Disclaimer: Get over it. I don't own, duh.
Chapter 8 – Sell Your Soul
He had decided he had to confront the dealer and figure out exactly what was going on. Mark didn't have a problem filming pornography, but if his little pizza box doodle, which he kept in his wallet, was true, then he was filming child pornography. That just wasn't going to fly by him. He was a sell out, an addict, a junkie, but he sure as hell wasn't going to be involved in corrupting innocent little girls, that was just too much and he wasn't quite that far gone into his addiction. Or so he reasoned.
It took him two weeks to gather the courage to confront the dealer, and then another three recovering from the beating he had taken. Even his apathetic roommates had noticed when Mark had returned to the loft beaten and bloody, with his shoulder dislocated. Up until then neither Collins nor Benny had cared what happened to them, – sure – they figured – we live with the guy, but he's a junkie, so why should we bother? – But bothered they did, when they saw him in such a state, and they had no idea why. Benny just chalked it up to the drugs and a bad deal going down, but Collins thought that maybe it might have been something more.
Mark retreated into his room after coming home, right after Collins cleaned him up a bit and popped his shoulder back into its socket, and he didn't come back out for nearly a week. When he finally did Benny was no where to seen, neither was his stuff. Mark simply snorted and walked into the "kitchen" area. – Yo, fish man, where's the pig? – Fish man was his nickname for Collins, he had decided real early that Collins shouldn't be allowed to live it down. And the pig was Benny, for he acted like a stuck up yuppie pig.
– Said he didn't want to hang around a junkie. Didn't want to get involved with a drug fight – Shocked Mark dropped the bowl of cereal he had just gotten. – What the fuck did you just call me? –
– A junkie man. I know its true – Mark cringed and tried to pull down his shirtsleeves even more. He had yet to admit he was indeed a junkie, though he wasn't stereotypical looking. Stereotypical was that kid with the green eyes he saw that day Collins moved in, the one with the green eyes, that kid was stereotypical. Not Mark. Musing to himself, he just figured there was an exception to everything, and him being a junkie proved that it didn't matter who or what you were, the drug would still take you prisoner.
– It had nothing to do with drug, fish. – And Mark walked out of the room refusing to meet his roommates eye. He didn't want to have to tell him the truth, about the evil images his camera had captured of the little girl crying as she was made to do things.
Inside his room he looked around for more of his stash, and with a sinking feeling he realized he was out. Knowing another hit was needed with in a few hours or he would start shaking. He knew this because he often let himself to get that far, teasing his body by withholding the drug so that when did finally receive it, the rush was so much more powerful. It took more and more to get the same effect now. – fuck – he would need cash to get more smack now, he couldn't go back to his old dealer, or at least not yet, and that meant paying higher prices to someone whom he didn't know and whom didn't no him. – shit –
Counting his money he realized he didn't have much left. He was officially running out, and he didn't know what else to do. He looked around his room to see what he could pawn, he saw his two cameras, the one he came with and the newer, nicer one his dealer had given him. He grabbed up his old 16mm camera and put it in his bag and walked out the loft door.
There was a pawnshop he knew of that specialized in camera and sound equipment, he had gone there many times when he was younger, before getting hooked on smack, and had sat and just talked with the owner for hours. He knew he would get a better then fair price. Walking the distance to the shop wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, though he was still winded when he got there, as he opened the door the clerks face brightened when they recognized him. – Mark! Oh my god! How good to see you! - He didn't even remember the girl's name.
- Oh hi. Um, I'm fine. Just wanted to see what you guys would offer me for this – he put the bag on the counter and pulled out his camera. – Oh Mark! You're selling that? It was your first camera! Why? Did you get something newer? Such a shame… Well… I'll tell you what, since you're a good friend, though you don't come by nearly enough, I'll give you top rate… 100 dollars – she looked so pleased, as if he was doing her a favor. Mark stared at her… and then got angry.
- A hundred dollars! That's all this fuckin' piece of shit is worth! You have to be fuckin' joking! This is in mint condition! You fuckin' bitch. Give me the money. – he waited while she got the money, she was crying, god he didn't want to deal with that. His hands had started shaking and he was craving a hit. He snatched the money out of her hand as soon as she held it out and walked out the door. He didn't look back as the woman cried and wondered what happened to her old friend.
Burning bridges was something he was good at lately, except he had no idea he did it until after it was done. Sometimes not even then.
A/n: Hope you're enjoying this. I know updates have been sporatic, but its hard to write this. I actually have a couple other fics in the works, but I'm going to try to get them either done or almost done before I start posting so I don't have this problem. Read, Review, you know the drill.