Ashley, on the other hand, spent the week figuring out how to find a hook-up. Through much deliberation, she decided that Jay Hogart would be bound to know someone, seeing as he seemed to be resident delinquent at Degrassi -- at least since Sean had relinquished the title.
She was jittery with anticipation as the orderlies escorted her to her parents' car. She knew that they would keep an eye on her for at least a week; she didn't know if she could wait that long. She mentally shrugged the thought off -- she was a better actress than anyone gave her credit for, she told herself.
Upon their arrival at home, one of the first thing Ashley noticed was that her door knob had been changed to one without a lock. She chose not to mention it; her parents seemed nervous enough as it was.
Toby was in his bedroom, playing on his computer when she stopped by his door.
"Hey, Tobes." Ashley said, leaning against the door.
He made no effort to turn and look at her. He hadn't visited once during her stay in the hospital. She sighed, resigning to let him mope by himself, and left him there.
Her room had been cleaned thoroughly while she was gone, she noticed. At first glance, it all seemed to be in place, but after a closer look, she realized that everything was slightly off. Things had been moved around a bit, deep cleaned, and searched over. With the realization that her parents had gone through all of her belongings in search of her nearly nonexistant stash, she crawled into her newly made bed.
The sheets were starched and stiff, and did little to comfort her aching body as she tried in vain to fall asleep. This was a part of the withdrawals -- a lesser part, but a part nonetheless. She couldn't sleep. She hadn't slept more than three hours a night in the past four days. At least the shakes had stopped. Dark circles pooled below her eyes, giving her the look of a girl deranged.
The look of a drug addict.
She felt like a drug addict. What she found more unsettling was that she didn't have a problem with it. At some point, she figured she must have come to terms with it without even realizing it. She had no qualms with lying to anyone for a good hit.
And it scared her.
Two weeks after her hospital discharge, school was only a few days away. Ashley hadn't spoken to any of her classmates since her return from London -- the only people outside of her parents (Toby still refused to hold a conversation with her) that she talked to were the other members of the Narcotics Anonymous group her parents made her go to three nights a week.
In all actuality, she liked going. She got some kind of relief in hearing others horror stories that made her own seem like a walk in the park. It made her feel normal.
It was before one of the NA meetings that she decided it would be a good time to find Jay.
After her mother dropped her off at the church, Ashley waited inside until she was sure that Kate had driven home.
She emerged from the church giddy with excitement. She caught a taxi and rode to the ravine in search of Mr. Hogart.
After paying the cab driver, she hurried down to the ravine. She spotted Jay's car, but no one around it. Slightly farther off, she saw the infamous van.
She cautiously rapped on the door. Muffled curses and the shuffling were heard before the sliding door swung open. Jay stepped out, followed by a girl Ashley didn't recognize.
"Kerwin? What the hell are you doing down here?" Jay asked her, zipping his pants as he spoke.
"You know her?" The girl asked incredulously, wiping her mouth.
Ashley ignored the girl; after all, she wasn't the reason that Ashley had come here.
"I need a hook-up, Jay." She told him, crossing her arms.
"Hey, you're hot and all, but I don't want to fuck you." He laughed, putting his hands up as if in defense.
"Not that kind of hook-up, you moron." She rolled her eyes in disgust at him. "I need a dealer."
"Whoa, a dealer?" Jay said, scratching his head. "Miss Goody Kerwin needs a dealer? Interesting."
"I'm serious, Jay." She replied, her tone hardening.
"Cool your jets, killer." He smirked. "What'll you do for a name and a number?"
The girl smacked him on the head, cursing at him.
"I was kidding, babe!" He exclaimed after a particularly good slap on his cheek. "God, woman. I give you a name and a number, you don't tell Alex what you saw here. Deal?"
"Deal." Ashley smiled triumphantly.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Ashley stepped out of a cab and onto a particularly shady street.
It mirrored the backstreets of New York City shown in police movies, complete with a few ragged hobos curled up in the crevices of the decrepti buildings.
She had called the number from a pay phone, and the man she had spoken to had given her the address. She stopped in front of a building with boarded windows, a dim light shining through the cracks in the boards and through the space underneath the awkwardly hung door.
The steps creaked unsteadily as she stepped on them, prompting her to hurry to the door. She knocked, the door swinging open with a loud squeal. She heard a flurry of footsteps and a lean, haggard young man spun out from behind another doorway.
"Who the fuck are you?" She saw his eyes try to focus on her, but failing to do so.
"I'm...Renee. I called?" Ashley stepped back nervously as he approached.
"Renee?" It seemed like something clicked in his addled brain and he threw his arms up in the air. "Yea, I'm Mouse. Let me get Ziggy for you."
He stumbled through the doorway and Ashley cautiously stepped in. She couldn't help but have noticed his trackmarks and the blood that had been dripping down his arm from them. She reflexively brought her hands to the crooks of her own elbows; the sight made them ache.
As second thoughts began to swarm in her mind, a taller man entered behind Mouse. He was nearly six and a half feet tall, his shoulder length blonde hair greasing into thick dread-like strands. His face was covered with pock marks and his nose was bent at a strange angle -- from an unset break, most likely. His body was lean and wiry, and he walked with a sway that Ashley had only seen on drag queens. His t-shirt advertised a strip club called The Cat Scratch, and his ragged jeans were open with holes from he knee down.
"Renee? You sounded older on the phone." His voice was hoarse and reminded her of sandpaper. "Come on back."
With a hand on his hip, he sashayed through the door he had entered, quickly followed by Mouse, who motioned her to do the same. She followed them in, her nostrils almost instantly assaulted with the stench of human waste and burnt skin.
"So, Renee," The man called Ziggy drawled the name like a curse word, "I am Ziggy Stardust." He swept his arms wide in showmanship. "Maybe you've heard of me?"
He laughed, raising his eyebrows as Ashley did not.
"Tough crowd." He plopped into an overstuffed armchair, dust billowing from its cushions under his weight. "What do you need? Oh, pardon me, what do you want?"
"K. I need an ounce or so." She ignored his sarcasm, shoving her hands deep into her pockets.
"An ounce is not good for first time buyers." Ziggy lit a cigar; in the light, she could tell it had been cut and filled with marijuana. "I give you a dime bag for seventy-five?"
"Seventy-five? What a rip-off." She wanted to take the words back as soon as they had spilled from her mouth.
"A rip off, huh?" His eyes darkened as he narrowed them at her. "You come into my place of business, I welcome you, and you call me a cheapskate?"
He stood up, sauntering over to her until he was nearly six inches from her. Her face barely met his shoulder. She whimpered as he raised a hand, wincing in preparation for a hit.
"Oh?" He laughed dryly. "Did you think I was going to hit you, Renee?"
He tossed the blunt to the side. She breathed a sigh of relief.
"Not that time, sweetheart." The back of his hand was brought down swiftly to her cheek.
She fell to the ground, coughing. Her guard had been down, she was completely unprepared for the blow. She looked up and saw Mouse fidgeting in the opposite corner.
"Don't look at him." Ziggy growled, bringing his bare foot down on her shoulder. "He can't get you out of this one, cunt."
He ground his heel into her shoulder. He crouched down next to her, picking up his blunt. Twirling it between his long fingers, he blew on the tip, watching it glow orange.
"I don't take kindly to those who offend me." He said softly.
He wrenched her arm from beneath her and held her palm out. She cried out and tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She whimpered, tears springing to her eyes.
"Sorry just doesn't cut it, princess." He hissed, bringing the blunt down on her open palm.
The sick hiss of her skin curling beneath the heat brought on a fresh scent of burnt flesh. She bit her lip, crying softly. She tasted blood.
He released her hand roughly, and she brought it to her chest, coddling it. He slapped her across the face.
"Think that hurt?" He smiled. "Just wait."
She curled into a tight fetal position, praying that she was dreaming. Tears streamed down her stinging cheeks as she tried to stifle her cries.
She heard a click and opened her eyes briefly, before closing them tightly.
Ziggy had pulled out a knife and was in the process of unbuckling his jeans.
"Say a word and I slit your throat." She heard the shuffle of his pants falling to the ground. "Ashley."