Title: Just Relax
Rating: Heavy R
Genre: General/Angst
Summary: Molly isn't a drug addict; she just likes to—relax—sometimes.
Disclaimer: I still don't own So Weird, etc.
Author's Note: I must be seriously disturbed on a subconscious level. That is all.
Molly isn't a drug addict; she just likes to—relax—sometimes.
A sniff here; a hit there; it helps.
And it's okay—she can quit.
She can quit anytime she likes, she thinks, as she reaches for a joint with shaking fingers and animal eyes.
It's not like she can't stop; this is just a bad habit, like biting your fingernails or fidgeting in church, and bad habits can be broken so she's okay.
She's super fucking fantastic, thank you for asking.
No, the fact that she's fast approaching forty and her record is bombing big-time doesn't disturb her a bit; not when she's floating out there, someplace where the colors swirl and twist and everything's alright again.
So Fi's in a plane crash coming home for Christmas; who cares?
No survivors? That's okay, say the track marks on the veins of her arms.
So Jack won't talk to her anymore; says he doesn't have a mother, does he?
Well, fuck him; who needs to know their grandchildren this day in age, anyway? She's fine just by herself; just her and her little stash of hash and needles, and she's on top of the world.
And Irene won't shell out the cash? No sales, no revenue? Well, Molly makes her money in back alleys and dingy restrooms, and, hey—she's dropped twenty pounds! Isn't that great?
Then one day she mis-measures, and, goodbye shitty life, she's gone—
She takes up two minutes on the evening news (it's a slow day), and that's her legacy.
Just another junkie who wasn't addicted to drugs.