Jack glared heatedly at his ceiling, watching the shadows dance across it. He heard another loud groan come from the direction of his parents room and angrily growled. He didn't know exactly what his parents were doing but he was quite sure he had an idea. A disgusted scowl crossed his face. After a few minutes he decided he didn't care if his father beat him, he was going for a walk. He leapt from his bed, making sure not to be noisy and began getting ready.

He stuffed his arms into his old, worn jacket and shoved his cigarettes deep into a pocket. Jack opened his bedroom door cautiously. A sudden crash sounded from his parents' room and it almost made him jump. He waited a few minutes longer before someone behind the door groaned in obvious pain, his mother. Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the bottom and shoved his feet into old sneakers. He made ready to leave out the front door before figuring his father might hear. In a matter of seconds he was out the back, running through the open gate and out onto the street.

The street lights weren't very bright as Jack turned the corner, slowing to a walk. He pulled out his pack and removed one of the sticks. His lighter flickered in his other hand as he brought both closer to his mouth. The smoke filled his lungs, a kind of content feeling, as he strolled down the street. Before long he made it to a small, run down park. The slide was leaning on its side and the swings looked as if they could barely hold up any weight, let alone Jacks.

Bare trees gnarled their way across the area, stretching their clawed branches. The snow covered everything in a white, wet blanket. Jack took another puff, holding it in for a few seconds, then blew out. The smoke hung in the air around his face. He kicked out randomly, snow clinging to his shoe. It melted and seeped into his sneaker, chilling his toes. Today just wasn't his day, not that there was a day that was his, even his birthday was ignored by all.

Jack tucked his free hand under his arm to keep it warm, took another long drag and continued on his way. As before the streets were empty so he took to walking those, at least the city snow plow had removed most of the annoyance. In the dim light he read the street sign, 66th & Jackson, he was approximately 30 minutes from home now. 'But why stop there?' his mind asked. Jack didn't answer but knew he'd have to go back. No matter how much he hated the place, the company, he couldn't just leave it behind. Something in his gut told him that it wasn't his time to leave just yet. He dropped the remainder of his cigarette.

While he was lost in thought he hadn't noticed that someone was following him and it was too late, a blade was being pressed against his Adams apple. Jack could smell the man behind him; at least with the stench he hoped it was a man. The blade set comfortably against his neck he noted, not pressed too hard, he could still breathe without being cut.

"Give me all you money." It was definitely a man.

"I haven't gotten any money."

"Don't lie to me you little fucker. I'm going to let you go so you can hand over the cash. Don't even think about running, I'll kill you."

"I wouldn't really mind."

The man let him go with a shove and the knife nicked his neck, it stung as if he had cut himself shaving.

"Smartass I see, how about I cut your tongue out?" Jack didn't say anything.

"I see you're rethinking your previous statement."

"Not really." The man twitched angrily, or maybe he was a drug addict.

"Just hand over the money kid and things won't get ugly."

"I really don't have any money." The man gestured with his knife in a jerky way.

"Empty your pockets."

Jack did as he said, only pulling out his lighter and cigarettes. The man stared at the boys hands and a frown crossed his features. Jack took the time to look away from the knife and at the man's face. Definitely a junkie. His eyes were sunk in and his lips were pulled taunt against his teeth. Long, messy hair hung over his ears and around sharp cheek bones. Jack hated to think what was going through the man's mind as black eyes looked into his.

"Look kid, I need the cash, give me any money that you have and I won't hurt you." Jack sighed.

"I really don't have any money; I'm showing you that, this is all I have."

Another jerky twitch.

"Come with me."

"Excuse me?"

The man's eyes were dangerous, "C'me on kid, you sound smart enough, follow me."

Jack really didn't want to but the way he held the knife told him to not argue, there was no point, he stuffed his belongings back in his pocket. The man turned and began walking; obviously Jack would have to follow. They walked in silence but the knife was speaking. Whispers of deadly intent. After a few more minutes they reached a large apartment building, it screamed heroin and cocaine. The metal stairs were rickety and Jack felt uncomfortable that the junkie had made him go first.

"Go left." The man commanded as he reached the top step.

Jack did as he was told.

"Go to number 23 B, knock twice."

The rap's against the wood had obviously disturbed whoever was inside because it sounded as if something had been knocked over. Jack tensed slightly as the junkie stepped closer into his personal space. The peephole that was once glowing a soft orange was now black. Jack could almost hear the breathing from the other side.

"Who is it?"

"It's Rob, let me in, I have a guest."

The person on the other side slid the lock out of place and the door opened slowly. Jack saw that it was an elderly man with stringy grey hair and a ridiculous beard. His beady blue eyes watched Jack's every movement as he entered the small apartment. On the coffee table lay spoons, needles, cups of water and tourniquets, these people were doing heroin. The old man continued to size Jack up.

"Wha'd ya bring 'im here for Rob? He lookin' for a fix?"

"Nahh, I was tryin' to get this kid to cough up his money, but he ain't have any."

"Then why is he here?"

"Thought he could be useful. Wasn't scared at all when I pulled my knife on 'im. By the way, fix me up some White Stuff."

The old man set to doing just that. A seemingly large chunk was placed on a spoon followed by water from an already used syringe. The chunk of heroin dissolved into the water and the old man sucked it all back in. Jack fought his gag reflex; he could see the slightly red twinge to the supposed clear liquid. The junkie, Rob, took the needle gratefully as he pulled up his sleeve and grabbed an elastic band from the table. He seated himself on the dirty looking couch and tapped his arm a few times. Jack couldn't look away as the needle slowly pressed into the man's skin. Robs thin thumb pressed the end of the syringe and the liquid disappeared. For a while the junkie didn't move and Jack worried that he might have died but after another five minutes or so he pulled the needle out and dropped it carelessly to the floor, along with the band.

Jack stayed standing by the door.

"Want a hit? Free of charge." The old man asked casually.

"No." Jack knew what heroin did, one hit and you were hooked forever.

"Your loss."

Time continued to drag on slowly and Jack was just itching to smoke.

"Sooo," Rob drawled out, "Why weren't you scared kid? I 'ad a knife to your neck, ya know? Seems pretty stupid to me."

"I wouldn't have cared."

That sent Rob into a fit of laughter. His small, sickly body shook and as the laughs grew to a dangerously high level. This man's completely mental. The laughter finally died down into harsh coughs followed by colorful words. Jack almost asked if the man was okay, almost.

"Ya know what? I like you kid. You have the perfect attitude. How 'bout I cut you a deal? You work for me and my, uh, friend here and I don't kill ya?"

"There's nothing in it for me."

"Ha! Ahaha! Hoha ah haha!" The junkie wiped tears from his eyes.

"Did ya hear that? Nothing in it for 'im! Haha! Look kid, I'm offering you your life! And all you have to say is, 'there's nothing in it for me'! Haha!"

Jack frowned.

"Okay-haha, okay kid, I'll make the deal better, haha- how about I take you under my wing? Teach you the ropes, I'll even teach you how to use this baby!" He whipped out his knife, "All you have to do is help me bring in profit. I-ah, haven't been too good about it lately. You look a little rough around the edges but hey! I say it's a fair trade!"

Jack didn't look away from the knife.

"So what exactly will I be doing?"

A wicked grin passed over the junkies face.

When Jack got home it was around 2am and his father had been waiting. The beating that ensued was one he was sure he'd never forget. His father had taken a baseball bat, his own baseball bat, to his ribs; one of them had to be broken. When his father had finished he told him to clean up. Jack wasn't sure how long the shower had been but knew by the time he had gotten out that the water was running cold.

Droplets rolled down his neck in icy trails, he wiped them away and the cut forgotten on his neck ached again. Jack stood in front of the mirror for some time, completely naked. He stared at his sharp shoulders atop a slightly broad chest, said chest turned into narrow hips that in turn led to long, thin legs. His arms weren't very toned but they matched the overall scrawny appearance.

Next he took in the finer details, such as the bruising. Jack decided there wasn't much to distinguish from, most of his body was in different stages of healing, either deep purples and blues or light greens and yellows. It was disgusting. He hated it. He hated himself. Why couldn't he just stand up to his father? Why did he let him beat him? Jack could stop him, right? Ha, that'd be the day. He snorted with amusement, only to cause himself more pain. Stupid, fucking nose.

He stopped pondering, wrapped himself in the towel, grabbed his clothes and went to his room. It was cold. The window was open and he hurried to shut it. Goosebumps rose all over his body at the chill. He dropped his dirty clothes on the floor and grabbed a fresh sweat shirt and pants out of the dresser. Slipping them over his cold body he hopped into bed. Even the sheets were cold.

Jack rested his arms behind his head and recapped over the encounter with 'Rob the Junkie'. The whole ordeal still seemed like a dream to him, he had even pinched himself when he had left the apartment, it had hurt. A yawn broke him of his thoughts. Perhaps he was more tired than he thought. Sleep. It sounded nice enough. It was definitely what he needed, after all tomorrow was his first day at 'work'.