Title: Fixation Acquisition
Author: LM Simpson (Kady the Red Panda)
Pairing(s): None
Rating: T
Warning(s): Drug use, language, sexual content
Disclaimer: Yeah, this is definitely not anything Nick would approve of.
Other tidbits: I'll admit—I'm not a huge fan of post-season four FOP. At all. I loved the first four seasons, but after that it just went downhill for me. *gets lynched*
But I have wanted to write this for years. Only now have I finally been able to actually write it down.
0000
This is how Vicky gets her fix:
Name calling. Threats. Kicks, and slaps, and throwing things. Manipulation. Deception.
Vicky loves her money. It is the only thing she truly loves, even more than herself.
She hates children, and loves to torture the little sister she used to care so much for (until she accidentally ripped her Chip Skylark poster that one time), but babysitting has the best pay for a teenager, even better than her tips as a waitress. And among the middle class families in town, the Turners provide the best.
She never plans video games and pizza making with Timmy. Timmy is not a friend, a younger playmate. Timmy, just like his parents, is a pawn she must shoo away to receive what she covets the most. More than anything, she wishes that he will get to bed at six like a good boy and let her watch television in peace. Even when the twerp messes back at her, she knows that her employers will still pay her at the night's end. She is such a sweet girl, after all.
…
This is how Vicky gets her fix:
Demands. Threats. Kicks, and slaps, and cigarette burns. Manipulation. Deception.
Vicky loves her money. It is the only thing she truly loves, even more than herself.
As she gets older babysitting proves a less fruitful method for her to accumulate it. She hates children, and never visits her sister and the twerp even though they are expecting the arrival of her first niece within a month. Children are still a major part of her life, however. They, especially Dimmsdale's poorest, are her most frequent customers for her newest enterprise. They meet her in the bushes on the way to school, in the bathroom stalls at the mall, by the overpriced food stands at the Dimmsdale Dimmadome. She first offers her wares for little to nothing to her new customers, only to charge higher prices with each hit. With the harder drugs she stocks, her victims are hooked.
Timmy and Tootie repeatedly advise her to quit the business before someone experiences an overdose, gets scarred for life, dies a needless death. They beg her to try to get her life together for their sake, for the baby's sake, for her sake. But she ignores them. Despite graduating high school five years prior, she is still the stuff of children's nightmares, after all.
…
This is how Vicky gets her fix:
Demands. Theft. Kicks, and slaps, and the slash of a pocket knife. Manipulation. Deception.
Vicky loves her meth. It is the only thing she truly loves, even more than money. Even more than herself.
A common drug dealer Aesop is to never get high on one's own supply. Vicky breaks that rule one night in her danky apartment when she is bored out of her mind.
She learns quickly by her own experiences of meth's destructive power.
Ever since Ricky and Mark left her life she experiences difficulty hooking up emotionally with anyone. Those two ruined, she believes, what little sexual, emotional love she could give for others. But she still fucks and fucks, not for attempts at hollow love, but to sell her body. She strips, she prostitutes, she breaks into other people's houses and pawns her purloined jewelry. The pay is great, as long as one does not get caught.
Timmy and Tootie take turns bailing Vicky out whenever the cops book her. As much as she hates to admit it, Vicky prefers her brother-in-law to pick her up and bring her back to her roach infested apartment, because he is the one who tends to give her money. Funds, he requests, that be used for food, clothing, hygiene products so that her last seven teeth don't rot out of her sunken mouth like the previous ones.
Timmy is still such a twerp.
One night, after fleeing from an intervention staged by Tootie and Timmy, Vicky smokes one more hit. She begins hallucinating. She had always hallucinated during a high, but these… These were the most vivid.
In addition to the bugs, real and imaginary, crawling over her sore ridden body, in and out of her body cavity through every hole as she lies on her filth ridden bedsheet, she sees fairies. Tootie, she recalls briefly, spoke of fairies all the time years ago—the nice ones, the mean ones, the silly ones, the good ones, the evil ones. Which ones are before her?
In addition to the bugs invading and polluting her body, the candy colored fairies—small with big heads and little crowns and translucent fly-like wings, point and laugh at her, like she is a freak show star, or a silly zoo animal. Vicky screams and bashes her head against the wall to drown the laughter and chuckles, and hysterical guffaws. Doing so only increases the pitch, distorts the fairies like as if she is adjusting a seventies television set.
She claws at her body, attempting to dig the roaches and ants and grubs off of her. But they only multiply, still enter and exit through her nostrils, ears. She throws empty and half-empty beer and vodka bottles at the fairies. The caramel brown and clear glass shatters about her room and shower her. And yet the fairies remain.
It appears that there is nothing else she can do to relieve her suffering. She must escape by any means necessary.
She breaks the window and crawls out of the seventh story apartment. She does not use the nearby fire escape to reunite with terra firma.
…
This was how Vicky got her fix.