"

There were tears in her eyes, and her voice was ragged from sobbing. "Nothing's wrong with me, Derek. Nothing happened to me ... I happened."

She was just really sad.

She swallowed hard, fighting the bile that had threatened to rise in her throat again, and took a quick sip of her drink to wash it down again. Everything tasted so foul these days. Ginger ale, fruits, soup — even simple bread.

She knew her friends were all concerned about her, especially when she refused to talk to them, refused to let them help her. But how could she describe the blinding pain that lasted for hours and lingered for days? How could she tell them that she did this to herself? That the psychological turmoil was greater than any physical?

They had enough to worry about already without her poor self adding to it.

Derek tried, though. He truly tried to help, cheer her up. But he couldn't since she wouldn't tell him what the problem was.

And when he moved to get out of her bed.

A feeling Addison didn't understand shot through her, all she knew was that she didn't want Derek to leave. The loss of those soothing arms from around her would be unbearable. "No. No, don't go … stay here with me … please," she added the last part hesitantly, the word unfamiliar on her lips.

She had been telling him to for days to leave her alone, to lock the door when he leaves every single night but tonight she wanted him to stay with her.

And maybe even, forever.

Because that was when she knew they'd be forever — well, she'd like them to be — and that she loved him. She couldn't see herself happy with anybody else.

Derek gave her a small tender smile and re-placed his arms around her, "If you want me to stay, I'll stay, don't worry." He gently smoothed the red locks of hair out of her face where they'd fallen, "Now, I think you should try to eat, you need to get your strength back."

“Later.”

“Promise?”

Addison nodded, and closing her eyes, she curled up against Derek's warm body, grateful for the strong arms tightening around her … for their comforting presence. Here she wasn't plagued by her dark, twisted and sad thoughts, here she was… safe. Safe in the arms of someone who loved her ... to be here just felt so right.

X X X

Happy.

Happiness was always a concept that baffled her. She couldn't understand how one could simply just choose to be happy. Like it was an option? She have tried, to will herself to feel happiness — trust and believe.

And disappointingly, it is not a switch that she could just flick on and off.

Because they said that happiness is based on overcoming.

Overcoming what?

From almost failing, and then succeeding could be one. Beating death would be another.

Indeed. Nothing’s better, if one had recently faced death and overcame it.

Recovering from an illness.

I’m just so happy to be alive!

School or work success.

She had a seizure and she did not dead, no damage done whatsoever. She was in one of the best medical schools in the world. She was going to be a doctor. She literally had everything — money, apartment, Derek, family and friends.

She overcame.

So, why could she not be happy?

The magnitude of the struggle, and the pain it caused, equates to the magnitude of the happiness once you overcome it.

For so long, she didn't know what happy felt like. To chase that high of happiness. Because she had severe emotional withdrawals from the Addys that didn't let up and for months. Some days were of course better than others, but it was always with a constant hum of depression. And some days, she couldn't even get out of bed — didn't have the desire, will and energy to do anything, let alone go to class.

Her grades began to suffer and she was still playing along with the fact that she was ADHD with her psychiatrist.

She couldn't just go to one appointment without being a total fraud.

But trouble all began again in fall, when she was starting her eight-week rotation on general surgery. It was the longest one yet and she literally had zero energy to do anything — she hardly ate and when she did, she'd binge; she stopped moisturising like she always did every night; she stopped going to get her nails manicured, she'd chew them off instead — all she was was dragging her limbs heavily across the hallways.

Never had she felt like this. She got quieter, more distant, less like herself. She didn't want to burden anyone with her issues, so she wouldn't go out with her friends. They already have their own shit to deal with. Sam and Naomi were once again in one of their infamous breaks. And it was honestly not as bad as it seemed. She was just a bit lost at the moment and needed to gain back control of her life.

On Thanksgiving, they went to her parents' — Derek and her and Mark since he had nowhere else to go — she almost, just almost started up with Addys again. It was just that stressful and baneful to be in that house. Because at that moment pros outweighed the cons — she didn't have to listen to Bizzy's criticism all night and if she did, it'd be with a hum of bubbly brightness.

Happy.

Her mother kept making remarks on her weight gain, not only to her, but to everyone else, who didn't have any purpose in knowing that, in the party — somehow Bizzy would snake 'weight' into the conversation.

She was so humiliated and embarrassed, to say the least. And so, she drank and drank to dull Bizzy out and half a bottle of gin later, it worked; the more she drank, the more inebriated she became and the less she was aware of her mother's nagging voice.

She woke up in her own apartment the next morning — how she got there? She assumed Derek took her home.

Did she made a fool of herself?

She could not remember. But Bizzy's words stuck with her and so, she stopped eating because obviously that was the only logical thing to do. Only eating every once in a while.

And still, she felt like half a person, half of who she was. She couldn't remember the person she used to be. She felt as if she hadn't taken the pills in the first place, she would not be feeling this way — like Addy had taken who she was.

And it was all on her, her fault. And that fact absolutely killed her.

Sometimes she would hide in the supply closet and cry. Her supervisor had caught her once, he thought it was due to the realities of being a doctor, so he gave her a talk about attachments and comforted her.

What he didn't know was that she was selfish and conceited, crying because she didn't know what she was doing with her life. She questioned her existence, her purpose, she hated herself, she wasn't doing well in school anymore; she just wasn't at all happy.

Happy.

And she wanted to be in that place again.

The only thing that was grounding her was being able to see her ribs more clearly in the mirror with every passing week, as messed up as that sounds. It gave her a feeling of control, something that her life was lacking.

Everything was out of control.

X X X

The first time Pearl came up was during her third week of surgical rotation. The resident, whose name she could not remember, was teaching her about treatments for oesophageal bleeding. So she asked her, "How do you stop the bleeding?"

Without thinking too much, she instantly blurted out, "Inject Pearl into the vessel. It will constrict the vessel and prevent bleeding."

The surgical resident spurted coffee out of her nose and looked at her with utter confusion and disdain.

The things third-year medical students say.

She bet attendings had a lot of stories about the stupidest things they've heard from medical students and this had to be top three.

Because instead of saying cauterisation or epinephrine (which are commonly-used medical treatments), she jumped to an illegal drug — Pearl, Snow White, Big C. In her defence, Pearl really does cause vasoconstriction, so it could potentially work.

Well, she meant … If the hospital somehow ran out of bovies, epinephrine, pressors, and other ways to prevent shock.

But it was stupid. She felt so stupid and dumb. But the resident wasn't discouraging her efforts and she told her that it wasn't so far-fetched because they do inject Pearl. Very rarely, though. And it worked wonders for stopping the bleeding.

It was a couple of weeks after that strange encounter with Pearl that she had a go with it herself. It was a girls night out with Savvy and Naomi and they somehow, by no one's fault, got separated in the club.

She didn't actually feel like going out clubbing that night, she didn't feel like going out, period — it was cold, it was snowing — let alone to a cooped up box with writhing, sweaty bodies all compressed together, but Naomi and Savvy wanted to for some odd reason, so she sighed and went along.

By now, she had already gotten a little used to the reverberating bass of 'music', that made the floorboards rumble and vibrate and thump in her booming heart and the strobed neon, colours flashing hectic, along with the thick cloud of smoke that lingered around the ceiling and made it extremely difficult for her to look for her friends amongst the glistening, sweating swarm of bodies cloistering around her.

Every now and then, as she tried to make her way from one end of the dance floor to the other, she'd looked around, still no Naomi and Savvy but — there was a couch, a big plushy, velvety soft-looking couch, in the VIP section, beyond the serpentine, that she so desperately wanted to sit on, someone to her left was holding a blunt, a group of guys spreading a line on the table while a couple of people were eating each other's faces.

Mmhm. She never really noticed all the drugs before. It was just out in the open for everyone to see. It wasn't a secret. Hush-hush, under the table transaction. Had it always been like that? Mmhm.

Once she gained her bearings in a sea of jutting hipbones, she decided a drink was in order and maybe at the same time, it could help ease her nerves. The gin and tonic she had just had and the two shots before coming out here didn't do anything for her, because her tolerance was just so embarrassingly atrocious.

After slowly pushing her way to the bar, she plopped on one of the high stools and ordered herself a hard lemonade, this time. It was the only "fruity" drinks she could stomach, and so she sat and sipped, sat and sipped and waited for either Savyy or Naomi to find her.

It wasn't the first time they had gotten separated in a club.

She looked up once she heard footsteps and felt a looming shadow hovering behind her, a hand on the back of the stool next to her and there stood a hunk of guy and Addison thought she'd never seen anything so captivatingly ravishing before.

He was tall, handsome, immaculate — no, he looked like a Greek God, chiselled with dark hair that was finely slicked and had thick lashes, something out of a GQ magazine and she don't normally drool over guys like this but he was the kind of beauty that could make you go weak at the knees by just the way he looked at you. This guy would give Mark a run for his money. And it took everything in her to not look away and blush.

"Hi."

"Hey." she replied. She didn't normally reply to strangers hitting on her, especially ones in clubs, because she's not single and ready to mingle but — God, was he cute and she had always been weak for men like him.

"How's your night treating you so far?"

Shrugging, she made a noncommittal sound, suggesting that perhaps tonight wasn’t her night. "Not so great. Lost my friends," she said, counting her misfortunes on her fingers, "Almost broke my neck on these damn heels twice and my feet's absolutely killing."

"Well, for what's worth, I think they make your legs look —" he made a show of running his eyes over her body until the very tips of her boots, "stunning."

She should have really been offended but it didn't matter to her because his voice was so deep and captivating that she could feel it vibrating in her bones.

"So," her voice was an octave higher now than normal, "How's yours?"

He was hunched slightly over his draft beer that he was gripping with both hands and staring at her. Not staring in a creepy way, but in a way that it was obvious he shared the attraction. "Not to sound disgustingly cliché," he said before pausing to take a pull of his beer, "but a lot better now that there's some nice scenery." He winked and she almost fell out of her chair and onto the sticky hardwood floor.

She smiled, a blush beginning to slowly burn her cheeks. "Okay. But that was disgustingly cheesy," she chuckled, "but I'll take it."

"Mind if I sit down next to you, then? If it's the two of us, you don't need a reason to be alone." He gave her a reassuring and tender smile before sitting down next to her, not waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, that's fine."

He nods toward her drink. "Can I get you another?"

It took her a split second to make her decision, and she drained the last of her hard lemonade and set the empty glass on the lacquered counter with a clink. "Sure." she said, not enjoying the lingering tartiness of the drink on the tip of her tongue, "Gin and tonic this time, please."

Almost immediately, he flagged down the tender and told him of their orders.

"And put that," pointing at her now empty glass of hard lemonade, "on my tab, won't you?"

"You don't have to do that," she shook her head.

"I don't have to," he said softly, "I want to." he told her, and the bartender nodded at both of them.

Okay.

"So, do I get a name?"

"You gonna tell me yours first?" she raised a brow.

"I asked you first."

"Touché." she said, smiling, "I'm Adrianne." she raised her hand to shake his, which he accepted without hesitation. The feel of his hand and palm and fingers against hers sent her brain to a very sinful place.

"Nice to meet you, Adrianne. I'm Dean." he smiled back, all teeth and he looked so breathtaking, squeezing her hand a tiny bit tighter in response before letting go to clutch at his beer once more but not taking his eyes off of her.

It's not entirely a lie. Her name is Adrianne — Addison Adrianne. It's on her birth certificate.

The bartender returned with their drinks. "Cheers," she said then, lifting her tumbler. "To a good night." Dean clinked the lip of his bottle against it and tipped back to drink.

And she slipped into it like an old glove, the easy patter of conversation, the mingling as though she was still single and available, the deft bob and weave of flirtation. It was an old game, one she had been playing since her college days, and one she knew well. She touched his arm lightly, threw her head back when she laughed and let herself smile when she saw the way he leaned into her. She could be someone else for a little while, someone who does this — who talks and smiles, flirts and laughs.

Dean answered and she let it wash over her.

Two gin and tonics and two shots later, she was starting to get buzzed and her brain was a little fuzzy around the edges.

"So, I don't see a ring." he states, taking her left hand in his, caressing, "Not married?"

Narrowing her eyes, "How very perceptive of you." she said.

"No boyfriend?"

She hesitated to answer but she shook her head in response anyway.

"I don't believe that. You’re funny, beautiful. I just don’t believe a guy has not swept you off your feet yet."

She shrugged.

"What, are they all idiots?”

“You’re a guy; you tell me.”

“I'd say they're all fools. But today's your lucky day."

"And why is that? You're gonna sweep me off my feet?" she scoffed.

He lowered his voice and leaned closer. "Only if you want me to."

Her heart began to race, of how real this had suddenly become. Was she really doing this? Was she drunk enough to be doing this?

She smirked, letting her last layer of guard and reservation down and all thoughts of said boyfriend. "Well, then," she said softly, placing her hand on his knee, "I guess I made the right choice of coming here tonight," she licked her lips, eyes darting from his evergreen eyes to his lips and back. "Lucky me."

"So, Adrianne, do you want my help and we can look for your friends?" he asked, glancing down at her hand on his knee and smirked before leaning in to talk softly in her ear. "Or you wanna ditch them and get outta here ..." he placed his hand on her knee now and squeezed gently, moving slowly upward and closer to the side hem of her leather pants, "with me?"

She stopped to think. "Where to?" she sighed.

"Anywhere you want."

She made a show of making a decision. "Okay." she said, "But I wanna have some fun.”

“Sure. But it might get loud and sweaty.” Dean said suggestively.

“I want what you were having first."

He was one of those guys at the VIP section snorting lines.

She was never this forward but something about this man had her tossing all her morals out the window. She had a feeling that this was the one and only night he would ever grace her presence and she wanted to make the absolute most of it.

"What I was having?" his brows knitted to the middle, sniffing and looking genuinely confused at what she had just suggested.

Then, she point to her nose, inhaling, and a slow smirk crept on his face when he finally understood. "Oh, I hit the jackpot with you, didn't I? I got exactly what you need." He leaned in to talk softly in her ear. "Finish your drink and then we'll go."

She froze again. She couldn’t believe that it worked. But she was both scared and excited at the same time.

"Drink," he implored.

She blindly reached for her drink and took one long pull, opening her eyes mid-sip to see him staring at her as she did so.

He took the tumbler from her once she was done and placed it back on the bar top, not taking his eyes off her for a second. He pulled his hand back from her thigh and broke away to get his wallet out again to dropped a hundred on the bar.

"Let's go," he grabbed her hand in his and he led her to where he wanted to take her.

X X X

They didn't drive out anywhere.

He had led her out the back and into the parking lot. She could see Naomi's blue Jeep Cherokee to her right as she contemplated her course of action. She could put an end to this, all of this, she could still stop this before it even started. She could tell him that she changed her mind and would like to look for her friends now, with or without his help. She could ... she could — because that was the right thing to do.

But sometimes, the right thing isn't always right.

She turned enough to look at Dean's hands on hers. Her hand looked unfamiliarly tiny in his and she didn't have tiny hands. They called her 'Monty-Flippers' all throughout high school for a reason. His grip, though, was lose enough for her to make a break for it but she didn't, didn't want to do that. She thought about it. She pictured and played her escape. But how can it be an escape when she was a willing participant? So she continued trailing next to him, allowed her legs to follow him to his car.

"Where are you parked?"

Dean bit his lip, smiling at her as he gestured with his thumb to the far edge of the level. Addison saw the black Eldorado in a corner spot behind a pillar, several spaces beyond Naomi's car.

They make it to his car without speaking any further, Addison trying to envision how this will play out, perhaps Dean doing the same too.

And she felt like a puppet when he jerked her forward, all wooden and taut strings. He crowed her against the car, fingers brushing along her cheek and it felt so surreal, taken aback, her back arching a little from the contact, and she vaguely noted Dean lifting his head to regard her as he traced her cheekbones. Each touch had her fisting his shirt, her body already on fire.

She licked her lips and meet Dean's eyes, which were dark and heavy as he gradually leaned closer. Lips touch and her fists moved up, grasping onto his shoulder blades as the slow kiss quickly became heated and fueled by their surplus of energy.

Kissing Dean felt like a whole new experience. Delighted and welcomed. His muscles flexing all over her as she chased his tongue around his mouth and clung to his shirt. She was very aware of his muscles, tensing over and over like he couldn't get a steady grip on anything, and it was disconcerting and thrilling at the same time.

"Your car," she managed to breathe out when they break away and Dean unlocks it, opening the passenger door for her to clamber in.

It was a really nice car. Definitely new since it still had that new car smell and feel.

Once comfortable, she rested her head back against the seat, wringing her hands together, a lit cigarette stuck to her slightly wet lips as she took a drag.

She was a little nervous, to say the least.

The radio was on but not very loud, the speaker thrummed against her bare calf as music played, and fingers of smoke slowly misted out of her nostrils when Dean finally glanced towards her, her lips trembling just enough for the ashes of the cigarette to fall and graze her dress.

"What's it like?" she found herself asking, because she was genuinely curious. She had only ever smoked pot two, three times and wasn't a fan. It had only made her sleepy and even ill sometimes.

"The opposite of drinking," Dean told her, looking more relaxed now that he too had taken a drag off her cigarette. "It's just ..." he started before pausing, looking somewhere behind her shoulder, "At first it's like a euphoric rush of focus, your teeth will be numb if it's good Pearl, then it's just a mellow focused high throughout — I don't know. You'd have to do it to really understand."

She nodded and drew from the cigarette again, trying to ignore how she could taste Dean on it, his saliva mixing with hers.

"It makes you feel like you can do anything. One of the greatest highs I've ever felt is on Pearl. It doesn't last very long though and you get crazy urges to just keep snorting it. I'm not gonna sugarcoat it — you feel absolutely shitty afterwards, the more you snorted the shittier you feel ... My uncle once told me that the only fun thing to do on Pearl is more Pearl. And boy was he right for once in his life." he chuckled and she did too.

It didn't faze her at all. The truth about Pearl. It wasn't much of a surprise — a drug of that calibre affects brain chemistry and circuitry and the central nervous system and therefore, would alter moods, emotions, behaviours and a person's perception — she'd be worried if it wouldn't make her feel 'shitty' afterwards.

She already felt, for lack of a better word, shittier than ever every single second of every day. She felt so shitty that that feeling was just a constant in her gut, surging and threatening to make her sick, like a quiver to an earthquake.

"What?" he chided.

Shaking her head and stubbing out the cigarette, "Nothing." she said.

"Are you sure you wanna do this? You don't have to if you don't want to," he shook his head.

"I want to."

He nodded, almost excitedly, "Okay, then," he sighed, reaching over to the glove compartment and pulling it open, rustling inside it. "God, I haven't had a rail in way too long," he chuckled, and she thought to herself that she had just seen him snorting a line at the club, pulling up a plastic bag of nearly crystalline whitish powder, a razor, and a sawed off straw.

Addison's heart really started to pound in her chest at the sight of it. She couldn't help but notice how she had smiled and chewed on her bottom lip, not sweating from fear or nervousness anymore, but anticipation.

Dean settled back, pulling a joint out of his jeans pocket and handing it to her. "Since it's your first time with blow, some weed should mellow you out and you won't get too worked up."

She nodded, immediately sparking her lighter again and pulling a deep toke into her lungs, even though she didn't really like it. It usually made her sleepy, and she supposed sleepiness is kind of a calm.

"How do you take it?" she questioned as she let the smoke creep out from between her lips, curiously watching him carefully pour the contents of the bag onto a mirror, cutting the powder carefully into thin, long lines. "Well, I usually toot it."

She giggled. "Toot?"

"It means snort," he chortled back.

She had never snorted anything before.

She did drank a whole bottle of Robitussin on a dare one time with her friends in high school and puked all over herself. So far, she had only ingested drugs, Addys and cough medicine, and the thought of snorting made her nervous. Just accidentally snorting water when she went swimming was enough to hurt like a son of a bitch.

"I even got you your own straw."

"We just met thirty seconds ago." she retorted.

"Well, it's yours now." he said, flashing a smile at her.

Rolling her eyes playfully, she accepted the straw and took a deep breath as she watched him cut and scraped it finer.

"What else you do with it?" she stammered.

Noticing her change of tune, he grasped her hand. "People inject. Rub it in their mouths, too. It's bitter as fuck but you learn to love it. You don't have to snort it, it kind of hurts, actually …" he answered, but then got a soft and mischievous smile as he added, "... but I like it. Sort of a burning and numbing feeling, and I get this coppery tasting drip in my throat. God, I can't help but like it."

She was wondering if she could convince and bring herself to snort it when Dean's voice broke through her concentration. "Virgins first."

And with that, he picked up the razor, dusted with the gritty whiteness. "Open up," he purred.

She was deathly nervous when she saw the razor, but for some reason — thanks to the pot and alcohol for making her fearless and wilfully stupid tonight, she just knew that he would not hurt her.

After exhaling her last drag and flipping the spent end of her joint out the window, somewhere in the dark parking lot, she opened my mouth coyly. Dean held her jaw tenderly with one hand as he wiped his razor gingerly onto her tongue. She crinkled her nose at the metallic taste, quickly darting her tongue back in place of her mouth, pressing the stinging against the back of her teeth as an attempt to relieve it. Dean chuckled at her silly face and kissed her jaw. "I know. It kinda tastes nasty. But you'll feel so good in a minute."

After a minute, she started to feel a slight pleasurable high. Something similar to Addys but only if she had taken a pill three hours ago. She was still lucid, but she felt somewhat giddy, overexcited just a touch.

Dean picked up his straw, he leaned back overtop of the mirror, sticking the straw into one nostril while holding the other nostril shut with a finger, he began to inhale, and she watched in a weird sort of fascination, amazement as the granulated dust disappeared into the straw. And she asked herself if she was dreaming.

There was something about the aesthetics that rankled — and fuck if that didn't get her hot.

When the line was sucked up into his nose, he straightened up, coughing and pinching his nose. "Ohh fuck, there it is," he panted, shuddering with pleasure. She couldn't help but get turned on, a giggle erupting from behind her hand that was covering her trembling lips.

"Feels good?" she mewled at him.

He responded with a soft grunt, pulling at his jeans before leaning over and snorting another bump, this time into the other nostril. He shot straight up, mouth slightly open as he breathed heavily, not bothering to hide his erection this time. She was completely astonished; she didn't know a person could get hard so quickly off of Pearl. He swiped his shaking fingers in the remnants of the powder off the mirror, slowly cleaning his powdery hand with his tongue, staring intently at her with dilated pupils, his sclera reddened.

"I wanna ... also." she said, holding up her straw. Fully convinced now.

"A toot?"

"A toot." she confirmed with a nod.

He leaned against her, and she took a whiff of his cologne, to again dig into the glove compartment, before going on to prepare the powder again.

All for her, this time.

It wasn't a lot of product. But maybe too much for a newbie like herself.

Dean gave her a look from under his lashes, lips pouting a little. "This is my last, so."

"Oh, yeah," she said, realising how flirtatious she sounded only after she'd said those two words. She skated her hand over his chest, feeling both hair and muscle. "I'm sure I can find a way to repay you." She stroked Dean's arm suggestively, sliding her hand down his flank, along his hip and without hesitation she gripped him through his pants.

He grunted softly and she could see him physically restraining himself from jumping her bones.

Without breaking eye contact, "God," he breathed, inching his body closer to hers, moaning, "You really are magnificent." he whispered into her ear.

Then, taking a deep breath and squeezing his eyes shut to offset the surges consuming him, he straightened up and finally had the strength to remove her hand from his crotch.

"Finish it," Dean said pointedly, nudging the powdered mirror at her, "I'm not gonna be like this by myself."

It will just be one time. She won't get addicted with one time.

So, she pulled herself up before leaning down to hold the straw to the end of the line. She could feel his eyes burning holes in her and the next thing she knew, a smooth sensation shot right up her nose, like she was inhaling silk.

Dean had already warned her and said that it'd hurt but she didn't think it'd hurt this bad. Her eyes watered terribly and her sinuses flared, but she held the straw steady until she completed the line, grabbing onto whatever she could for balance as she scrunched her eyes shut.

Pinching her nose, the world went dizzy, spinning all around her and she had this urge throw up, but something steadied her. Or rather someone as arms wrapped themselves around her shoulders and she clutched onto them.

"Shit, Adrianne," he breathed into her hair. "I really didn't think you'd do it."

She couldn't get herself to speak. Too shocked, shaky, perplexed at what she had just done. She felt as though her blood was soaring through her veins faster than she could keep up. And her heart was sprinting right out of her chest. She could also see — yes, see, all her bad decisions melting away.

And this wasn't one of them.

Because she felt good. She felt more than good.

She felt great and she hadn’t felt great in a very long time.

Gravity had her falling right onto her back against the seat and staring up at the ceiling of Dean's car. He was right — this was the exact opposite of being drunk. Her mind was racing, thoughts that didn't even make any sense were flying behind her eyes one after the other, and while she felt like she could jump up and run all around New York City right now, she was equally as certain that moving wasn't on her body's list of things to do for awhile.

Maybe later.

"You okay?" Dean asked, sniffing a little as she registered him coming closer.

She was amazing.

Her brain was floating in a pool of warm water, all her problems now extinct.

Temporarily.

She nodded, or she thought she did, because she really was. Okay. The initial shock of it all had worn off and she was rather puzzled by the new feelings that consumed her, like a chill that couldn't stop.

Both psychostimulants, Addy and Pearl, they vary vastly. Given that, the effects of Pearl is instant, like a snap of a finger, and so much more potent of a high.

She could see Dean just fine and still had her own mind, which she couldn't say was true if she was drunk; it was just the whole concept of feeling that was different. Right now, everything was exciting.

"That was real hot, Adrianne," he breathed into her ear, "Very hot."

Maybe he was just really close and Pearl had made her sensitive to her environment.

"You are so beautiful."

Addison made a sound she had never heard before. And Dean's voice was so soft like velvet hugging all around her. So light and so far-away, miles away into the distance that she tried to catch it. His lips brushed along the cartilage of her ear, "Tell me what you want."

She felt so hot, as though she was burning in her own skin.

She groaned and his hand was back against her thigh like it was in the club, and she tilted her head back.

Pearl and now this, a hook up with a complete stranger, was probably the most reckless and stupid. thing she had ever done in her entire life.

She wanted to tell him to stop. It was all too much. But his hands — his hands were hovering over where she wanted them to be while his lilted whispers in her ear shot straight to her core, into her thigh muscles. He turned his face into hers and garters more of that warmth. There was a pulsating sensation inside her, that strobed a sear throughout her outer extremities.

And Addison couldn't wait any longer. She leaned forward quickly, pushed him back to his side, and in an instant was over the centre console until her mouth brushed against Dean's. Surprise crossed his face but he didn't stop her tongue from pushing in, didn't stop the hot little licks up the seam of his mouth. It was fast and needy. No time to think. That was what she needed.

When they broke apart, she crawled over the centre median to straddle Dean.

He groaned once, and loudly but he only stared at her with ink-black pupils, mouth parting for more kisses, like a hungry baby bird. He chuckled playfully against her lips and she pulled back briefly, he looked heavy-limbed and heavy-lidded and she knew her eyes looked equally glazed, like pools of tar. She could feel them burning red.

She wanted to dive in. She wanted to drown.

She leaned forward again, and he could feel her breath on his mouth. It fogged humid against his lips, at the place where they're almost but not quite touching. Addison splayed a hand across his throat, pressure like a warning, and distracting him so much so that his pants were open before he knew it.

Addison was a little apprehensive about just reaching into his pants, but Dean mouthing her jawline made it easier.

Now Dean's whimpers had turned to moans, leaving him marginally embarrassed because he usually don't make this much noise. Must be the high, or maybe it was just Adrianne, who was unapologetically jerking him like it was the means to her own release as well.

"Adrianne," he gasped, and he fell from her mouth to press wet lips to her neck. "That feels good."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Dean chanted, hips rocking into her fist like it's something else, and she was so turned on that she slid her other hand up into his hair and yanked him up for a kiss, searing and breathy.

"Oh, God," he said. He was so worked up and their kisses were more moans than anything else, each one building up to his orgasm that could only take him higher.

"I'm gonna —“ he hissed into her mouth, and the pulse surged through every nerve in his body, leaving him boneless and calm like the last of the electricity was leaving him.

His heartbeat slowed, his breathing evened, and Dean didn't feel like he was going to burst out of his own body anymore. "It's over?"

"For you, it is."

"Back seat?" he suggested.

In response, she reached up for his face and guided him back into her mouth. She kissed him lazily, halting all of his attempts to speed up, and she felt accomplished when the body beneath started to relax again.

"How about your place?"

X X X

When it was over, Addison lay there, feeling Dean's breath panting against her neck, matching the gasping heaves of her own chest. Dean rolled off her, flopping to the side with a long, satisfied sigh, and she rolled against him, pressing their bodies close while they both came down from the night's highs.

The Pearl was already or had started to wear off for her.

Addison had half-planned on getting up and leaving as soon as it was even remotely polite, but Dean wasn't making any "get the hell out" noises yet, and she found, after a few moments, that she was oddly reluctant to leave. It was kind of nice, actually, to just lie here for a while, warmly stuck together in the middle of the bed, sweat still trickling between them. They were lying close, but not holding, and Addison felt a vague twinge of disappointment, a niggling sense of incompleteness. Still, she made no move to put her arms around the man, contented herself instead with the hand that rested lightly on his flank.

After a few minutes, Dean stirred, turning his head to look across the bed, and Addison unconsciously followed his gaze. She wasn't sure why she was so shocked, but she couldn't help the sick, twisted clench in her guts when she saw what Dean was looking at, a photograph of him and a woman propped on the nightstand.

"You're married?" she was amazed that it came out so casual, and even so she wondered why the hell was she feeling hurt. Not like she deserved to, not like she was practicing fidelity herself, but still ...

Dean started, and turned back as if he wasn't even aware of what he'd been doing. "Not anymore," he said, and there was a familiar, quiet pain in the word, a pain that she recognised.

"How long you been divorced?" she asked, and Dean's eyes shot to her, the shock almost comic.

"Not divorced," he said presently. "Widower."

"Oh," she shook her head, embarrassed for assuming, "I'm so sorry," she offered quickly, like it was a snap reply, but glad she'd said it when she saw the understanding in Dean's face.

"Five years," he said, "I miss her like hell."

Addison had no idea what to say, so she nodded, the sound of her hair ruffling against the cotton of the pillowcase was the only other sound in the bedroom.

Neither of them said anything for a while, and she thought the conversation was over. She was kind of relieved. One thing to go home with a guy and have sex, another thing altogether to end up talking about his dead wife as pillow talk. But the thing that bothered her the most, she suspected, was how little it bothered her. And how much the words had struck a part of herself she wasn't sure she wanted to explore.

"So, did the drugs came as a coping ..." Addison trailed off, not sure why or what that hell was she asking — it was the Pearl running her mouth.

It took Dean a while to find the words to answer, and even then all he could manage was a short, soft, "Not really. No. You? What are you running away from?"

She scoffed. "Oh. Me? I'm not running away from anything." She wasn't running. What could she be running away from?

To her relief, though, Dean didn't pursue the question any further, turning the talk back to himself. "Stella and I were in an accident. Drunk driver," he said before adding, "He hit us square head on. We flipped. She died on impact. That was what the doctors said, she wasn't in pain or anything but I think they were just tryna sugarcoat it, you know."

She nodded, listening.

"I ... umm, had a ruptured spleen, broken clavicle, broken both arms, broken three fingers," he pulled up his right arm up to show her where his ulna had pierced through the skin. A compound fracture. "I completely shattered — I keep saying like I broke them myself," he laughed lightly to himself and she felt it vibrate through her, "Well, my C2 vertebrae was completely shattered. T12, L1 and L2 — it was a fracture ... something, umm — I can't remember what the doctor said —"

"A fracture-dislocation?" she offered.

"Exactly. What are you, a doctor or something?"

"I'm in medical school."

"Oh," genuine surprise was on his face, "That's ... interesting." he said, as he studied her for while. His brows were scrunched in the middle, and he opened his mouth seemingly about to say something but decided against it.

"Anyway, I should've died but, obviously, I didn't. I was in a wheelchair. They said I might never walk again but I beat all the odds, death as well, and here I am, walking." he said sarcastically, "I had nobody in Chicago to ... you know, to help me. So, I moved back here with my parents. I still have mornings where I wake up and I'd say good morning to Stella, then reality hits and I realise she won't answer ... that whole time heals all wounds is a load of crap because it hurts just as bad then as it does now." Dean said, his eyes lifted to hers. "I was in pain. I'm still in pain and the painkillers were all I had. What I've learned is if you cheat and take 'em a little closer together, you can avoid the pain completely, you know."

"I'm so sorry." she said again, dumbly, for what it's worth. She didn't know what else to say; she felt bad for him, he'd been through a lot, but pointing that out just seemed moot, to her. "Must be tough." she said, and watched as Dean's face twisted, his mouth curving in a mix of chagrin and self-mockery.

"Yeah," he confessed. "It was." He shook his head, his eyes growing distant. "Enough about me. You got any sad life stories?" His hand moved along her side, brushing with a gentle, sure touch along the length of her waist, cupping her ass in his hand.

Shaking her head, "Nothing happened to me," she said. "I happened."

For a long time, Addison could only stare, the warm palm cupped around her the least of the fractured thoughts spinning through her head. It was all she could do to keep her mouth shut, to not gape and stare and blurt out, "Ilied," in a heedless rush of self-realisation.

I do actually have a sad life story.

Dean moved his hand at last, curving his fingers instead over the outside of her thigh, his palm warm and dry on her cooling skin. Addison let it stay there as long as she needed to be polite, then leaned forward and kissed his shoulder.

"I probably should go soon," she said quietly, and he nodded, seeming unsurprised.

"Okay." he rolled over, away from her, and Addison got up, feeling suddenly awkward and vulnerable, wishing suddenly she could grab a blanket or a fig leaf or something as she walked naked across the room. Stupid. She'd spent the last two hours sweating up the sheets with this guy, and she picked now as the time to get shy.

"Use the shower if you want to," he told her back as she moved into the living room to fetch her clothes. "There's towels and stuff under the sink."

She paused, her dress in her hand. "Okay. Thanks." The last thing she wanted was to stick around a second more than she had to, but she had to admit that a shower was probably a good idea.

Still floating in the haze of intoxication, Addison couldn't help feeling sorry for herself. Was she really that disgusting of a person? A girlfriend? She had stooped to cheating on Derek She was caught up in the moment. It just happened. What was she going to do? Tell him? She couldn't even get herself fucked-up badly enough to the point where she could forget this encounter.

What's wrong with her?

She half-hoped Dean would join her, if for no other reason than to give her a distraction from her own unhinged thoughts, but she couldn't expect the man to save her twice in the same night. Especially now that the ugliest truth of all had finally risen to the surface, unhindered by school or rotations or pretended impatience or distance or any of the other thousand subconscious strategies she had used to keep the truth away for the past year. It was here now, right in front of her, and it was no use denying it anymore.

She liked — no, loved it. She loved the high of it, the chase, the calmness and happiness and that was the truth.

Because the second she felt Pearl travelling her system, a bulb lighted up in her head — uh-oh — and she knew it was going to be a problem for her for the rest of her existence. For as long as she lived, she'd be on her knees, at it's mercy.

She knew it. She knew it.

It wasn't like the pills. It was different, like she had found the missing piece to a puzzle that was her happiness. She remembered telling herself in that split second that she'd never get herself back from this again. She wasn't going to let go. And she probably wouldn't ever want to.

Addison finished the shower in record time, drying herself off with a careless disregard for the state of her hair, there was no point now, and yanking on her clothes hastily in the cramped confines of the bathroom. When she came out, Dean was still lying naked on the bed, propped on the pillows with his hands laced behind his head. Addison came into the doorway and leaned there, trying to recapture the easiness they'd had before, hoping that none of her inner turmoil was showing on her face.

"Guess I'd better be going," she said again.

"Okay." Dean smiled, but made no move to get up. "Nice meeting you."

She forced herself to smile back. "Yeah."

She turned to go, and was almost to the living room when Dean spoke behind her. "Hey, Adrianne."

"Yeah?" she turned back.

His smile twitched into a sudden, warm grin. "Take it easy."

She found herself grinning back, understanding him. "Yeah. You, too."

"Am I going to see you again?"

She paused and thought about it. "I don't know. Maybe not." She gave a truthful answer. She was never one to tell a guy she was going to call them and not call them in the end. "It's better that way, I think."

"Okay. Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."

She left, closing the front door carefully behind her. She ran down the stairs and out of the building. She stepped out into the cool night air, and the breeze was surprisingly refreshing on her face.

She felt awake now. She felt alive.

Finally.