stitchxmars:
He flopped down onto the floor, resting his elbow on his knee as his gaze flickered between her and the baggie between her slender fingers as he watched her return. “Good– that last lot wasn’t the greatest, I wasn’t in the mood to go at it with one of Mutt’s hounds over it–” he growled under his breath, wondering how much of their shit they laced with god knows what and thinking that they were dumb enough to not question it. He watched her eagerly, tugging an errant dark curl at the back of his neck as she pulled the note from her pocket, shaking a little with the prospect of getting that little hit he wanted, no, needed.
Angel glanced at the closest photo frame in the room. One of their first gigs, she was standing at his side, there faces pressed close together so they could share the mic before they’d gotten enough money to buy another. She grabbed it before joining him on the floor, spreading the thin powder across the glass before tucking it into four neat lines. “No shit, I could’a sworn I was t’ queen for about a week after that stuff, you know, when I wasn’t throwin’ up like a loon.” She brought the frame onto her lap before bending down to snort her first line, the note rolled into a little tube. She felt it almost hit the back of her throat, causing her to throw her head back, blindly passing it to Stefan. A lot of other drug addicts had asked Andie why she didn’t use heroin if she was willing to use just about everything else. She always joked about money, when in reality the answer was far more vain. Meth, heroin... both made you look awful and most of Angel’s worth was in her looks. This and whatever else she could get her hands on would do. If she thought she was hard to love now, who would take her when her teeth begun to rot from her habit? “That is some fuckin’ premium dope.” She laughed, feeling her lips become tingly and strange as she felt warmth spread all the way to her finger tips.
