Inspiration drawn from the music video for Tove Lo's "Habit (Stay High)" - / watch?v=oh2LWWORoiM
Let's say this is an AU, and there's no Litchfield prison. Hope you enjoy - xo,MsWinehouse
A month had dragged by since Nicky's addiction had last been fueled. No, not the addiction to heroin, alcohol, or the collection of mind-altering substances that Nicky constantly relied on. No - the addiction that had kicked the others to the curb; the distraction that saved her from herself yet still kept her a prisoner.
What time was it? What month was she in? Every once in a while, Nicky would come to between black outs. She would sit up in a stranger's bed, stale alcohol and mystery on her breath, looking around to her unfamiliar surroundings. She never woke up in the same place. There was a half naked girl on the bed, a half naked girl passed out on the floor. The anxiety built, rushing through her body like an avalanche, and she aggressively reached for the first bottle on the floor she found - a bottle of Philly. She tipped it upwards and guzzled it, a small sob escaping her lips when she realized there was only two sips left. Careful not to wake the strangers, she frantically tip toed out of bed and picked up every beer bottle and cup she could find - trying to find leftover alcohol, something to bury herself in once again. There was a very small window of time after waking up that needed to be spent drinking, before the anxiety crushed her.
She picked up a red cup - yes, it was full! She peered inside to see what she would be drinking; It was filled with a gold liquid, and spoiled with two cigarette butts. The rage consumed her instantly. Who would throw a cigarette in a full cup of liquor and ruin it? Why would someone do this to her?
She picked the cigarette butts out, and stared into the dirty cup. She grimaced, she held her nose, and began to guzzle. However, after the second sip she felt the horrendous taste come back up, and she immediately spit it on to the floor. It was a taste even Nicky Nichols couldn't swallow.
"FUCK!" She threw the cup onto the ground and grabbed a jacket off the floor - it didn't look familiar but it looked warm, and she headed for the door. Her wallet was still in her pants pocket, her phone was still on the charger in her bedroom. The process of checking her phone for text messages that never came was too unbearable, so she ditched it. It was a constant strategy that she relied on - if it bothers you, bury it. Then find something else to distract you.
She found her way to the elevator, and went to the lobby. She found her way to the exit, and squinted at the nearest street sign. Adler Place. The Bronx? Shit, it was gonna take her forever to get home. Rubbing the throbbing part of her forehead, she disappeared into a liquor store and dropped two twenty's on the counter, picking up a bottle of Jack Daniels and exiting all in one swift motion.
By the time she got back to her neighborhood, the bottle was empty, her mind was clearer, and the faces of judging passerby's were pushed far from her thoughts.
It was only noon when she arrived to her apartment. She took an aspirin and downed a bottle of water. She opened the refrigerator - she should probably eat. Not that there was anything to eat anyway. Against her better judgement, Nicky checked her phone. Two missed calls. Her heart beat doubled, and then disappointment slapped her in the face when she saw it wasn't who she wanted it to be.
Nicky wondered what she was doing. Only for a second did she think about those red lips, that cute haircut, the smell of her laundry-scented clothes as she climbed in bed with Nicky. She didn't drink as much when she was with her - she had even quit drugs. She didn't need to do those things. Her life was consumed with the love she had, for her beautiful Lorna Morello.
Snapping herself out of her thoughts, she slammed the refrigerator door shut. But those days are gone.
What had Nicky even been doing these past few weeks? She could barely remember. The days and nights blended into each other. It was a constant fusion of blurred faces and tunnel vision. On her way to the bathroom, she saw an untouched line of coke on her kitchen counter. Jackpot.
After a quick shower, Nicky let her hair dry naturally. She pulled on a pair of black leggings, followed by a KISS muscle T-shirt and her black combat boots. She unlocked her phone and sent out a few text messages. "Let's get a drink."
She was never down for long. Life paused for a minute and her thoughts rushed in like a tidal wave, but it didn't take long for her to turn her back on it. Press play, and continue.
Forgetting about Lorna was easy. Alcohol made her forget everything she wanted. Heroin put the lazy smile back on her face. Sure, both her eyes couldn't focus on one thing at the same time, but she was able to sloppily put one foot in front of the other in order to move herself to the next bar, which is all that mattered. Sometimes she went out with friends; other times she went out alone and made friends. She always ended up having sex that night. Sometimes with one girl, sometimes with two. Sometimes with three at the same time. While placed between their legs, she would frown in irritation. The moans were too low-pitched, the legs weren't pale and slim enough… it was never what she wanted. "Here baby put this on," she would tell them, urging them to wear bright red lipstick. "I like a bitch with red lips."
Having fun was easy. Her friends were funny, they said stupid things. They entertained her. They were just as fucked as she was, so no one ever told her to slow down and get help. They clinked their shot glasses and drank. They lit each others' cigarettes and smoked. They hid in dark alleys and got high. Nicky's cheeks would turn a darker pink, her hair became more unruly, and she felt like she was flying. She laughed a lot, which she took to mean that she was doing okay. I'm doing it, she would tell herself. I'm moving on. I'm finally happy.
Except for when she came down from her high. Or when she would disappear into the bathroom in the club, the walls filthy with graffiti, and she would sit on the toilet and cry. Why? She never knew. She never knew what triggered her emotions. Maybe it wasn't a trigger at all; but maybe every once in a while her walls would crumble and she'd be forced to face them. She would hit the wall angrily with her fist, wondering if someone else was kissing Lorna at that very moment, if someone else was inside her, giving her multiple orgasms like she used to.
But then her friend, her beautiful friend - Michelle, was it? Or… Deanna? It didn't matter. She would knock on the bathroom door and slur to Nicky that Paco had ordered another round of shots. She would wipe her tears and open the door, and even though Deanna - or, Sasha? - was not Lorna, she was tiny and brunette, and most of all she was there, and that was good enough for Nicky. She would grab her aggressively by the hair, kissing her sloppily and grabbing her ass. She'd pull on a fistful of hair and make the girl moan; it wasn't her being horny, it was her being angry, and hoping that if she kissed hard enough, and wanted it bad enough, that when she opened her eyes it would be Lorna in her arms, and not some drunk, unfamiliar stranger.
It never worked.
When was the last time she ate a proper meal? She had lost so much weight. Lorna was good at reminding Nicky when it was time to eat. Mostly because she loved eating. Nicky loved to watch her girlfriend, her less than 110-pound girlfriend go at it with a huge steak, or a bacon burger, or whatever. She had so many quirks that fascinated Nicky. She could spend an entire day just observing her, which she did a lot. The worst part was all the time she had on her hands now that Lorna was gone. She never knew how much time could be in one day.
Nicky would try to go home alone. It was awful. No matter how blacked out she was, no matter how far she was from her own mind, she couldn't bare to be in a bed by herself. Her thoughts were dark, and they suffocated her. An unwanted body was better than no body at all.
So she wandered into dive bars, and hopped in and out of clubs. Her mind would play tricks on her and she would always see Lorna lingering in the corner, or she'd turn around after she swore she heard Lorna say Nicky's name, but no one would be there. When this happened, she'd order a double and knock it back, desperate to numb the pain and climb out of the hole she had buried herself in. With every drink, however, she fell deeper into the darkness and lost the energy to ask for help. What was the point? She had lost herself when she lost Lorna. There was no one left to give a fuck about.
So she grabbed her girl of the night, the one in the tight skirt and long legs whose name had long been forgotten - or maybe it had never even been learned - and she went home with her. And she fucked her. And Nicky forced herself to like it, and couldn't believe that after a month of not being with Lorna, she still had to picture her in her head while fucking somebody else. She was a prisoner, doomed to be addicted to something that would never be hers. She fucked the girl angrily - didn't even care that she screamed and howled while having the best orgasm of her life. She did it constantly, and it meant nothing to her anymore. It was just another thing to pass the time. She leaned her forehead against the thigh of the panting girl beneath her and closed her eyes.
She picked up the bottle of Jack off the floor and took several gulps, and pulled a syringe from her bag. The girl was planting kisses on her neck, but Nicky pushed her away. Her job was done - she didn't need to do anything else but sit and be silent now. She ran her fingers over her forearm, struggling to find a vein. Her once smooth skin was now covered in ugly track marks and scars. Even if Lorna could see her now, she would be disgusted. She would never take her back - Nicky would never be good enough for her.
She looked up again, taking a final glimpse at the girl in front of her. It still wasn't Lorna. So she looked back down to the one familiar thing in her life - the one thing that she had control over, and fell into the darkness, relieved that she'd soon be welcomed into unconsciousness. The highs became the thing that saved her, but over time they became weaker, while the lows in the morning dominated. And while she was being pulled in opposite directions, the battle of wanting Lorna back and convincing herself she was over her was utterly exhausting. She drifted to sleep, seeking comfort in the fact that she was so numb there were no thoughts or feelings to deal with anymore.
Her eyes opened the next morning to the unfamiliar surroundings, the sleeping stranger next to her. She reached for the bottle and closed her eyes.
She had made it through another night.