Happy

"You're the bait once you're hooked"

Her dalliance quickly became a full blown habit.

Where she once resented being alone, she was now grateful for the time she had on her own. If she was alone there would be no one to catch on and she could be high in peace. The routine and rush of it all were just as addicting.

For hour swaths of time she was numb, literally — her nose and throat from the drip — her mind focused from its normal breakneck speed. She had paid careful mind to when she thought Derek would be around, at first, but as she fell deeper into the drugs she began to care less and less about being caught.

When she was high nothing seemed to matter much, really.

After hours of looming sleepiness Addison had given in again. She slept as soundly as she could, strewn on the sofa, waking to the first light of the morning shining in through the windows. Stretching and blinking, she looked down at the table, still dazed from the drugs. Her eyes were scanning the room to help break her out of dreams and back into reality.

She had come back home from partying with Dean until pretty late last night — or early morning, however you want to see it. And the splitting headache she had told her that she either needed more drugs or sleep (not just the two hours every other day or none at all) or both.

Looking down at the table, she saw that she had gone through nearly half of the fresh pack of cigarettes last night and that the little box that held her paraphernalia was out as well. Suddenly in that instant she was glad that Derek hadn't dropped by because sometimes he'd come by and climb into bed with her and that right now, in her current predicament, would be a nightmare.

After several long minutes, she forced herself from the sofa and began to hide the evidence from her venture last night and throwing the windows open to attempt to air out the distinct scent of Lucky Strike Green. She liked menthol cigarettes better. Looking at the clock, she saw that she had about nine hours before she had to be at the hospital and barely thirty minutes in, she was already getting restless and bored. But she didn't want to hit the drugs just yet. So, she looked around the apartment for something to occupy her — study, she thought to herself.

That was exactly what she did after a quick shower.

To the naked eye, she might look like an upstanding citizen, perhaps a bit overworked due the slight suggestion of bags under her eyes but she certainly did not look like an addict. Sure, she was a little on the skinny side but that was what a real woman should look like, according to societal's standards. And besides, she wasn't an addict. She could stop whenever she want to, but why would she want to?

As she read and flipped through pages, she was jittery and apprehensive of her control and self-preservation. She seemed to be lacking as of late because now, all she could think about was going to her dealer. But that just seemed to make everything worse, more maddening as things fester, rot into her mind and make her hungry for even more.

Want. Need. It. Now. 

Slamming her books close and pushing away from her desk, she considered the day she had ahead of her. Hospital. Hospital. Hospital. But she should study. Really should since it was almost finals and she had the time now. About eight more hours of time. However, before she had even realised what she was doing she was phoning her dealer (he always said to call first) and was up and walking out the door.

Having the desire to slow her brain enough to stop the grinding she felt inside of it, Addison was going to speed-ball her way through this already horrible day. Snow helped days go by so quickly and she knew they would not fail her even when all else did.

Driving down to New Jersey was a breeze. It seemed just two minutes ago she was walking out of her door and now, she was knocking at his.

He welcomed her in. They slammed back some drinks, did some Snow, played some music, joked around and had a few other people over. He nicknamed her "Hollywood" because of her appetite for massive lines. She always had to be proving herself to others, she noticed.

Even for this?

Addison was nothing short of overjoyed when she had the drugs in hand, tucking them away carefully before heading back to the apartment. On the way, she stopped at a corner store and bought a fresh pack of cigarettes, some Red Bull and a prepackaged pastry with an obnoxiously optimistic looking red-headed girl on it.

Snow always made her crave sweets even as it helped suppress her appetite for food that might hold some actual nutritional value.

After she had what she wanted she headed back to her apartment with that fear of getting pulled over by the police at the back of her mind. It was always there, every single time she went and bought.

Maybe taking a cab would be a better idea.

Soon she was at her building and she headed inside, where she was greeted by the less than amused look from her fiancé and the rather pungent scent of aerosol spray.

“You think that smells better than tobacco?” Addison asked with clear distaste in her tone.

She was grunting internally, wasn't too pleased to see him since her plans of getting high was ruined now. And she didn't want to blame him but someone had to take it.

"Yeah. Yeah I do. Probably gonna get cancer from them both. Might as well smell like a garden." Derek said sarcastically, "Your apartment stinks, by the way. I thought you quit."

Rolling her eyes, "Clearly I didn't."

Of course it stunk. She should have had the windows opened but she was far too lethargic to care. But still, smelling smoke didn’t mean too much, it should be expected at this point.

Derek scoffed as he picked up the empty pack of cigarettes from the trash. "Lucky Strikes? Seriously?"

"My grandmother used to smoke them — actually, no, she still does and she's fine. She just got a clean bill of health."

"That woman should be in a museum," he said under his breath. His voice rang of exasperation. He knew it was pointless to reason with her; she would not listen to him. She had a counter for everything he had to say. "Where were you off so early anyway?"

Addison hesitated for only a moment as she sized up the expression on Derek's face. Suspicion, clearly but also concern?

“Went out for some coffee.” she lied cooly.

"You have coffee in the apartment," Derek looked at her, puzzled. Shit. "And where is it, then?"

"Drank it." she kept her answers short, only lies had details. "I was studying. Needed some fresh air. So, I went out."

That much had been true at the very least. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was hiding drugs on her person.

Did Derek have any idea that she might have gone out to get them?

No, he wouldn’t be so passive with his suspicions.

He'd be sputtering all over her apartment, flipping out.

No, he didn't know anything.

Still it was unsettling knowing that she might be discovered by her fiancé. She was going to have to hide them well at any rate, just in case. The whole potentially getting caught thing was a headache she would rather not deal with at all.

"Alright," he said, turning that frown into a smile, exhaling, "Why'd you wake up so early?" he walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and she reciprocated with her arms around his neck.

She gulped, finally locking eyes with Derek's bright blue ones. They haven't been ... affectionate, per say, with each other in over a month, since the proposal actually, and it was all her. Mostly because she didn't want to look him in the eyes.

He didn't deserve being cheated on. And especially not on the day of their anniversary. And not with the waiter who was serving them.

His features were gentle — loving and if she looked at them close enough and squint, she could probably see Dean, too — and suddenly she wanted nothing more but to cling to his neck and never let him go.

Whose?

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Well, I couldn't go back to sleep."

"Maybe I could help." he stated and kissed her as if he was trying to make up for all the time they’ve spent apart. And it was good. Great, even. Sweet as candy. She had forgotten just how much she loved being kissed by him.

When they pulled away, he had that same puzzled look he had earlier. "You taste like alcohol."

"What?" she asked, vexed, "The coffee was Irish." she lied again, pushing him away with an exasperated chuckle. "What's with the third degree? The questions? I-I don't understand." she stammered, almost shouting, so absolutely irritated now.

The drugs or rather, the lack of it, might have been a contributing factor, too. "I have nothing to tell you. I don't owe you an explanation just because. I don't have to tell you anything. My whereabouts, what I ate and drank, what I did and didn't do — but since you must know, let me tell you what's been happening so far —"

"Addison, Addison," he said calmly, putting his hands up in surrender. She was like a rubber band that was pulled too tight and was about to snap. "You owe me the truth because I’m your fiancé but you're blowing this out of proportion."

"You're the one with the stupid questions."

"I just asked you a simple question."

"And I gave you an answer." she said as a matter of factly.

"Okay," he nodded, "You did and I accept your answer."

"I wasn't looking for your acceptance, Derek!" she shouted all in one breath, throwing her hands up as she grunted. If the neighbours weren't awake before, they sure were now.

At that, he paused and just looked at her, reading, studying her as she stood there, rocking back and forth on her heels, her heart jackhammering in her chest. Her ragged breathing was the only sound between them and the fears of him finding out or her blurting it out intensified tenfold. But then, he shook his head, resigned. "It's too early for this. I'm leaving."

"Fine," she quickly walked three steps to the door, twisting the knob and flinging the door open, "Go." she said.

A neighbour right across from her had opened her door at the very same moment but quick closed it when she saw them heated.

"Go. I'm not kidding."

"Addison."

"You wanted to leave. So, leave."

They didn't talk for three weeks straight and when they finally did their relationship wasn't the same.

Addison woke to the soft, wispy sound of gentle snoring. It wasn't a slow waking; it was abrupt and shocking, as though cold water had been thrown on her. She threw her arm over her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, before she quietly climbed out of bed.

Derek didn't snore, she remembered.

Derek. Her fiancé. Derek.

She stood there looking at the rumpled bedsheets, the pile of jeans and jackets and t-shirts and all thoughts rationale for doing this every night for two weeks in a row on the floor. But it had been such a long time since she'd awakened with someone next to her. Derek had hardly come over — she hadn't seen him in four days — and due to their busy schedules, they hadn't made any plans in moving in yet.

Or maybe she was just pushing him away?

Addison walked to the bathroom, rubbing her hands over her face. She still felt very tired, they had spent all night at clubs, and could easily have done with a few more hours of sleep. She looked at herself in the mirror the way she always did now, always checking to see if her nose would grow any longer like the liar she was, always wondering if her indiscretions were written on her face with permanent marker, always waiting for the moment when the teacup breaks.

If she hadn't been paranoid before, she was plenty paranoid now.

Or maybe it was just guilt? Lies? Drugs? The fairytales of her whereabouts she would tell Derek?

But she couldn't afford to mess this up. She needed this because for a moment or two, she could breathe and be someone else, someone different, someone unbounded to societal pressures and someone who'd make a series of mistakes and not get reprimanded for it. So, nothing else mattered. Not anymore. Not when she was at her safe haven. She ignored the voice that whispered a constant refrain in her mind ... clear through to her soul.

If only ... it whispered. If only you could turn back the clock. If only things were different. If only you weren't cheating on your fiancé ... If only ... if you only ...

NO. Don't think about that. About Derek. Don't think too much. It hurt too much.

She walked back out of the bathroom, casting a quick glance at the only part of Dean she could see — dark hair peeking out from under the top of the sheets, four fingers of the right hand curled over the edge of the pillow — and went downstairs to the kitchen.

These days there was no telling who was watching them, how much they knew, or what they'd do with the information if they had it.

Or maybe they'd send them to Derek?

NO. Addison wasn't paranoid; she was only a realist. She had to cover all grounds, so she could be prepared for the worst case scenario, when Derek began to hate her.

The sound of the coffee grinder seemed loud enough to wake the dead. She poured water in the pot and set it to go. The rituals and habits of everyday life had taken on a new significance to her now. She'd made coffee nearly every day of her adult life, but now she listened to the sound of the beans grinding, inhaled the earthy, dark aroma. No matter how significant or mundane, each individual action had its own value, one previously undiscovered.

Briefly, Addison stopped, considering whether she should go back and see if Dean was awake. But she decided against it, since she wasn't quite ready yet to talk, to have a conversation this early in the morning.

Why would she keep doing this? Was she that unhappy in her relationship with Derek? Was Dean just making her more happy?

Not that Derek wasn't.

Maybe there was just something terribly wrong with her and she could never be happy nor satisfied.

But Dean was. He really was.

He smiled. "Hello, Adrianne." He opened his eyes and she was standing by the bed, red hair spilling over one shoulder. "You're beautiful."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're intoxicated."

"I am high," he corrected. If he thinks there was some sort of distinction in the two, then he couldn't be that high. "And you are beautiful. I've always thought so."

She sat beside him on the bed, tilting her chin up as she tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. "You could've let me know."

"I'm letting you know now." He loses language for a moment. "Addison Adrianne," he said as though it were a proposal, "would you like to get high with me?"

"Sure."

He pulled her to him.

"I know you won't say it but I really like you."

She just gave him a look. He shivered as her icy fingers trail under his jaw and down his throat. "This is new," she said, finding a half-healed scar along his collarbone.

"Shrapnel."

"Are you ever going to tell me what kind of business you're in?"

"No."

She quirked an eyebrow. "It's illegal. I know that much."

"I'm neither confirming nor denying."

She shook her head at him. "Do you even try to dodge anymore?"

"I try. I'm just ... not very good at it."

Not that being with either men had been simple. On the contrary. As fleeting as those moments were with Dean, each had been weighted with complications.

But with Derek, from the instant she'd met him, all slouchy insolence and brilliant wit, quiet confidence and tremulous doubt, she'd been unable to look away; and Addison wondered sometimes, as the years passed, if she'd been unable to look away because she was looking into her doom.

Her future.

They'll get married and lead uneventful lives. They'll both be unhappy while silently resenting each other for what they've become and for their marriage.

She could be called weak for saying this, for saying something a lot of people would feel ashamed of saying aloud and for saying something that could make her seem like a hopelessly, lonely and afraid little girl, but it was the truth, no one had made her feel the way Dean did.

It’d never felt that whole, like it did when she was in his presence. She felt alive and warm and real in these waking moments with him. He made her feel beautiful, bright and shiny and cared for and just that fucking amazing. And when he wasn't around, she'd feel this void in her body.

That was why she always ended up here.

In his apartment.

Almost everyday for the past month.

She'd made excuses. She'd spill lies left and right, ridiculousness ones, like Bizzy was feeling ill and that she needed to be in Connecticut with her mother for the entire weekend. And Derek had never suspected a thing or confirmed her lie.

She needed this to stay how they were. Needed Dean.

And because in the heat of those moments with him, she had forgotten herself, had found herself staring at Dean over drinks and rows of powdered lines and then suddenly, without noticing the lost time in between, found herself in his apartment. Everything with him moved in the blink of an eye and she was not in control — one instant she could hear herself begging him for more, in the next she heard him pleading for the same. They were on the bed, they were on the floor, they were on the table or on the chair. They lay in bed discussing anything, or argued over nothing while eating. To Addison, the nights they had together had embodied the word adventure. Their raw sexual hunger was counterpointed perfectly by tender, intense conversations, all the more rare because she hardly ever talked like that, and Dean claimed few people wished to listen to him.

And then at the end, as the heat and madness had evaporated, telling Dean that it had all been fun, but that she was taken. If the passion of every night spent had muddled her sense of time, that particularly unfortunate moment was petrified in her heart. Dean standing there precariously balanced on one leg, the other halfway in his trousers, shirt unbuttoned, tie draped over his shoulders. Mouthing the word 'fiancé' as though it were in a language he was unfamiliar with. Of all the things she'd done and said, that callous ambush was the thing she regretted most.

She'd never told him how she felt and she probably never will.

Coffee done, musings done, she poured two cups and was just about to pick them up when she felt Dean's presence behind her. Addison didn't turn, instead stiffened her spine as though that would ward Dean off. Clearly unimpressed by her remoteness, Dean pressed his body against hers, snaking his hand along her stomach and then sneaking down into her jeans.

“Why aren’t you naked? That’s the only thing I’m gonna complain about.” he mumbled in her ear, kissing the shell and sucking a mark right where her jaw started, making her shiver all the way down to her toes.

She let Dean move his hand down, didn't stop him when his tongue slid around the edge of her ear.

"The best part of waking up ..." Dean said facetiously, against her ear.

Finally, she pushed away from him, turned, and handed Dean one of the cups. Dean, obviously feeling quite comfortable, opened the refrigerator, pulled out milk, then dumped in enough to turn the coffee utterly beige, followed closely by what looked like about one quarter cup of sugar.

"Some coffee with your sugar?" Addison asked.

Dean sipped it, grinning at her over the lip of the cup. He hopped up on the counter and stared intently at her.

She only leaned against the refrigerator, looking back at him, feeling the vibrating hum along her back.

Finally she broke the silence. "I like the view." she said, gesturing towards the window with her chin where it showcased New York City's night skyline.

"You're my best view."

She narrowed her eyes at him, chuckling and shaking her head. She couldn't believe he had just said that to her. "Stop." she said as she kicked lightly at his shin with her foot.

"What?" he asked in mock innocence.

"You're so cheesy."

"And you love it."

Scoffing, "No, I don't." she said.

"Yes, you do. You -"

"Any bagels?" she interrupted him, changing the subject.

"You think this is a short order place or something?"

"I got what I ordered last night," she said.

"Service is our goal."

"And then some." He laughed out loud, a sound Addison hadn't heard before ... she did that. She made him laugh.

"Did you think we weren't going to talk about it? This?"

Well, she guess it was a matter of time. It had been over a month now since they started this regularly.

Addison grimaced. "I-I ... was kind of hoping we wouldn't have to, yeah."

Dean seemed to consider this for a while, staring out the window, before turning his attention back to her. "You come over almost every night this past month. We hang out. I teach you a few tricks. I show you a good time." he said. Whatever she thought she knew about drug use, it was nothing compared to him. He introduced her to GHB and taught her how to do Snow in ways she would never have imagined.

And yeah, what they had was nothing short of a good time.

"And when you don't come over, you're all I think about. I miss you. So, I can't let you off the hook on this one, Adrianne. You stung me the last time, and I didn't see you for another three months. So, I'm not letting you get away again. I've been waiting quite a while."

"But I can't do this anymore, Dean. I have a fiancé. I shouldn't keep doing this to him." Addison put her cup in the sink and walked out of the kitchen. The idea of talking about what they've been doing made her stomach muscles clench. But hadn't she known it would happen sooner or later, the moment she lost herself in Dean's smile?

From behind her, she heard Dean, padding after her. "Now this is familiar."

She had to break it off with Dean because it was the right thing to do. It had gone on long enough.

Walking straight and turning right for the bedroom, and there Dean was, right behind her. Addison pulled her t-shirt from where it was laying now on the bed, Dean must have picked them up, jacket, socks, then went to the bathroom.

"Nuh-uh," Dean said, stepping in front of her. He pushed against her shoulders with his flat palm, kept pushing until she sat back on the bed.

"Dean."

Addison was staggered suddenly by memories of the night of Derek's proposal, of Dean's relentless insistence that it was more than a cheap fling. Of her own overpowering desire to caress his lip with her thumb even while Dean railed against her, her voice high-pitched and grating.

Plopping down on the bed next to her, Dean sighed heavily. "You know, for a girl, you sure don't like to talk about feelings and emotions."

"I'm a WASP. I was not raised to confront, cry or be honest. And for a guy, you get gold for pushy annoyance."

"I'm a practical man, Adrianne. People think I'm somewhat capricious. But at heart I'm practical. I realise when I can change things, and when I can't. You, I can change." His voice suddenly turned dark. "Everything pivoted last night. Turned upside down. You can't shove me away this time."

"I wasn't ... shoving you, Dean." she sighed almost frustratingly.

Perhaps it'd be impossible to forget about Dean. She'd be left with a hole, an emptiness inside of her. Perhaps she should forget about his existence. Never come back. Never turn around. Let him leave her system. Perhaps she ought to stop pushing him away and accept what was.

He pulled her to him and she stiffened, didn't relax herself around him. She was cold, she was always cold, but of course she would be. Heaven's cold, and she was their angel.

"Tell me you want to."

It was a statement to what she had said earlier, that she couldn't keep doing this.

"Dean."

"Tell me you want to even though you can't." he insisted again, like a stubborn child insisting on having his own way.

"I can't, Dean," she said, her voice blunt but not unkind. "But I want to ... I guess we should make the best of our time, shouldn't we?"

"I like you, Adrianne. I think I could love you."

She clicked her tongue at him, as if that was the saddest thing she'd ever heard.

"That's just what every girl wants to hear."

"I think that came out wrong. What I meant was I think I'm falling for you. I haven't felt this way about anyone since Stella."

She rolled up his sleeve and traced the line of bruises dotting his inner arm. "You said you were going to stop this."

Said the hypocrite who's been snorting hers.

Dean thought it was probably pitiful how much he liked her scolding him. "It feels better with the needle," he protested weakly, knowing he'd been caught.

"You're going to get an infection." she scraped her nails lightly over the bruised skin and his eyelids fluttered "Promise you'll stop. No more needles. It's too scary."

"But ..."

"Dean."

His breath caught.

"Promise me."

He nodded yes. Anything for her.

Her lips curled up at her victory. She began to open his shirt, shaking her head at his collection of bruises. "Is this a boot?" she said, sighing at him. "Dean, learn to dodge." she traced around the borders of another bruise, this one further up on his sternum.

"How did I not notice these?"

"You were too high to notice anything."

He closed his eyes and felt his body relax as she continued the careful examination, her fingers finding each of his tiny punctures and bruises, the cool touch a balm. Dean slid one hand up her back, lightly tracing his fingers down her spine, and the sigh of pleasure that drew out was better than any drug he'd tried.

She began to ease him out of his clothes; he felt her lips close over his collarbone and his whole body arched up, his breath stuttering in his chest. He leaned up on his elbows and found her lips with his own; her lips part and she was the one who deepened the kiss, wet and slow and he could do this forever if she'd let him.

"Wanna get high again?" he whispered when the kiss finally broke.

"Sure," she said, her tongue running along the edge of his lip as she curled his hair around her fingers.

"Be careful, though, it has a hell of a kick. You'll see heaven on this stuff."

Then, the makeshift straw out of a dollar bill they'd used earlier was against her nostril and she snorted the entire line in one go.

She straightened up, nostrils starting to burn as she sniffed the final bits of powder up, heart racing in anticipation. She could feel the Snow hitting her blood stream, travelling to her brain. She could probably name all of the things happening in her body right now, but the beautiful thing was with each passing second, it became less and less important to do so. The focus of her thoughts began to tighten, to contract. As she sat there, she could feel herself swelling anew, like diamonds, shiny and new and so fucking unbreakable.

Dean’s eyes were beautiful and they seemed bigger than possible because of how large her pupils were. He turned onto his side to watch her. His pupils were dilated, she noticed — the drugs, arousal, maybe both.

She sniffed once more, her nasal canal tingling.

Dean hadn't been wrong about seeing heaven, though. Not wrong at all.

When there was finally nothing but skin between them, he wrapped his arms around her, the clinging chill of her skin made him shiver as he held her. He wanted to make her warm. He would give his life gladly if it would make her warm.

He traced one thumb over her cheekbone, memorising the contours of her face, then cradled her head as he kissed her again, his tongue running over hers and tracing along the inside of her lips. She made a soft little hum of pleasure that went directly to his groin, the steady pressure building there; he moved against her, trying to relieve some of the tension and she laughs.

She scraped her teeth very lightly against the side of his neck and he felt that down to his spine.

"Do you like it?"

He moaned and turned his head to the side, shivering as she nipped and sucked the delicate skin along his neck, her fingers twining through his hair and trailing over his lips. He rocked his hips, urging her on and she bit harder, hard enough that he knew he'll have a new bruise there by morning. "Don't stop that," he whispered, clenching one hand in her hair. "Please don't."

He felt her smile. She worked her way down his body, teeth and tongue and lips teasing and sucking and biting until all he could do was writhe and beg, across his collarbone, down his chest, the edge of her teeth closing just hard enough on his nipple to make his eyes roll back. Addison scraped her nails down his ribs and his whole body arches.

They fell together, their bodies suddenly still except for the deep throbbing where they were linked. As breath and clear thought returned, she began to laugh.

He was holding her tight against him, his heart a jackhammer in his chest. Her breathing was ragged against his cheek as they lie there for several long perfect minutes, their limbs entwined and sweat drying on their skin.

She roused first, her head tilted to the side as she brushed his hair out of his face. "Do you want me to say it?"

He shivered. "Yes," he whispered, tracing circles on her skin.

Her eyes were wide and sad as she watched him. She kissed his cheek, then the delicate skin just below his ear before she spoke. "I think I could love you too."

/

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy. We're back to Addison's early drugging days.

Does anyone know where the "I like the view." "You're my best view." lines are from? Let me know if you do. Haha! Anyway please leave a review and let me know what you think of this chapter.