WARNING: This story contains graphic themes, violence, drug references, and coarse language. Please do not read if this may upset or offend you in any way.

Chapter 1.

Heroin-induced introductions.

XxX

APOV

Where the FUCK was my baggie? I needed it to rid myself of the darkness that was once again threatening to swallow me whole. I didn't mean to be so melodramatic, really. But, dramatic-sounding or not, it was the goddamn truth. I needed that goddamn high, and I needed it now.

I raked my hands through my hair, as I searched my room for what had to be the fiftieth time tonight. I checked all the fucking obvious places, like under my bed, the pockets of the several pairs of jeans that littered the floor, and in my drawers. Of course, they weren't fucking there. Of course they weren't. Leave it to me to chuck my fucking syringes somewhere, and then not being able to find the fucking things again.

I really needed to clean my shithole apartment, so maybe I wouldn't get myself in this kind of pissy situation so often, but I honestly could not find the will to pick up even a pair of jeans. As a result of my non-cleaning, my apartment fucking stank. No fucking wonder Lawrence thought I was such a loser. I couldn't even find a bag of fucking syringes!

I sighed and sat down on my sorry excuse for a bed. Think, Adam, think... I clapped my hands over my face, straining for the memory of when I'd last used the damn syringes. The last time you used them...

I jumped up from my bed, made my way to the bathroom, and flicked on the lights. Sometimes they refused to cooperate, but for some reason, they did today. Not that I was complaining. I surveyed the tiny, shitty little bathroom, and spied the baggie sitting on the edge of the bathtub. What the fuck...? I snatched them from their perch, practically ripped the bag open, and took out a syringe. Fuck. I was running out. I'd have to buy some more from Xavier soon. I stuck the point of the needle into my wrist, and I injected myself. Ahh, much better. Just like that, the darkness seemed to dissipate, and I felt almost normal. Ah, just one of the many wonders of heroin!

It's a good thing I don't share my apartment, otherwise I'd be in deep shit by now. Ivan had a moment of precognition when he let me rent the apartment at the very end of the building. That, and the fact that I had a bit of a reputation as an asshole, I never got any unexpected visits.

I suppose, to most heroin addicts, I had the ideal living conditions. I didn't have to resort to crime or sex work to pay for my 'happy highs', and I had a decent amount of secrecy here in my shithole apartment. In this life, I was probably as happy as I was going to get. Which wasn't all that happy.

I moved from my bathroom- the smell was getting to me- and I looked out the huge window that hung in what was supposedly my living room. I saw the sheer blackness of the sky, so very alike to the darkness that consumed me, and I scowled, depression settling over me even through the effects of the drug. Fucking night-time. It seemed to last forever, moving slower than two old people fucking, and that was pretty damned slow. Night-time was the time I hated the most, because it brought back so many bad memories. It wasn't like I could sleep, either- the dreams that haunted me were so fucked-up, it was better that I stayed awake, all night and every night. The dreams weren't just fucked-up, they were depressing. And I had had more than my fair share of sadness, thank you very much.

So I was now left with the rather pissy problem of not having the faintest idea what I was going to do next. I could always pull out the syringes again, but, since my stash was nearing complete depletion, that probably wasn't the best idea. I couldn't get more until I developed the fucking photos that the very-intimidating Eric Matthews had requested, and he paid me. I'd said before that, unlike most people like me, I didn't have to turn to crime or sex work to pay for my stash. Well, it's true. I'm a freelance photographer, and while I don't get requested all that often, the money I get for snapping and developing a couple of photos is more than enough.

I could always call Seth, and we could go get pissed together. I didn't often go out and get drunk with him- he was too...weird...to be taken in large doses, but he was an alright guy.

I remember one particular time when we were in high school, and he told the principal to 'get fucked'. I loved that shit. We've been friends ever since.

However, when I called, he didn't answer. Fuck. Where the hell was he when I actually needed him? I sighed and hung the phone back up. Right then, my mood was so low that I was surprised that it could get that low, especially when I was currently under the influence of drugs.

I sat back down on my bed, and wondered what the hell I could do to pass the time while the seemingly endless stretch of night reigned. Not sleep, obviously. I stared up at the ceiling. Might as well get those fucking photos finished. I sighed. I might as well. I mean, if I didn't, Eric would probably club me, and the last thing I needed right now was a black eye. So it was with some reluctance that I moved to my darkroom, or the shitty motel equivalent of one, and I began to develop Eric's photos. They weren't anything spectacular, mostly ones of him and his kid, Daniel.

I hung up the photographs to dry, and I moved onto some more, deliberately taking my time, so that maybe, just maybe, it'd be daylight by the time I finished. It was pleasant enough, doing one of the few things I did right, for hours on end, but after a while, I had to admit, it was getting old pretty damn fast. Maybe it was just because I was plagued by my own stream of darkness, but the photographs of detective Eric Matthews and his annoying son made my stomach twist, and it soon became hard to even look at the photos, let alone develop them. If I was being honest with myself- and I wasn't all that often- that emotion that was making my stomach curl into knots was jealousy. Eric was only a few years older than I was (I was due to turn twenty-eight in seventeen days), and already he had a wife and kid.

The last time I'd had a girlfriend was more than a few years ago- and she'd slapped me. Since that particular incident, I'd made no effort to throw myself in amongst women. Seth was worried about me then, still is probably, but there's nothing he can really do. He'd tried to set me up a few times with some really hot chicks, but, after years of ignoring the opposite sex, it felt utterly bizarre, if not wrong, to suddenly jump on some random girl and screw her. I had no doubt that was where I'd gotten my 'asshole' reputation- from all the girls I'd rejected over the years.

I began shaking my head, unwilling to take that particular train of thought any further.

After ducking out of the darkroom to investigate whether night-time was still going strong (which it was), I returned to the photos, letting out another exasperated sigh.

MPOV

As I stared down into the darkness, I felt my stomach clench. I hated this room with the fiery passion of a million hells. I knew I had no right to feel this way- God knows how much fucking money my father had spent creating this room for me- but I just couldn't bring myself to take even one step down the stairs, into the darkness. In the brighter hours of the day, the light would filter in from one of the many windows that lined the impeccable hallway leading to this fucking monstrosity, and it would be almost bearable. Almost. However, it was an entirely different story when night fell. Dank, dark, and suffocating, it was probably the closest thing to hell on earth- at least in my opinion.

I could feel the familiar fear and panic enveloping me just opening the door. Even though the hallway lights were on, I couldn't draw strength from them. Upon facing the dark abyss before me, the lights appeared ghostly, surreal, and I knew that if I took just one step down into the darkness, hands would seize me, and I'd never see the light again. Maybe they'd take a lighter to me again, and I'd feel the rest of my body burn. At least then my right arm wouldn't stick out as much. I remembered all too well the sounds of screams, my screams, pleading, begging for them to stop...

I jolted out of that line of thinking, and slammed the door a little harder than perhaps what the situation called for. I heard my father grumble upstairs. Shit. I'd have to go and apologize for waking him up. It was well after midnight, and I knew my father had a huge case to attend to later today. My father's a lawyer, and it's because of him that I have a place to stay. Most people would think it's strange that a grown man still lives with his father, but my father rarely stays at home, so I more or less have the place to myself, which is a good thing. If my father had chosen to be a cop instead, he would have discovered the package of syringes that his son keeps so close, and then I'd be in even deeper shit. It wasn't actually me who'd suggested I'd stay here. It wasn't my father, either. It was the cops. And when the cops make a 'suggestion', you usually go along with it.

I sighed. If I had to make amends to my father, I may as well do it now. I crept along the hallways, flicking on lights at random, knowing it'd probably piss my father off even more, but I simply couldn't stand to wander around our huge fucking mansion with only the shadows for company. When I arrived at my father's room, however, he was already fast asleep, snoring lightly. He apparently didn't want an apology. Well, that was fine with me. I watched him for a few moments, before I went to my overly large, immaculate bedroom.

This was where I usually spent my night hours. I usually had no idea what the hell I was going to do, and this time was no different. I sat down on my bed and sighed. May as well finish that compilation CD you've been working on... One of my latest projects was to create a compilation CD that never failed to keep you awake. Most of it was screamer music- but I had discovered that if you were tired enough, even screamer music could put you to sleep. So my compilation CD was a total failure so far. Nevertheless, I still got up and attempted to fix it again. There HAD to be something I wasn't getting right. And I wasn't going to stop until I found out what it was.