AN: This idea came from.. the music video of The Unnamed Feeling by Metallica.. Seriously some bad stuff could come up in these one shots.. Not taking the piss, if you cannot purchase alcohol in countries like Ireland (legal age 18).. Come back in a few years.. God I have a seriously messed up mind for coming up with these ideas.. Also.. Merry Christmas.. (4 days can you believe it!).. If you were a reader of A Girl Like That She's Just Bad News.. I am considering finishing the story off and republishing it over the holidays.. No promises though..
Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this story. The remainder is my original work. Copyright 2009 by That Girl There x. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.
Thanks to Project Team Beta for editing this mess..
Summary: A happy ending is an ending of the plot of a work of fiction in which almost everything turns out for the best for the hero or heroine, their sidekicks, and almost everyone except the villains.
Sometimes there are no happy endings. Series of One-Shots. Serious content; Drug abuse, suicide, rape etc. Rated M for a reason. All Human canon and non canon couples.
And I forget just why I taste
Oh yeah I guess it makes me smile
I found it hard it's hard to find
Oh well whatever nevermind
Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana, Kurt Cobain
Thanks to unencouraging parents everywhere for giving their children the will to show them up. – Kurt Cobain
Junk
He saw heaven. He was sure of that.
It was March 9 1993, a cold Tuesday morning. It was supposed to get warmer during the day, but you wouldn't have believed it at five AM in that freezing motel room.
The window had been left open to air out the stench of cigarettes and sex. The room itself looked like a tornado had swept through it. Half eaten food was buried into the crappy carpet, empty beer bottles were everywhere and clumps of dirty clothes were strewn out all over the place.
A twenty-six year old woman was asleep in a black lace nightdress on the bed, her brunette hair spread over the sheets; like some princess in a fairy tale. Next to her was a warm impression in the bedding where someone had recently lain.
It was like the opening scene of a horror film; there was a dead body in the room.
Missing from the bed was twenty-three year old Jasper Whitlock. In the early hours of that morning, Jasper had taken a small plastic bag of China white heroin, prepared it for the syringe and injected it into his arm. This in itself was not unusual, he was struggling with his drug habit and using regularly for months. But as everyone slept, Jasper had either recklessly or intentionally used far more heroin than was safe. The overdose had turned his skin a blue-green hue, halted his breathing and made his muscles stiff. He had slipped off the bed and landed face down in a pile of clothing.
The woman woke with a jump, searching for her partner sleepily. When she spotted him she almost threw up, but she managed to recover her composure and roll him over. She began resuscitation, which unfortunately would become commonplace for her. She threw cold water into his face and punched him in the solar plexus to make his lungs move air. For a while there was no response, but she kept trying, never giving up. When she finally heard a gasp, she tried to revive him by splashing cold water and moving his limbs. Within a few minutes, he was sitting up, talking and stoned; he had an almost smug smile on his face.
Maria ran to the bathroom, and threw up almost in relief. As she sat on the bathroom floor clutching her stomach, she cried. She remembered the first day she met him, all smiles and laughter. If he was using any drugs at all it was only something mild like marijuana. There was alcohol as well, always alcohol. She had been sober for a month when she met him, cold turkey from the heroin. Within months she had heard him fighting with his friends, those who wanted to try heroin, just once. He would scream at them, "Why do you want to die?"
He was trying to stay away from heroin for her, but he was always curious. She knew this and didn't try to lie to herself about it. If he tried heroin, and continued to use it, she would use it. She was weak, and going cold turkey again would be too difficult. Heroin was always her drug, she was never into weed or cocaine, and they were only steps leading her to heroin. It was her sister who made her quit the first time. She begged Maria to try to stop after finding her in an alley strung out completely after nearly overdosing.
Unfortunately, Jasper was just as weak as her and after six months of dating, he had begun using. Within two weeks, she had joined him occasionally. She wanted to take it slow, to try to keep it social. He on the other hand, did not rather, he began using it regularly, claiming it helped him. It was sick; he actually believed heroin helped with his depression.
This was the first time he had used so much. He had never overdosed before. She shook her head in disbelief. He didn't just overdose, he died. She could not let that happen. She shuddered at the thought of what would have happened if she had not woken. She loved him and it was the kind of love that was impassioned, powerful and utterly devoted, the kind that you know in the beginning that it will break your heart and end in tragedy. She did not want this to end in tragedy.
She slowly got off the floor and made her way back into the room. Jasper was lying on his side on the bed. His dirty blonde hair was all over the place, he had not washed it in a week, and he was in clothes that she was pretty sure he had been wearing for the last couple of days. She climbed in beside him, making sure he was asleep and turned him on his side so that if he threw up he would not choke. She could not sleep now; it was too scary what had happened that morning. She could not believe that she had survived it, that he had survived it.
It was his first near death. He died in the privacy of his darkness but was resurrected by a force of love.
