I'm not sure what the rules are with these yet so if this is wrong, lemme know and I'll fix it. Just something I wrote about some stuff going through my head with people.
He carefully placed the phone back into the cradle, his hand wavering slightly as if he actually wanted to listen to the busy signal any more. Heaving a huge sigh he paced in front of the only window his bedroom could boast of, a slit in the studio apartment he rented.
Donegal, his bulldog watched him as he stalked back and forth his boots clunking tonelessly on the wooden floor. Where were they? Didn't they know that he couldn't take much more waiting? Sweat started beading on his forehead, and he wiped his face on the underside of the black tee-shirt he wore, pulling it up to reveal a white, thin stomach.
Absently he scratched his chest remembering a time when he had actually had muscle, and when Riot used to say he had 'washboard abs' before pretending to scrub a shirt clean on them. Riot. He grinned mirthlessly as thoughts of his ex-girlfriend floated through the thick, gelatinous haze that clouded his mind.
A vicious tremor racked his frame and he bent over, holding his stomach and clenching his teeth. He felt like he was going to die. It had been half a day since his last fix and with the money he had scrounged up writing stolen checks he had pilfered from his mom's purse, he had managed to get enough together for a bundle of heroin. Now he just had to wait for them to get home.
Pale, watery sunlight illuminated the track marks on his arms, thick slug-like looking scars. A sob caught in his throat, and he whimpered hoarsely barely hearing the sudden pounding on his door.
"Spot open up! It's us!" Elation coursed through his veins, and he raced to the doorway kicking aside piles of dirty clothing, his blue eyes finally showing some life. Skittery and Swifty stood in the doorway looking pleased with themselves. Spot ushered them in, hurriedly clearing spaces at the battered table he owned.
The phone rang the noise cutting through his head. Motioning for Skittery to fix him up a dose, he grabbed the phone. A voice spoke, faltering yet clear.
"Spot? It's me, Riot. We need to talk." Spot took a huge breath, closed his eyes and looking once at the table, then once at the receiver, he hung the phone up, his chest tightening.
"Who was that?" Swifty was concentrating with his spoon and lighter. Spot mutely shook his head, watching Skittery.
"Nobody, Swifty old pal. That was nobody."
She punched the redial button furiously, almost dropping her smoldering cigarette before stabbing it out in her cheap, plastic ashtray. 'That little bastard' she muttered to herself as the busy signal echoed in her ear.
Riot sunk her head into her hands, taking deep breaths. For months now she'd been trying to get him off of the shit, but to no avail. Every time he would manage to steal money, or convince someone to lend it to him so that he could give it to his dealer. So many kids were getting into the crap that he could turn just about anywhere, to anyone.
Letting out a scream of frustration, she punched her fist into the wall nearby, hissing in pain as the rings on her fingers cut into her flesh. Sucking on her knuckles, she grabbed the phone and hit redial one more time. This was the last time; she wasn't going to call him again.
The phone rang…and rang…and rang…
This time whoever answered it was high, she could tell by the scratchy, listless quality to their voice. It was Spot, she knew his voice anywhere.
"Spot, why the hell did you hang up on me?"
"You're too late Riot."
"Too late for what, asshole?" Her throat constricted, voice growing thick with tears.
"I'm never going to be any better than this and you know it." Riot held the receiver away from her ear and gazed disbelievingly at it. He sounded serious, but then again; who knew?
"Fine Spot, you're right. I am too late." Wiping her nose on her sleeve angrily, she gave a hitching breath and coughed. Then she shook her head, and sighed.
Click.
Beep…beep…beep…beep…beep.
Once again, Spot hung up the phone not wanting to continue listening to the dial tone. He had more important things to do anyway.