Needle Scars

Ugh. It's raining. Whatever. It means fewer people will be out, and it's getting a little late as it is. I better get this out before the sun comes up, too. That's when the old folks start coming out, and they're pretty damn nosy. Tonight's order, mephedrone, 100 grams. Quite the party starter, and it's not every day that someone buys so much at once, but I'm not complaining. Hell, I'm celebrating. It's good for business. This stuff is... well, not <i>good</i> for you, but back when I used to push meth, sometimes valued customers would suddenly stop calling. At least this stuff doesn't kill you. Probably. I'm getting tired of these gloves, as well. The whole package is all stamped and sealed, wrapped up nicely. Some of the other amateurs don't do this, but keeping those plastic disposable gloves on is a good idea. Less chance of fingerprints on it. Alright. After putting on my shoes, my favourite pitch-black hoodie, and a scarf for anonymity for myself but for the cold if any cops ask, it's time to head out. [[➤->A1]]

I do like walking out when it's dark. It's actually quite satisfying. A lot of other girls probably don't agree, but, well, perhaps they should just grow a little taller. Maybe carry a knife around, as well. It can come in handy. Just don't make eye contact with any jumpy hooligan jackasses and you should be fine. The package was nestled deep into one of my pockets, and I wasn't particularly worried about it being stolen. Usually, you'd hire some kid to run it for you for cheap, but I've been running my own stuff ever since I was stealing things out of the chemistry lab at school to make all that impure shit way back then. You get to keep the delivery fee for yourself. And honestly, dumbass teenagers are a liability. Often, they end up looking too shifty and get spooked whenever a cop or, shall we say, urban opportunist comes too close. Then they get their ass kicked and the goods stolen. That's if they don't try to just steal it themselves. Best to leave it to a professional. [[➤->A2]]

Like I thought, it's quiet out. Good. There aren't even any homeless people out around the curbs. Even better. The fewer eyes, the better. So, the way I prefer to do deliveries is made-to-order kind of deal. I know the other dealers prefer a system where the stashes are already prepared and the buyer just unlocks them, but doing it this way leaves less of a chance that it'll be swiped by a non-payer. It's more dangerous, of course, but, well, I've never had a problem. It does also have the advantage of being able to use locations that are only good in the short-term. Think of it a bit like hiding something underneath someone's bed. People don't really check under their bed too often, unless maybe they own an oil company, so you'll get away with hiding it for a little while. But they'll eventually do some dusting and find it, so you can't use it forever. In this case, I've decided to use the underneath of a power box below the ground floor of an apartment complex. [[➤->A3]]

This city is full of buildings like this, which are packed like sardines in between thin and badly lit roads. Foot traffic is high, but people aren't really paying attention. Everyone's staring at the ground or their phones. Even the cops don't really give a shit. So down a set of outside stairs I went. Many of the apartment lights were on, I could see them from the outside, but the place was quiet as the grave. I don't think anyone saw me. In between this building is a dark alley, and the other side is another such apartment block. I ran my hand first underneath the power box, just in case there was a big spider or a trigger mine or some other scary surprise. Nothing, just dust and metal. Great. With my other hand, I pulled the package out of my pocket. A small magnet makes it stick. I took a few steps back, making sure it looked normal from the outside, from some reasonable angles someone could glance at it. Yeah, nothing. Now all that's left to do is take a picture and send it, and the coordinates, to the buyer. [[➤->A4]]

Using a phone with gloves on is a real pain in the ass, so this took a bit of time and fumbling. Not a huge deal, though. That's another advantage. Being able to take a picture with a timestamp adds to your credibility. I probably didn't need it, I was one of the earlier people in the game in this particular part of town. I'm proven and reliable. People know my name. My pseudonym, at least. Well, all in a day's work. Time to head home. I give myself a self-satisfied and very sarcastic dust of the hands and start walking back. [[➤->A5]]

But as I came back up the stairs and looked around, I saw something, or rather, someone I didn't see the first time. This is how we meet. How romantic. I didn't see you the first time because you were not only splayed out near the ground, you were also on top of a pile of rubbish. It wasn't easy to see, and I probably just mistook you for some thrown out clothing or something. It gave me pause, though. I stopped where I was and stared. My first thought is that you were dead, though that might have actually been worse. This really made me suck in the air between my teeth. This was a huge problem, especially seeing as I already sent the message to the buyer. Dead or not, someone is going to find you in a few hours, max. If you're dead, they're gonna call the cops. If you're alive, maybe the ambulance. Either way, this attracts too much heat, and the cops might sweep the area. If they do, they might find it. Not good. [[➤->A6]]

So I walked up to you. Little sleeping beauty, you. First, I checked if you were actually dead. I took a glove off and held the back of my hand just under your nose. Sure enough, I could feel you breathing. Alright, second diagnostic. With two fingers, I opened one of your eyes. They're quite pretty, actually. Light blue, like a diamond or something. But totally unresponsive. They weren't dilating or moving at all. I couldn't wake you up by tapping your cheeks, either. You really knocked yourself the fuck out. Not surprising. You look young. A kid like you probably doesn't know her limits. Well, you better learn, because you might not wake up from the next one. [[➤->A7]]

So, I looked up and down. Dressed for the winter, I see. Even a bit fashionable, but stained as fuck. No wonder I didn't see you the first time. Black clothing with logos, but strange white stains that are a little too big for what I thought they could be. Long hair that looks like it's going to need a lot of brushing. Your skin's pale as a bedsheet. Around your face doesn't look too bad. I opened your mouth and didn't see any vomit. You smell like an open sewer grate, but from where I'm standing, you're lucky as hell. I'm not a doctor, and I can't figure anything else out from all my time diagnosing overdoses, but I don't see anything else. You'll live. You look young, though. A soft and surprisingly cute face, asleep in the garbage like a little cherub. Kids these days really start ruining their lives younger and younger, huh? But that left the question as to what to actually do with you. I can't gamble on you waking up in time and fucking off. Someone's going to find you. Someone already found you, even. And that's unwanted attention. [[➤->A8]]

I had to make a decision fast. I can't just stand out here in the cold, either. You might even lose too much heat yourself. I guess you're going to have to come with me, then. I'll take you back to my place and throw you on the floor somewhere. Then you can wake up and fuck off in the morning. So, first order of business is to pick you up from that pile of sticky, disgusting bedding. Ugh. It's mostly just packaging and random bits of paper, but some of this is rotting food and God knows what else. The snow hasn't made it any rosier. It's gone thick and sludgy. At least you're quite light, even if your clothes are half-way soaked. It's fucking unpleasant being so close to someone who smells like sewer runoff, but at least you're making the manual labour part easy. That's the nice thing about spending all your food money on drugs. I slung one arm around your back to the other side of your body and picked you up from there, acting as if I was helping a drunk friend home. Yeah, nice and inconspicuous. [[➤->A9]]

Thank God no one asked any questions on the way home. He's really doing me a favour by making me deal with only one annoying, difficult problem instead of several. In past the front door we go, and I can leave you on the floor of my washing room. That's what I thought, at least. I'm one of those big time ballers who actually has a single unit house, but it's only a single floor. The big problem, as it would turn out, is that there's no way to get away from your garbage pile aroma. It's clung to your clothing, and it's going to leak into my fucking floorboards. I can visibly see the discoloured water coming off you. Disgusting. Whatever. Consider the bath and laundry bill on the house. I went into my bedroom to grab a hairclip, stick it roughly back, and immediately tried to get you the biohazard you're wearing. [[➤->A10]]

I decided to go through your pockets while I was at it. I was expecting to find a phone or a wallet or some cash or something. Some identification would be nice. But no, no such luck. What a mystery. Oh well. All of that is going in the washing machine. I threw it in without much of a glance, and then turned my gaze back at your now very naked body. Yeah, like I thought. Pale and skinny. You can't be more than maybe 50 kilograms. 45, even. You look a bit more like a corpse than a real person, honestly. Skinny as a rake and purple at the extremities. You'll probably live, college kids are practically immortal, after all. But, my God, I can see you make some bad decisions. I can see you shave. Your arms and legs are practically hairless. Between your legs, too, even though that's grown back a little. I don't know if this is just for yourself, but if it isn't, you've been really picking some bad priorities. No tattoos or noticeable wounds, though. There is one thing I'm curious about, however. [[➤->A11]]

I grabbed one of your arms by the elbow and twisted so the underside saw the light. Yeah, there it is. Needle scars. Girl, you really like making bad decisions, huh? Far be it from me to assume, but if I could offer a humble piece of advice, it would be to stay away from anything that needs a needle. They're all either expensive or dangerous. You make me damn jealous, though. You must be, what, late teens, early twenties at most. Yet here you are, a starving junkie out stone cold, yet with a practically flawless, gorgeous body. Compared to me, I'm now in the age bracket where I have to moisturise and exercise and all that other maintenance shit. Then again, I hit my thirty-fourth last month. And in the state you're in, I doubt you'll hit your twenty-fourth. [[➤->A12]]

Still, not bad, even if you currently look like you were dragged out of a morgue. I poured some powder and hit some buttons on the washing machine. We'll let that run while I drag you to the bathroom and run you under some soap and water. It's quite surprising how much wet clothes weigh. It was pretty much no trouble at all getting you in the bath. I didn't intend on making you sparkle, so you'll just have to do with a decent once-over with my cheaper body wash. I gave a quick scrub of your hair with some shampoo, too. I pulled you out and wrapped you in a towel, and could already see some colour returning. Alright, so you're not going to die. Perhaps I should charge you some massive amount of money for saving your life like the Americans do. That was a joke, of course. I know you don't have it. [[➤->A13]]

I suppose this changes my plans a little. I'll have to keep an eye on you. With that in mind, I'll just put you in my lounge. I made sure you were dry first, and then wrapped you in a blanket. I stuck a heater out, too. But that does mean you'll be spooked as fuck if you wake up like this. It's fine. Part of the business includes having spare handcuffs for just such an occasion. I placed you under my TV, just so I could keep an eye on you, and handcuffed one of your hands to the its wall mount. It's mounted pretty securely, as far as I know. I'm going to be pretty pissed if you freak out and fuck up my TV, though. And with that, I threw myself on my couch and turned the TV on. I guess I can stream some bullshit while I figure out what to do with you. My first idea was to take out my phone and make a call. [[➤->A14]]

(text-colour:lime)["Hello! Dimitri speaking."] "Ey, Dimochka." (text-colour:lime)["Oh, Maria. You're... calling late. Is everything alright?"] "Yeah. I have a, uh, question." (text-colour:lime)["Well, sure. How can I help?"] "How much can I get for a, let's say, early twenties year old girl?" (text-colour:lime)["....What?"] "Yeah. Early twenties, pretty good-looking, I suppose. White European. How much can I get for her?" (text-colour:lime)["Wh-what? What? I... what?"] "What number is 'what'?" (text-colour:lime)["The number is.. what the fuck do you mean, "how much can you get"? What the fuck did you do?"] "It's been a long night." [[➤->A15]]

(text-colour:lime)["You know, that really doesn't help."] "Answer my question first." (text-colour:lime)["Well it's... well it's not an easy question to answer! It's pretty market dependent, you know. It's volatile. Depending on what people are willing to pay."] "Well, then, what the fuck are they willing to pay?" (text-colour:lime)["It depends! Shit! On origin and all that kind of shit! Where did you even get her?"] "Passed out in a alley while I was out." (text-colour:lime)["And you fucking kidnapped her?"] "Yeah." (text-colour:lime)["Christ alive, Marya, you really are a... Alright, so... Do you even know who she is?"] "Nope." (text-colour:lime)["Well, is she a local?"] "Probably." [[➤->A16]]

(text-colour:lime)["Then... ah... yeah. Can't help you."] "What? Why the fuck not?" (text-colour:lime)["Girls from the capital are too much heat, you know? If she were some villager or from down south or something, it'd be different but, you know. You know!"] "So you can't help me get rid of her?" (text-colour:lime)["It really depends on what you mean by 'get rid of', but what the fuck are... Shit, you really are something else. Where's the, uh, camaraderie for your fellow woman?"] "It's called 'feminism', Dimochka. We're all stone cold bitches these days." (text-colour:lime)["I think that might just be you."] "Fuck off." (text-colour:lime)["Haha. Jokes aside, no. I'm not willing to touch a girl from the capital. Why not just let her run free?"] "So she can call the cops on me on her way out?" (text-colour:lime)["Fuck, I don't know, then. Cap her and use some hydrochloric acid."] "...I think I'll figure this one out on my own." [[➤->A17]]

And with that, I hung up. Well, at least I know what I <i>can't</i> do. My eyes swung between you and the TV. As far as I can tell, you haven't moved a millimetre. You probably didn't hear that conversation, either. It's a shame. I hear that girls go for tens of thousands of Euros at least, even if they're ugly as a pig. It would be mutually beneficial. I could get a nice new car with heated seats and that kind of shit, and you just have to be in bed with some old rich fuck. Well, I'll have to think of something else. Again, I'm jealous. I'm stressed to fuck, watching shitty streaming shows, and you're swaddled up like baby Jesus, sleeping without a sound. You piss me off, you know. Whatever. I'll close my eyes and finally get some sleep. Even if you do wake up before me, you won't be able to go anywhere. [[➤->A18]]

Isn't it nice to have some sun? My TV had turned itself off while I was asleep, but there was enough natural light to see everything. I checked my phone. 11:43. Always nice to have a good night's sleep. You still weren't moving, so in the meantime, I checked my phone. The buyer sent confirmation that he found his package, and even sent me a thumbs up. Pleasure doing business, buddy. I'll buy myself an ice cream with the cash. I went to make myself a coffee, and then spent the next half an hour or so, scrolling through bullshit news articles and bullshit little videos. All the while, I was looking out of the corner of my eye. To you, miss baby Jesus. [[➤->A19]]

It was during a video of some guy showing off his car did I finally see you move. (text-color:aqua)["Ughh...."] I watched you sway around slowly and awkwardly. You looked more like a zombie than a person. Hair all over the place, mouth slightly open. No energy to your eyes whatsoever. I whistled sharply to get your attention, like how one whistles at a dog. There was a pretty impressively long delay between me doing that and you responding, though. You eventually turned to face me, your eyes barely open. You tried to reach for your face, but you chose the handcuffed hand to do it and instead just ended up struggling in place for a moment. (text-color:aqua)["Uhh... Huhh..."] So eloquent. "Good morning, princess." [[➤->A20]]

You looked around slowly. Very slowly. Jaw agape like you've never seen the inside of a house before. Feel free to say something nice about my wallpaper. The pink flowers were on it when I got here. Really, you're not panicking as much as I thought you'd be. (text-color:aqua)["Where... where the f..."] You suddenly shot up, looking down with the energy you found to finally open your eyes. (text-color:aqua)["Where am I? What did you do? Who are you? What the fuck?!"] Spoke too soon, I guess. "How about 'thank you'?" Not in the mood to be polite, huh? You tried your best to pull your arm free from the handcuff, though I'm not sure why you didn't stop after the first couple pulls. Skinny junkie bitch strength isn't known for breaking through steel. (text-color:aqua)["What the fuck did you do to me? Let me go!"] "Hah. You really want to know?" [[➤->A21]]

I sat up straight and folded my arms, and I made sure to wear my business face. "I found you outside, sleeping in some trash." You blinked and looked pretty wide in shock. You opened your mouth like you wanted to say something. But you didn't. "Yeah. No need to thank me. I'll grab your clothes and you can fuck off." You still had that look. Blank shock. You'll get over it. I went to the washing room and back, your dry clothes in tow. They certainly smelled a lot better. You're welcome. I threw them in front of you, and then walked over to undo the handcuff. Again, all you did was stare. [[➤->A22]]

I sat back down on the couch, lounging backward like I was before you decided to interrupt me. "Right. Put them back on and fuck off." You stared. Your gaze went back and forth between myself and your pile of clothes. This went on for long enough that I really started to notice that you weren't in a hurry to get out from under the blanket. "Well? If you have something to say, spit it the fuck out." I saw you bite your lip. (text-color:aqua)["I... have nowhere to go, I..."] Alright. Not my problem, though. (text-color:aqua)["Can I stay?"] Fuck's sake.