A/N: Plotless though it may seem, I am going somewhere with this.
Soft lips envelope my own, long arms find their way around my waist as I press my body a little further against the figure cuddled in my arms.
The kiss deepens, a tongue presses insistently against my lips, begging for the entry that I more than willingly grant. Strong, smooth hands run their way up from my back to behind my head, where delicate fingers get lost in my silky tendrils of bleached blonde hair.
It is only when I feel myself being pushed down onto the sofa, being crushed into fabric and springs below me, that I realize who the weight on top of me belongs to.
"Shit," I whisper, withdrawing my tongue and pushing the heavy weight off of me. "Shit."
I stare at the dark-haired man looking back at me, his face reflecting the fear, shock, and confusion on my own. My head is spinning and I have the urge to vomit, both from the drugs still circulating through my system, and from the fact that I just kissed another man…passionately. Shit.
This isn't some girl I picked up in a club, this isn't Laura, my long-term girlfriend of six months. This is… Who is this?
As if on cue, the man coughs nervously and says, "Uh, hey. I'm Steve."
"Roger," I reply, a little dazed out. Did this really happen or is it just another drug-induced hallucination? I reach out to touch "Steve's" chest and run my had over the dips and muscles underneath his white tee-shirt, already moist with sweat after being in a crowded room, packed wall to wall with people dancing and having sex on various pieces of furniture. No, this really did happen.
I'm high. Completely wasted, I wasn't thinking straight. That's the only reason it happened.
Steve is still gaping at me, his eyes wide with terror, shock, and…passion? I glance down and it is then that I notice that my fingers are still tracing light patterns across the smooth texture of his shirt, still delicately stroking his chest, and I draw back my hand quickly.
The room is beginning to spin in front of me, the patterns on the peeling wallpaper are jumping out at me, almost as if they were 3-D. Just how high am I?
I start to go over the number of drinks in my head, and the number of drugs I took, but I only get to three shots and two joints before being pushed down on the battered sofa again.
'Holy shit,' I think to myself as Steve looms over me, passion radiating from those intense, dark eyes of his. He bends down and presses his lips softly, tentatively -- and then a little more rough as his desire mounts – against my own.
His lips are so soft and they taste so good; it isn't long before I give in to the pleasure and press my mouth against his. 'Hey, I'm high,' I rationalize in my head. This doesn't mean anything, it's just the drugs. So why not give in? I can always deny it later, and chances are I won't even remember come morning.
I moan softly as Steve runs his hand down my back and am extremely pissed off when someone pulls him off of me a second later.
A small girl stands in front of us, eyes bloodshot, and covered in sweat as she holds out some dollar bills in her trembling palm.
"Got any smack?" she asks quietly, with a nervous little tremor in her voice.
Steve sighs and shoves a hand in the pocket of his beige overcoat, producing a tiny ziplock bag.
"I'm cool," he snarls as he grabs the money, simultaneously slipping the small, plastic bag containing white powder, into her hand.
"Thanks," she murmurs as she runs away, her long dark hair bouncing around her shoulders.
I look at Steve questioningly and raise an eyebrow, as if to ask what just happened, as he pulls an identical bag from the same pocket.
"You interested?"
I'm about to reply, about to tell him that fuck yes, I'm interested, but before I can another girl with beautiful emerald green eyes and flowing red hair approaches us.
"Hey," she murmurs seductively into Steve's ear as she wraps her lithe arms around his muscular chest and pecks tiny kisses across his face. "Come with me," she whispers, motioning to a corner of the crowded room where a bunch of people have formed a circle.
Steve nods and the girl walks away. "Coming?" he asks, taking my hand in his own, pulling me over to the group.
And before I know what is happening I am standing along with the rest of the junkies, watching as the needle gets passed down the line. April, the redhead girl from before, holds the needle out to me, her painted red lips quirked into a smile and an eyebrow raised flirtatiously.
"Want it?" After a long moment of silence she sighs, tossing her long hair over a shoulder as she adds, "Don't worry, it's clean."
I pause for a second, never having tried heroin before, before grabbing the syringe hungrily. "Most definitely."
A/N: Sorry it's so short. This is just the prologue, but the next chapter will be longer.