Again, listen to this song, even if you don't like Stone Temple Pilots, it helps create the atmosphere of this chapter. Smoke a cigarette and lie some more, these conversations kill, cooooonversations kiiiiiiiill

It can't rain all the time. The Crow reference, I love that movie, it's one of my favourites along with Taxi Driver, Trainspotting, The Plague Dogs and Apocalypse Now.

Also idk if this chapter is a little rushed at parts, or if the flow is weird at all. Tell me if it is, I can edit it 😊

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28th of May 2015, Thursday
Ten past seven in the morning

Lucy's car, stolen from her aunt, arrived back at Brighton as the sun was high in the sky, she drove along the coastline and breathed in the salty smell of the ocean, the greasy smell of the fish and chips, the sweet smell of the ice cream and candy floss being sold along the beach.

She pulled into a busy car park near the pier, winding up the window and shutting off the music before grabbing her backpack and getting out, slinging it over her shoulder. She walked over to the parking meter, paying for a full day, before walking along the shops that looked out onto the glimmering grey-blue ocean dusted with a golden haze from the pale sun.

She went into a sweet shop, the dark oak shelves lined with an abundance of brightly coloured sweets. The shop had an overwhelmingly sugary aroma so thick it was palpable. Lucy pulled herself a bucket of pink candy floss off the shelf and handed over a two pound coin for it, letting them keep the change before walking back outside.

She crossed the road, walking toward the stone beach, resting her elbows against the blue railings as she lit herself a cigarette, ignoring the passers-by that coughed dramatically when they saw the coffin nail hanging from her lips, not even giving them a roll of her eyes and only giving them an afterthought.

Like walking past me is gonna kill them. It's gonna take a second for them to walk past me-if it's so bad they can hold their fucking breath.

Instead, she smoked cigarettes and ate candy floss that had the texture of sand in her throat but still tasted sweet like sugar. She stared, transfixed, at the rhythm of the lulling waves as they rolled in, a perfect azure horizon draped across the distance with a bright sun as the centrepiece, the golden shine of it drenching Lucy with warmth, the yellow sparkles of sunshine glittering like a path of diamonds.

The side of her lip tugged backward sharply into a quick grimace as the raw pain of grief, from losing Ruby, stung her once again. Ruby, Lucy's best friend since DIP sentenced Lucy to a month in residential rehab followed by a five month out patient programme of prohibition instead of a year in prison in April of 2012-the two had met during group therapy and relapsed together on heroin and crack cocaine after going back to Ruby's bedsit, while giving each other advice on how to pass drugs tests; they had been junkie friends ever since.

Except it was more than that.

Somewhere along the line, in between stealing each other's dope when the money started to dry up so often that it became expected, in between letting one crash at the other's place when they had been kicked out for the umpteenth time; in between holding drugs for one another, only to use the drugs out of desperation, then ghosting the other while frantically trying to get the money together, and create an excuse that wasn't total bullshit. In between sticking to their word and pulling through with an unbelievably pure dope hook up, in between always returning a favour. In between fucking each other over and over again, yet always forgiving each other out of need-a need to get high, a need to not be alone, a need for friendship, a need for a shoulder to cry on.

A need for something.

In between all that something deeper than just friendship had formed. Something that was partly supportive, partly toxic, partly abusive, partly nurturing, partly bad and partly good-they had something, something special.

Something more than just junkie manipulation. They'd relapse together, get strung out together, get sober together and then relapse again. Something made them always go back to one another.

Lucy's cheeks began to flush with heat as her eyes glazed over with tears, she felt her backpack vibrate as her phone rang, wiping her tears she slowly took off her backpack, reaching inside and checking her phone as she saw her aunt had left her a voicemail half an hour ago, as well as texting her five times since sending that voicemail-she put her ear to her phone and listened to the message.

'Did you steal my car?! I swear if you've sold it don't even think about coming back here till you're stone cold sober! How am I supposed to get to work without my car?!" her aunt's voice blitzed through the phone, the outburst lined with fret-the reddening of her furious face, and the burning rage of a hardened stare was almost palpable.

Lucy checked her messages, the most recent was from her uncle-who was more of a fence sitter as apposed to her zero tolerance aunt, while her aunt had said no drugs or alcohol Lucy would often stay up late with her uncle drinking beer and smoking joints.

'I know losing Ruby was hard and you miss her but she wouldn't want you to end up like her. Come back home so we can talk this through' her uncle's message read, she started to type out a response as her vision blurred with tears.

'Be home in a few hours, I haven't sold the car, I've still got it on me, I miss her so much' Lucy replied abruptly, sniffing as she sent the message, rubbing her thumb across where tears fell onto the screen to wipe them away.

She didn't bother to read her aunt's messages, she knew how scathing they would be. Her aunt was definitely the unwelcome, but necessary, ugly truth. Lucy was already reeling, she didn't need to be kicked while she was down just yet.

Instead she puffed away on her cigarette, the grimace still twisting her lips, as she struggled to blink back the tears brimming in her hazel eyes.

Lucy was tired of seeing her spirit slowly erode. Tired of watching the light dull in her eyes, of watching her lips curl into a smile less and less. Tired of watching her expression become lifeless as the days blurred together, of watching her tears spill more and more. Tired of running to drugs and letting them rot her soul and resolve her to the vicious cycle of addiction. Tired of letting everyone down-of failing herself.

She was tired of standing in the way of her own true change. Tired of never really trying to get better, tired of not going to therapy and talking about her feelings, instead choosing to numb them with drugs.

She knew it didn't have to be this way-she didn't have to die like this. She could make something of her life if only she tried-if she didn't try and instead chose to fall back into old habits, then she only had herself to blame.

She could have a future beyond the suicidal thoughts, she could change for the better and choose to be happy and dismiss the self loathing thoughts as bullshit. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain-if she could break the cycle. She could be a singer, a bassist, a guitarist, a painter, a drawer, a novelist, an illustrator, a filmmaker, a concept artist, a scriptwriter or even an art therapist.

She could do so much-if she decided to make a change.

What have I got to lose? Being a junkie has just stolen my choices, my morality, my friends. It's taken my life away. I can change, take my life back.

She finished eating the candy floss after smoking three cigarettes, a sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach from all the sugar sitting in it. She went into the pier, buying herself tokens and going on the various rides-which became less and less enjoyable as her nose started to run, her skin began to feel cold and her hands began to shake.

The dreaded withdrawals were setting in.

She ran into the toilets, setting the injection kit out of her lap and two minutes later she left high on heroin and crystal meth. She promised herself it would be the last time. Her nose didn't run anymore, her skin didn't feel cold anymore and her hands didn't shake anymore as she went back onto the rides in an anaesthetic fog, her head lulling sleepily on the roller coasters and dodgems before suddenly being sparked alive with rage from the thrill of the ride.

When the rides and the heroin made her feel too sick to take anymore she retreated down to the beach, sitting under the pier and watching the scenery pass by, the screeching of seagulls flying overhead became distant as she laid down and promptly drifted off to sleep, the bumpy stones feeling like a silky cloud in her sedated reprieve.

She woke up nine hours later to her whole body feeling like it was rotting and a chilling ocean breeze that made her blood run cold as ice, her muscles stiffened like she was a corpse as she laid all alone on the deserted beach-the reprieve had abandoned her. The scene before her was nightmarish, the sun was setting on the ocean horizon, barely lingering above the bottomless depths, setting the sky ablaze with blood reds and dark purples and fiery tinted clouds, the water was an infinite stretch of black abyss, reflecting the fire of the sun on the surface.

A pulsating pain was tearing apart her brain, the beach was spiralling faster and faster in her obscure vision, her stomach was knotting and convulsing with an agonising misery as a thick sheen of sweat plastered her clothes to her shivering skin.

Nauseatingly, she forced herself to sit up, she shooting pains ripping through her brain as she fumbled through her backpack for her injection kit like she was on autopilot; dry retching and blinking cold sweat from her glassy eyes she laid out her kit, tremors shooting along her pale hands as she mechanically fixed a fresh needle to the syringe, taking out her spoon and putting the rest of her heroin and crystal meth she had brought with her onto the spoon-the drugs she had planned to take all together all at once in a triple dose to kill her.

Dissolving them with a small packet citric acid and water before hastily and shakily unbuckling her belt to use as a tourniquet around her upper arm.

She didn't care if anyone saw her shooting up. All she cared about, all she could think about, all she survived for- slipping the sweet relief from the torture of withdrawals into her vein.

After a desperate and frantic scramble she was high once again. She had let herself down once again.

No. I've earned this, how else am I supposed to work through grief? If everyone could just leave me the fuck alone I'd be better off, I'm fine with using-it's everyone else who thinks I'm stupid enough to use dirty needles, not cook my shots. Fuck them. I don't need them.

I've got all I need right here. Something that doesn't die on me. Something that'll always be there for me.

The puncture wound stung dully and her arm ached weakly as the blood began to flow back, the tourniquet no longer cutting off the blood supply.

She had fucked it all up once again. Enslaved herself to addiction once again.

Something that's killing me. That's the whole point of the fucking thing-killing me slowly with infections and abscesses and diseases, or quickly with an overdose. It's a passive suicide.

If I'm dead I'm at peace and free, I should be in the dirt right next to all the other fucking junkies. Next to Ruby.

She could barely walk as she staggered back to her car, she broke down in a fit of tears as she smashed her head over and over into the steering wheel, face flushing red with frustration as she eventually steeled her resolve and started her car; driving away from the one place that had made her happy that now only reminded her of her shame.

It's all fucking pointless. Being high isn't enough anymore-if I can't be free I'd be better off dead.