Chapter 7: Wow... Pip Pip, Cheerio

Damia stared at her new room, already unpacked as of the last night. Two weeks ago she was in the United States, just hanging near beaches and her best friend driving her insane was the one thing she could look forward to. Now she barely went out of her house, afraid to make a fool of herself.
Chelsea entered her room with no admittance. She simply just sat down on the bed, beginning to play with a single stuffed animal. The gloomy, black walls with band posters seemed to crush the girls to be underneath the hardwood floor and the red carpet covering the bed area.
"How's your addiction?" Chelsea's voice was quiet, her tone dead serious. Damia sat down and sighed.
"Honestly, I'm out... And I BADLY need more." Her eyes escaped her friend's keen stare. The withdrawal was killing her inside, her head aching badly. The pain was excruciating, every vertebrate shaking within her. Still, she hoped she looked fine.
"Well, I just wanted to check in... We still walking to school tomorrow?" Damia nodded, faking her sleepiness. Her only fear was where she'd find another drug dealer. With a sigh, she rested her head on the pillow, thinking.
When the silence of three came around, Damia was ready to go, her weary eyes filled with excitement. She walked around the town, her interest in one thing. Once she saw a familiar shoe hanging from the telephone line, a smile crossed her face.
"Can I help you?" A raspy, middle aged male voice said from behind. She turned around and nodded.
"Heroin. I have enough for three cases." He gestured towards an opening in the abandoned alleyway. After a short introduction to Daniel, they exchanged and she left, happily.

Over the first few weeks of school, Damia and Chelsea didn't communicate as much. It panged Damia to not talk to Chelsea. The more depressed she got, the more she abused her first friend. Instead of getting high at home, she used an abandoned house. No one bothered to walk by it. It was rusting and filthy, always looking like it'd fall over in seconds. This was the only place Damia could get her fill, her insecurity hidden behind walls of wood.
After a couple of hours, the high set in. It was the highest she had ever been. As she stumbled down the street, her attention was distracted. Her mind was spinning, her stomach churning.
The door flung open and she came in, her eyes wanting to close. For there, her best friend was with a dirty-blond girl, their lips on one anothers. Damia threw her bag down, avoiding eye contact to the surprised Chelsea.
"Oh hey." Damia nodded, pretending to be examining her bag.
"Hey."
"Why are you home so late?"
"Went to the coffee shop. Who's the company?"
"Oh, Vivian. Vivian, this is my adopted sister, Damia." Vivian gave a wave and awkward silence filled the room. Chelsea left after a few moments for the washroom. It was then Vivian's attitude changed. She got up and stood right in front of Damia, her arms crossed over her chest.
"You take Chelsea away from me, I'll kill you. Got that punk?" Shock, confusion and acceptance forced Damia to nod.
"I got it. Tell Chels I'll be back around ten." Knowing the drugs were in her purse, she walked out with it, her determination of how high she was that any more would bring her suicide.

Leaning against a tombstone in a cemetery, Damia plunged deeply into her arm quite a few times. Colours spun around her head and sweat became rain. Damia plunged one more into her vein. Her body collapsed as death called to her, peaceful ecstasy flooding over her like a blanket.