AN: This idea randomly popped into my head after wondering what exactly happened to Rachel to make her so screwed up, and the plot kinda just popped into my head, so I had to write it out. If I get good feedack, I may continue. If I do, I'll explain a bit more in the next chapter. Any reviews are more than welcome.
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The DJ was good. He was playing all the right songs. Songs you didn't have to think about, Rachel thought. Those were the best kind. Because when you had to think, you remembered, and when you remembered, you hurt. And Rachel was sick and tired of hurting.
She continued to dance in the club, letting the vibrations run through her body; letting the feeling of someone else's skin on hers drown out the world. Rachel was good at dancing. No matter how completely shitfaced she got, she could still drag her ass onto the floor and find someone to dance with, even if they were there more for the support than the companionship. After a few songs had gone by, the guy dancing with her had gotten grabby, dancing a little too close; his hands sliding a little too far up her thigh. But Rachel was a little too far gone to care. She danced with him until her hair stuck to her face and she began to feel her makeup run. She hated to get hot and sticky.
It was time for another drink. She managed to wriggle away from the man and stumble over to one of the tables near the bar. She glanced quickly around the room before grabbing a random drink and sucking it down. Another talent of hers, finding a drink despite how broke she was. As she tasted the drink, Rachel made a face in disgust. Whatever it had been, it was terrible. She shrugged and moved on. Beggars can't be choosy.
Although the room had already begun to spin, it still wasn't enough for her. It was never enough. Because at the end of the night, regardless of where she had ended up, she still fell asleep remembering her, and tonight, she couldn't have that. Tonight, it was too much to take. So she found another drink, this one slightly more pleasant than the last, and prayed to god that it would get her that much closer to forgetting that girl's face, even if it was only going to last for one night.
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It was about an hour later when she remembered the VIP room. She felt so stupid for not thinking of it sooner. She had been going to the clubs so often as of late that they were like a home away from home. She had once been able to get into just about anywhere she wanted to. She prayed that she still had that ability. She made her way over to the back of the club, stairs and a bouncer now the only things keeping her from the plush sofas and muted lights of the room above. In fact, she was more afraid of the stairs then the bouncer.
Rachel giggled a bit, placing one stilletoed foot slowly in front of the other, clinging to the railing for support. Sometimes, she worried that if she didn't laugh at how pathetic she was, she would cry. Crying was never fun, and partygirl Rachel was supposed to be fun. There was another thing she was good at - being fun. Rachel paused on her trek up the stairs for a moment to consider what, exactly, that meant that she was good at. She decided that right now wasn't the best time to be philosophical, and continued to the top of the stairs.
The bouncer looked at her, and for a moment she feared that he wasn't going to let her in, and she was going to have to go all the way back down. He finally recognized her from previous nights, and waved her in. Thank god, Rachel thought, because she really wasn't sure she could have made it back down. She walked into the dimly lit room, and surveyed the scene. People kissing, people drinking, a girl passed out on the sofa. She almost laughed again; it was so wrong how familiar this all was. She stopped a waitress and ordered a drink.
Rachel made her way over to a deep-set sofa in the corner, and waited for her drink to come. She closed her eyes, trying to stop the room from spiraling. Rachel hated being dizzy. But it was a small price to pay for the gift of complete oblivion that she would reach if she continued to drink. In fact, she hardly noticed when someone came and sat down next to her. Had she been sober, she would have been bothered by how close he was. But it had been a long time since she had been sober, and she was too drunk to care.
She lazily cracked open one eye, and looked at the man. There was something about him that she found unnerving. He was far from attractive, but it wasn't that that bothered her. She looked at him again, trying to figure out what it was. He turned to her, and smiled.
"You look like you could use a pick-me up." he said, surely noticing the state she was in.
She simply nodded, agreeing with whatever he was implying.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Rachel." she slurred, knowing that her name really didn't matter. She didn't ask his. She really didn't care.
"You know what, Rachel? I like you. If you wanna follow me, I think I have something that you'd like. If of course, you don't mind doing me a little favor first."
He got up and held out his hand. She went to grab it, but remembered she had a drink coming. She told him this, and he laughed.
"Baby, when I'm done with you, that drink's gonna be the last thing on your mind."
That statement probably should have bothered her a little more than it did. He grabbed her hand and led her to a back room, locking the door behind them. Another thing that should have bothered her. He let go of her hand, and left her leaning against the wall, while he turned his back to her and pulled something out of his pocket, tearing the small packaging. Oh. It was going to be that sort of favor. The brief panic she felt subsided when she told herself that she'd done worse. Besides, she'd be getting something good afterwards, right?
He turned around and she noticed that his pants were around his ankles. He pinned her up against the wall, and she closed her eyes. His lips were on hers for only a moment before she found that her dress was hiked up around her hips and her panties lay discarded on the floor. She winced as he entered her. It had hurt a bit more than she had anticipated. But then again, with her, everything did.
Rachel stood there, limp and lifeless as she pretended to be somewhere else. The only problem was that all of her good memories hurt worse than the bad ones. It was sad how little she had left. The seconds dragged on but thankfully it was over before she started to get too uncomfortable.
He backed away from her and grinned, pulling up his pants. Rachel sunk down the wall to the floor, wishing it all away. Whatever he was going to give her had better be fucking good.
After what seemed like forever, he called her over to where he was kneeling nex to the coffee table in the center of the room.
He had some things laid out on the table, and she wondered why in the world anyone would need tinfoil at a time like this. She must have had an amusing look on her face, because the man laughed.
"You've never used before?" he asked.
Rachel shook her head, and scooted over to join him on the floor beside the table, curious as to what he was doing. He pulled out a couple little baggies and a syringe. Whoa. Not what she wanted. He noticed the look on her face.
"I won't do that." She said, struggling to form the words. She had seen other girls with scars on their arms. That was fine for them, but not for her.
The man shrugged. "FIne then, you can do a chase."
"No needle?" Rachel asked, hesitantly.
"No needle." he replied.
He smiled. She smiled back. He got out the little bag, and the lighter and the straw and the tinfoil, and it was all a bit confusing, but he told her not to worry, that he'd show her how. And he held the foil and the lighter for her, and she sucked through the straw. She looked up at him, and he smiled again. Oddly enough, it was then that she realized what was wrong with him. It was his eyes. There was something wrong with his eyes.
She immediately felt a rush as she held the smoke in. Wow. So much better than she had though. Much better than alcohol she decided. It was a strange sensation, her mouth felt dry but her skin felt warm. She felt a little nauseas, but it soon went away.
Rachel sunk back into the sofa, closing her eyes and letting it all wash over her. It was amazing really. She didn't really feel happy, like she had hoped she would, but she felt like everything was going to be okay. For the first time in a while, she felt content.
The man's phone rang, and he talked to whoever was on the phone for a bit, but Rachel didn't really pay attention. He collected his things and sat back down next to her.
"I gotta bounce okay? It's been great Rach, you enjoy yourself alright?" He took her purse from the sofa and rifled through it, finally zipping it back up when he had found her cellphone.
For a moment she looked distraught, thinking he was going to take it.
"Relax, babe, I ain't stealing your shit. Here." he said, handing her the phone. "I put my number in it, you know, just incase you want more sometime, okay?"
"What's it under?" she managed to ask him before he had left the room.
He looked back into the dark room and grinned again.
"Smack." he said, then closed the door.
Smack. Rachel liked the word. Rachel liked the drug. The entire situation was so amusing that she found herself smiling. For so long she had thought that Brooke would be the only one she could ever love. The only one she would ever have. Obviously she had been so wrong, because as of now, smack was the second love of her life. And that meant that she didn't need the first.