*AN*

Hi! Well this is probably my new favorite story written by me. I am having a blast writing it and indulging in the dark side. Lemons! This ain't your Gramma's lemonade. I would totally love if you review, or even read the next chapter. Feel free to suggest obscure quotes. I will have some guess-and-get-mentioned stuff in chapters to come.

Alice POV

I laid in my bed, covered in crocheted afghans, not sleeping. The musty, damp smell of the room permeated my empty daydreams. My mind raced as I drummed my fingers on the cold wall. I felt anxious, jumpy, and nervous, I had been off my Ritalin for a few days.
I sat up abruptly and grabbed my needle from my night stand, I tapped it, and flexed my arm and injected the vial into the vein that popped through the marred skin of the inside of my elbow. The feeling of the needle shooting through my skin hardly bothered me anymore, I set the empty needle back onto the table beside my bed, waiting for the rush.
My slum of an apartment was cool, so I pulled a puffer vest on over my long-sleeved, heather gray thermal. It was about forty degrees outside, though when you were surrounded by concrete walls it felt cooler. I slipped my purple skinny jeans on over my white lace boy shorts, and reached for my black converse high tops. After struggling to lace them with shaky hands, I rushed through the door. The euphoria began as I left my apartment. I ran down the metal stairs out into the cool Philadelphia air.

"Yo, Alice." My friend Peter called to me, he was compassionate, but I tried not to be seen with him, I valued both of our lives too much.

"Hey, Pete!" I shouted back to him.

"What are you doing out here, girl? It's three in the morning."

"I know, Pete, I gotta work tomorrow night, 'til then I'm just gonna enjoy the rush."

"Oh, I see, you shoot up yet tonight?"

"Couple minutes ago."

"Enjoy it, girl. Just be careful."

"I am."

I ran past the stoop that Peter was sitting on, I assumed that he was staying on those steps for the night, poor guy.
The night was beautiful and I felt like I was flying, cars sped past me in a blur. The soggy grass squished below my hightops. My empty stomach rolled at the sound. It occurred to me as I walked home that I hadn't eaten in more than 15 hours and my latest shot of heroin wasn't helping my appetite any, I would try to eat tomorrow before work, I had some cereal in the cupboards, maybe.
The high wore off, and I felt awful, sick, and I knew that I had to have looked terrible. I started to walk back home, my steps heavier as I grew drowsy.

"Where are you going, Honey?" My nostrils flared at the sound of his low throaty voice, I felt even more like throwing up.

"I'm going home, James." I retorted, still walking.

"Well, where've you been?" He asked, his voice reminded me of a, one of those animals with the feet, I don't know, must just be the smack confusing me, I thought to myself.

"Just, out." I commented, trying to remain nonchalant.

He blew out an aggravated breath that caused bile to approach the back of my throat, "Where?" He sounded mad.

"I shot up, ran down the highway and now I'm going home, I'm tired and I'm going home to sleep so that I can work tomorrow night."

"Why are you so fucking angry? I pay for that shit, Alice, I pay for your fucking apartment. I keep you safe."

I swallowed my hatred and bile, I did appreciate him, "Thank you, James."

"No need to be so formal, baby."

"Okay, can I go home?"

"Go on, I'll see you later."

"Okay."

I walked home quicker than before even though as every second ticked by I felt ten times worse, I ran up the rusting stairs, nearly missing the top step, jittery, I thrust my key into the door with shaking hands, and stumbled to my bed, not bothering to remove my vest or shoes, I was focusing on thinking of something other than James, my boss, I wouldn't lie to myself, he wasn't a boss, he was a pimp. I looked at the ceiling and let it all fade to black.

Jasper POV

I exhaled heavily through my mouth, watching my misty breath swirl in front of my face. I was cold, but happy that the concrete of the graffiti covered bridge's underbelly was blocking most of the wind. I pulled my dirty, blue knit hat over my ears, tucking a few stray, greasy, blonde curls under the knotted yarn. I coughed, probably coming down with pneumonia or some shit.
I jammed my stiff, bare hand into the pocket of my stained jeans, I pulled out the bag of little white pills, popping 2 in my mouth and swallowing them dry. I laid back, waiting for the pain to go away.
Two hours and another tablet of morphine later, it did. My breathing was shallow, and shaky, but I was warm and happy, fuck that, I was delusional, I was a hobo under a bridge, staring at the gang graffiti, but the warm and happy was nice.
I moved so that I was on my side, huddled in a little ball on my back pack. Part of me wanted the temperature to drop thirty degrees so I could just freeze to death in my fucking sleep. I closed my eyes ands thought back to my childhood, growing up in Texas, I wished that I was still there, if I were there I would probably still be a goddamn hobo, but at least I'd be a warm hobo. I closed my eyes, the cold came back as my vision turned black. I shook on the ground, battling the chills that wracked my body.

"Wake up, son." My father's voice called.

"Wake up." He called again.

I opened my eyes, expecting to see my dad, I was surprised to see a police officer standing over me.

"Sorry, officer." I mumbled, standing up with my back pack.

"I don't care where you go, but you can't stay here."

"Okay, sorry." I mumbled.

"Have a good day, son."

I nodded and walked off in the general direction of the truck stop where I would spend my day. It was easily three miles to go to the rest area, so I would be walking for a good couple of hours, in the cold.
I kept walking, I was humming to myself, I recognized the tune as an old David Bowie song. I started singing the song as I walked down the side of the highway, my jacket flapping in the gust of wind that passing cars caused,
"Rebel rebel, you've torn your dress, rebel rebel, your face is a mess,
Rebel rebel, how could they know? Hot tramp, I love you so!"
I sang to myself, not able to remember any of the words besides the chorus. I moved on to a new tune, embracing my love of nu-metal,

"It's easier to run, replacing this pain with something numb, it's so much easier to go, than face all this pain here all alone, something has been taken, from deep inside of me, a secret, I've kept locked away, no one can ever see, wounds so deep, they never show, they never go away, like moving pictures in my head, for years and years they've played!"

I sang out the lyrics of my favorite Linkin Park song, realizing how true to my own life it was. I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and kicked an empty Pepsi bottle through the grass as snow began to fall. I heard footsteps behind me.

"Hey, man." A male voice called.

"Hi." I called back.

He sped up, I felt warm, thick fingers wrap around the back of my neck.

"What do you got?" he asked.

"Get off me, fucker!" I shouted, trying to cause a scene.

"What do you got?" He replied, his long, fat fingers wrapping around my neck. I had two options in this equation, 1, shriek like a sissy girl, or 2, fight. I would fight. I pried him off of my neck and turned in his grasp, and then I broke the male code and kicked him in the balls. He doubled over in pain, I maneuvered myself to his back and essentially bashed in his head with my fist. The fat fucker went limp beneath me, probably had a heart attack, though I still heard his raspy, wheezing breaths, so I wouldn't have to carry the baggage of knowing that I killed someone around with me.

I ran off, as fast as my stiff legs would carry me, I was laughing maniacally, "Sucks to be you, fucker!"

I made it to the truck stop soon after my encounter with the fat fucker.

*AN2*

Lemons soon!! Next chapter. Okay, is hobo Jasper not one of the SCHMEXIEST things you've done, erm, read, today? I dig hobo Jazz!