A/U: To set the mood, listen to these songs:

Juicy- biggie smalls

Shook Ones- Mobb Deep

Learning to Fly- Pink Floyd

enjoy

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, its plot, characters, etc., just Dante.

----- Chapter II: Shook Ones

We moved into the house today.

It was small and shitty, right next to a huge apartment building. We had taken a cab there. Mom was really hung over and wouldn't tell me what had happened. Like I could care. I had been up at 7, had curled my hair so it was all in ringlets, held together with a lot of hairspray. I yawned a lot in the backseat, and in the 10 minutes of driving we parked. The house was small, green, and looked cozy. We got out, grabbed our bags. In the driveway was a blue Honda, and out came a tall, fat guy with long blonde hair and a huge, fuzzy beard.

"Lee!" He yelled, opening his huge, tattooed arms. Mum flew into them.

"Eli! How are you? Dante, come see Eli!" I came over, and he shook my hand, his huge one swallowing mine.

"Christ, she looks just like her dad, don't she?" Mom grinned and I shrugged.

"That's what they say." he patted my shoulder.

"You look like a good kid. Why don't you run inside and explore?" I guess family will always treat you like you're six. I dragged my suitcase in, and found my room. It was small with a window. At least it had a carpet. Home. It smelled like sawdust. I sat on my suitcase and listened to mum and Eli move into the kitchen, clattering and talking. Then, after a few minutes, mum called me down because Eli's friends were here to bring us some furniture-- a table, a stove, a fridge, two mattresses, some blankets and two pillows. A small dresser for me. I asked Eli where they got all this stuff, as we took a break to smoke cigarettes.

"Your mum's important to me, honey." Eli said, looking out of place in the bright morning sunlight. "We've all known her for a while. We got together a bunch of shit for you guys-- pardon my language-- and although most of it is crap, it's livable. Just make sure your mum keeps her job, eh?" I nodded. We went back to work. It took all day, and by the end of it, me and mum were exhausted and I took a short nap, and mom came in to talk to me about school.

"What's that?" she asked, sitting down on the side of my bed and pointing at the turtle. I had been lying on it, and it was crushed into the sheets.

"Found it last night."

"You start school next Monday."

"Great."

"Try to stay in it."

"I will."

"I'm going out for a bit."

"Don't punch me later, then." she rolled her eyes, pecked me on the cheek, and she got all dolled up and left for the night. I shot up on the bed.

I put the doll in front of me, and it sat there, slumping over lifelessly. As dusk turned to twilight, my eyes hooded closed. I was crying, but only a little. I cried sometimes. I don't know why, it just felt better to cry, then to go and cut yourself up. The doll's little bead eyes were a little strange-- they seemed to spark a little bit, as if there was something behind the marble. I must have been really stoned. I spread my legs out, listening to the bones and joints creak. "Whatcha lookin' at." I whispered, staring it down. It just stared back. "Ick." I lay back on the pillow, which smelled like dust and probably needed a wash. I put the pillow over my head and held it down, suffocating in the darkness. The dark was nice. My cellphone went off next to my hip. It rang three times and I answered, my movements heavy and slow.

"Hullo."

"Dante." It was Okita. "It's Okita. What are you doing tonight? You need anything?"

"No. I'm not doing anything."

"Come over. I'm bored." Okita laughed. It was a shaky, un-funny sound. I sat up slowly, feeling like I was rising from an ocean of black tar. I shook myself.

"Ok. Where do you live?"

"Ok. You know those apartment buildings above the movie theatre? The one with the big window that sticks out?"

"Yea." I had passed it once or twice yesterday, walking to and from the motel. It was about twenty minutes away from the arcade. I glanced at the time. It was almost nine o clock, and it was dark out, beyond the window. "Want me to go there?"

"Yeah. Just go up the stairs, down the hall. It's number 8. Just walk right in, I'm not expecting anybody."

"Ok. See you in a bit." I hung up the phone, shook myself, pinched myself until I could walk. Even then, I hit one the ground on one knee as soon as I stood up straight. I grunted, but didn't feel anything. I changed into some nice clothes-- purple shirt with a cowbell neck and tight, elbow-length sleeves, plaid black skirt and tights, stole mom's fancy black pumps. I washed my hair fast and straightened it, doing a nice turn-over. I did my makeup-- white eyeshadow, thick mascara, eyeliner. I put on hoop earrings and bracelets. Hell, just 'cause I was a junkie didn't mean I couldn't go out in style. I grabbed my purse, keys and cigarettes, taking mom's mickey of rum from her case, my bejewelled, cracking black nails clinking on the plastic-glass. I paused for a moment, before turning off the light, swaying for a moment. God, I loved being stoned. I was looking at the turtle. It was looking at me-- no, they can't look at you, they're fucking fake-- but still. I picked it up and dropped it into my purse, and then went out the door.

It was nice outside, and I inhaled deeply. I lit a cigarette and walked, swaying a little, since I wasn't really used to walking in heels on heroin. Half an hour later I was in the middle of Karakura. It was a little bit alive. There were a few groups of teenagers walking around, grouped together tightly and laughing and chatting, hanging out in the arcade and mall, all of them with cute boys and girls that wouldn't be going home, they all had 10 o clock curfews and they were all good little kids who would get up early on Monday morning, eat a healthy breakfast and go to school, like I would be doing. Except, I doubted I would be eating a healthy breakfast. Or maybe I would get up early, make myself some chocolate-chip pancakes and fresh orange juice, and sit in the kitchen under the morning sunlight and try to feel something, instead of nothing at all.

I came to the theatre, entered the side door. On the other side of the thin wall I could hear the picture playing. It sounded like an action flick, the way the entire stairwell shook and roared. It felt pretty cool, and I walked up slowly, my heels echoing off the walls. I came to the hallway, walking across the thin floor, which felt like it was made of thin sheet metal and it would collapse if the wrong weight stepped in the wrong place. The overhead light flickered and there were a few cracks in the walls, and there was a dark shape huddled in the far end. Maybe Karakura wasn't so clean and pure after all. I knocked on number 8, and then stepped inside.

My first impression was impressed. It was brightly lit with overhead lights. There were a lot of candles and holders on the shelves, but none were lit but looked well-used. A clever yin-yang table rested in the middle, with black couches surrounding it. A smoking bong rested on said table, with several ashtrays. Okita was sitting cross-legged on one of the low-rise couches, smoking a roach with a clip and picking through the newspaper, half-moon eyeglasses perched daintily on her nose. She looked at me and smiled. I shut the door. Okita was wearing black sweats and a rumpled Marilyn Manson shirt, a bandanna holding her red hair back.

"Hey. Welcome." she beckoned me over. "Are your shoes clean?" I checked them. She had a very clean white carpet. "Take 'em off anyways." I did, leaving them next to the whit Etnies. There were a few pairs of sandals, a couple rumpled jackets and some combat boots. I walked over, the carpet fuzzy and cool underneath my feet. "How you doing, girl?" she shook my hand, formally. Her eyes were very red and slitted.

"I'm good." I sank down into the loveseat. Incense was burning in the holder. "I brought some rum." Her eyes sparked.

"Mmm! Pass that up!" She got up and teetered over to the kitchen. From here I could see how emanciated the girl was, her tits sagging low, even though she couldn't be a few years older then me. She came back with two shot glasses and a bottle of spiced rum. She poured us shots, fired up two cigarettes and gave one to me. "So, Yumiko says you moved here from Japan. Why?"

"Mom wanted to get out of the big city. Thought it was ruining me."

"Did it?"

"Yeah." We were quiet for a moment, and then she laughed.

"Shit. Well, you're alive, that's all that counts. Unless you're one of those suicidal junkies." I shook my head. Although it might have been a lie. I'm not even sure. "You can shoot up here, if ya want. Wait, actually, no. Not here. I have too much to lose." I shrugged and said it was okay. I was strangely comfortable here. "Are you old enough to go to the bar?" I shook my head. "Damn. Well, you wanna go down to the arcade and find some dopers? I'm strapped for cash. By midnight we can have a party." I perked up at that idea.

"Sure. Let's do it."

"You cool with helping me deal?" I nodded. "Kay. If you do good, maybe you can help me." I chuckled a little nervously.

"I do need some money."

"Well, let me get all dressed up. Feel free to look around, yeah?" she got up and walked down a hallway and I heard a door shut. I picked up my drink and looked around at her walls. She had ancient posters of Sid Vicious, Biggie, Tupac, the Beatles, Chopin, Tchaivosky. She had imitation Van Goghs and Picassos, a fake Jackson Pollock, still impressive all the same. I checked through her CD collection. The Doors, Pink Floyd, Creedence-- God, this woman looked to some ancient stuff! But I liked it. I really did. Better then the techno crap they played these days, and the wannabe Nirvana whiner-rock, and the worthless EMO shit. According to the tickets tacked up on the walls next to the mirror above the stereo system she had seen Iron Maiden, Pantera, Metallica, Eminem, Rob Zombie, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and more, all live, in the past ten years. I assumed she was around 25.

I was pouring myself a new drink when she came back. She looked very nice, in a push-up bra that made her breasts look very good, an off-shoulder white blouse and black skinny jeans, knee-high boots and perfect hair and make up. I blinked, stunned. "I thought since you were all dressed up, I would do the same. Be all classy tonight."

"Ok. You look great."

"So do you." I got on my shoes and we left, she locked the door and we strolled back into late-night Karakura, talking. Okita reminded me of a lot of girls I used to know. Her parents were non-existant. Her brother was in the army, her sister was dead. She had run away when she was 16, hadn't looked back since. She knew her shit and she was one of those girls you could look up too, to point you in the right direction, even if there was a needle in her fingers and the right direction was straight into your arm.

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We smoked a few joints and I showed her the turtle. "Aww. It's so cute." she hung it by its arms and made it do a little jig in the air, and we laughed. She perched it on my shoulder and there it stayed, half hidden by my curtain of curled hair. We went down to the arcade, around the back of it. There, was a small huddle of four or five teenagers. A guy with messy grey hair looked up, quickly hiding the little pipe they had been passing around. He relaxed when he saw Okita.

"Hey, 'Kita, what's up?" he asked. His friends, two guys and one girl, were quiet, just watching, stoned.

"Nothin'. You need anything? I got some of that stuff you wanted to try?"

"Coke?" the girl blurted. Okita looked at her, nastily.

"Uh, no. Who the fuck are you?"

"..." The girl looked at her friends, who looked at the ground.

"That's Kira. Um, so you got it?"

"Yeah. Fifty bucks." he stood up and me and Okita took him a few feet away. The kid passed over the rumpled bills and Okita put a small dime bag of heroin into his sweaty palm. "Have fun." she said, giving the kid a small push back to his friends. "C'mon." Okita tugged on my sleeve. I took one last look at those kids, who couldn't have been older then me. They were all huddled around him, looking excited.

"It's cut with baking powder."

"Oh. Why?"

"I only sell pure shit to people who I like. I didn't cut your shit. Yumiko said you were a good friend." I nodded.

"Yeah. I could tell it wasn't cut."

"Yep, pure Asian. C'mon, we got a few more stops."

All over Karakura, we went. I discovered that Karakura wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, like I had first thought. Things definately weren't as bad as Japan had been-- Karakura made a point to hide its addicts and kept everything behind locked doors. I guess small towns had a lot of skeletons in their closets. I just became one of them. So had my mom. Okita had been one for a long time. It was us against the world. I saw things that would have surprised or horrified others, but I was starting to feel at home in these back lanes. On the jungle gym at the park, hobos and junkies populated it, and I wondered if mommies and daddies knew what kind of populace shit and pissed on the same place where their children played. The hypocrisy of it all was horrifyingly funny.

Around one, Okita was tired and burnt out, and so was I. She had made almost two fifty tonight, and she gave me eighty dollars, for my help. She walked me home, came in for a coffee. We were sitting on my bed playing cards, just talking. I had fun tonight, a lot of fun, and Okita was happy about that.

"Good. You look like a miserable bitch." I had laughed. She had said goodnight, good luck at school on Monday, and I didn't see her for two days. I curled up in bed with the turtle and slept well.

School started faster then I had expected it too.

Here we go.

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I'm trying not to make her mary-sueish