Josie stood just outside the lab, lingering in the shadows as the cool night air wrapped around her like a thin veil of relief. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the wind cut through the fog in her mind, wishing—praying—it could carry away the weight pressing down on her chest. But the heaviness stayed, clinging to her like a second skin.
Above her, the desert sky stretched out endlessly, a sea of stars scattered across the dark, impossibly clear and still. It felt like another world, a distant place she could never reach. She used to love nights like this, used to stand beneath these same stars and dream of the future—dream of a life where her genius would take her far away from all of this. A scholarship to MIT. Groundbreaking research. Something good. Something real. But that future was nothing more than a fading echo now, a cruel joke. She was 19 and in way over her head, trapped in a world she had no business being in, with no way out. The life she once imagined felt so distant it was like it belonged to someone else entirely.
But there was no going back. Not anymore. Not ever.
With a flick of her wrist, Josie adjusted her pink hair, the vibrant color standing in sharp contrast to the darkness that had crept into her life. The bright, chaotic locks were her shield—her armor. People saw the hair, the energy, the laughter, and thought they knew her. Josie, the party girl, the loud one, the quirky chemist always full of life. But it was all a lie, a carefully crafted mask she wore to keep people from seeing the truth. Beneath the neon hair and wild smile, she was crumbling, piece by piece. The same meth she helped cook with her hands was hollowing her out from the inside, turning her into a ghost of the person she once thought she'd be.
Her feet moved slowly, almost reluctantly, as she walked toward the lab door. Every step felt heavier than the last. The low hum of the fluorescent lights reached her ears as she pushed open the heavy metal door, the scent of chemicals and machinery greeting her like an old friend—a friend she couldn't decide whether she hated or clung to. This place was both her sanctuary and her prison. It was the one place where her brilliance still mattered, where her mind could focus on something—anything—other than the gnawing hunger inside her. But it was also where she'd fallen, where the thing that made her feel powerful had taken control and reduced her to this—a girl who couldn't get through the night without a hit.
As she stepped inside, her eyes fell on Jesse already at his station, working like nothing had changed, like they were still a couple of curious kids back in high school chemistry. He didn't know—he couldn't know—how far she'd fallen. To Jesse, she was still Josie, still that restless, quirky girl who thrived on pushing boundaries. He didn't see the cracks forming beneath the surface. Didn't see the way her hands shook more each day or the way the need burned at her, eating her alive.
She slipped into her lab coat, tugging on the gloves, but her hands wouldn't stop trembling. She prayed Jesse wouldn't notice. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep it together. Every time she stepped into this lab, every time she weighed the next batch of their pink-and-purple meth, it was like standing on a razor's edge. The pull was relentless. That small, insidious voice whispering: just one hit. Just enough to dull the ache, to make it through the night without losing her mind.
It had started innocently enough—curiosity, like everything else. She'd wanted to understand why people threw their lives away for this stuff, why it had such a hold on them. She thought she was smarter than that. She thought she was immune. But that was before. Now, it had her in its grip, and no amount of intelligence could save her from the truth. She needed it. And needing it scared her more than anything else.
Her movements were automatic as she moved to her station, robotic even, as if the science of it all could distract her from the battle raging in her mind. She was good at this—too good. Her obsessive attention to detail, her perfectionism, had made her invaluable to Fring's operation. She knew the formulas like the back of her hand, knew exactly how to get the right purity, the right color. The pink-and-purple crystals sparkled under the lights, beautiful in their deadly allure. Fring would be pleased, Jesse would be proud, and no one would know how badly she wanted to pocket a shard of it just to quiet the screaming in her head.
She paused, her gloved hands hovering over the scale, her mind a mess of guilt and desperation. How had she ended up here? She tried to trace it back—was it the pressure? The need to be the best? Or was it the way the meth made her feel? The way it made everything stop—the noise, the chaos, the fear—if only for a little while.
Jesse glanced over, his grin easy, oblivious to the storm inside her. "You ready for this?" he asked, tapping his fingers against the counter. No pressure, no judgment. Just Jesse being Jesse. He didn't see how broken she was, how badly she was losing the fight.
Josie forced a smile, the expression tight, hollow. "Always," she replied, her voice automatic, a lie she told herself just as much as she told him.
They fell into their rhythm, the one they had perfected over months of working side by side. Everything they did was smooth, seamless. To anyone watching, they were a well-oiled machine, two young chemists at the top of their game. But beneath the surface, Josie was crumbling, her mind a constant war between the girl she used to be and the addict she had become.
As they neared the end of the night, the familiar tension wrapped itself around her chest, squeezing tighter and tighter. The batch was done—perfect, like always—but the need was back, stronger now, gnawing at her insides. It always came at the end. That insidious craving. She knew she shouldn't give in, knew it was killing her slowly, but she was so tired of fighting it.
Jesse turned to grab another container, and in that moment, Josie's hand moved on instinct. Quick. Almost too quick. She snatched a small shard of meth from the drawer, the crystal cold and sharp in her palm. For a second, she hesitated, guilt gnawing at her, but before she could stop herself, she slipped it into her pocket, her heart racing.
No one saw. Right?
The door swung open suddenly, and Josie froze, her heart slamming against her ribs as Mike Ehrmantraut stepped into the lab. His presence filled the room, that quiet authority he always carried making the air feel heavier. If anyone could sense something was wrong, it was Mike.
"Hey, you two," Mike said, his voice calm but with that edge of command that always made her nerves prickle. "How's it looking?"
Josie swallowed hard, forcing herself to act normal, trying to ignore the shard of meth burning a hole in her pocket. She glanced at Jesse, who answered with a casual, "Almost done."
Mike's eyes scanned the room with that calculating calm that made Josie's pulse spike. His gaze lingered a beat too long, and it felt like the air thickened around her. Josie tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the familiar motions—finishing up the last batch, tidying her station—but her mind spun in frantic loops. Mike was too sharp to fool. If he even caught a whiff of something off, she was screwed. Every part of her screamed to get out of there.
She made a beeline for the back of the lab, her footsteps quick and uneven. The panic was closing in, and her heart pounded in her ears as she slipped into her jacket. Her breaths were shallow, barely doing anything to calm the tightening in her chest. She was alone for a moment, her back against the cold metal lockers, trying to control the chaos inside her. Mike was driving her home tonight, and the thought of being confined in a car with him, his sharp eyes watching, sent her stomach into knots. She needed to keep it together. Just for a little longer.
In the mirror, she adjusted her lab coat for no real reason other than stalling. Her reflection stared back, the bright pink hair still vibrant, but there was no life in her eyes. Shadows clung beneath them, a far cry from the energy she projected. The girl who used to revel in the thrill of chaos, who embraced the unpredictable life she'd built, now felt hollow. Trapped. The facade was cracking, but she couldn't let it fall, not yet.
When she reemerged into the lab, she forced a smile, her lips barely curling as she approached Mike. He stood near Jesse, arms casually crossed, but his posture exuded control, the kind that made her skin prickle. There was something in the way he watched her, something that made her feel exposed. Could he see through her mask? Could he sense the storm brewing inside her?
"Ready to head out?" Mike asked, his voice a little too calm, like he was probing for something beneath the surface.
"Yeah, just wrapping up," she replied, hoping her voice sounded as steady as she was pretending to be. She turned to her station, buying herself a few precious seconds to breathe, but she felt his eyes on her, that same weight she couldn't shake.
Jesse, ever oblivious, grinned and tossed a casual compliment her way. "You did awesome tonight, Josie. Fring's gonna be stoked."
"Thanks," she said, her smile brittle as glass. She wanted to bask in Jesse's praise, to let it lift her like it used to, but all she could feel was a growing sense of dread. Every kind word was a reminder of the lies she carried, of the shards of meth still burning a hole in her pocket.
The lab was finally packed up, and the air seemed to shift. It was time to go. Josie gave Jesse a small nod, silently thanking him for the normalcy he provided, however fleeting. "See you tomorrow, man," she said, her voice lighter than she felt. But as she stepped toward the exit with Mike beside her, the tension coiled back, tighter than before.
The narrow hallway felt suffocating, the sterile lights buzzing overhead, each step amplifying the weight of her secret. The crystal in her pocket was like a ticking bomb, ready to go off at the slightest wrong move. Her hands itched to reach for it, to feel the cold comfort of it between her fingers, but she forced herself to keep them at her sides, clenched into fists.
Outside, the desert night air hit her face, cool and crisp. Josie inhaled deeply, trying to let it wash over her, to clear her mind. But the chaos followed, swirling just beneath the surface. Mike opened the passenger door of his car for her, a simple gesture that made her chest tighten. Despite everything, his quiet presence still brought a strange comfort, but that only made the pressure worse.
"Thanks," she muttered, sliding into the seat, hyper-aware of how close he was, physically and emotionally. As the car rolled away from the lab, silence hung between them like a heavy blanket. The soft hum of the engine should've been calming, but her thoughts were a cacophony. She couldn't stop the questions spiraling in her mind—could he sense something was wrong? Did he know? And what would happen if he found out?
She flinched when Mike's voice broke the silence. "Josie," he said, his tone low but probing. "You alright?"
Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn't expected the question, not so direct. She tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out brittle. "Yeah, just a long night," she said, forcing a smile that she knew didn't reach her eyes.
Mike glanced at her, and in the dim light from the dashboard, his expression softened—but not in a way that felt reassuring. It was like he was trying to peel back her layers, to see the cracks in her armor. "You know you can talk to me, right? If something's bothering you."
The sincerity in his voice nearly broke her. For a second, she felt the urge to spill everything—to tell him about the addiction, about the lies, about the shard of meth burning a hole in her pocket. But she swallowed it down. She had spent too long building this wall, and letting him in now felt impossible. She couldn't bear to see the disappointment in his eyes.
"I'm fine, really," she insisted, her voice firm, but her hands trembled slightly in her lap. She hoped he didn't notice.
The car fell silent again, but the tension was thick, suffocating. Mike's eyes stayed on the road, but Josie could feel the weight of his attention on her. It was like he knew something wasn't right but wasn't going to push—not yet. His patience, his calm, made it even harder to keep the facade intact.
After a few moments, Mike spoke again, quieter this time. "Just… remember you don't have to carry everything on your own. You've got people who care about you."
The words hit her like a punch, cutting through the noise in her mind. For a moment, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to reach out, to let someone else hold the weight for a while. But she couldn't. Not yet.
"Thanks, Mike," she said, her voice soft, almost fragile. The walls were still there, but now, there was a small crack. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make her feel exposed, vulnerable in a way she wasn't used to.
As the car continued down the quiet street, Josie stared out the window, the lights of the city blurring into a haze. Inside, she was still fighting the same battle, the shard of meth in her pocket a constant reminder of how close she was to the edge. And yet, Mike's words lingered, like a small lifeline in the chaos, one she wasn't sure she was ready to grab onto yet.
As the car rolled through the quiet streets, Josie felt the weight of the night pressing down on her, heavier with each passing second. Her turmoil churned beneath the surface, threatening to break free. She wanted to tell him everything—to scream out her fears, her doubts, the darkness clawing at the edges of her sanity—but she couldn't. The words stayed locked behind her teeth, trapped by the walls she had built to keep everyone, especially Mike, at a distance. And with each passing mile, that distance grew, the connection between them flickering just out of reach, unreachable behind her carefully constructed facade.
Her apartment loomed ahead as they pulled up to the curb, a familiar sight that should've brought comfort. Instead, it felt like a prison—both a sanctuary and a cage. The car's engine hummed softly, but inside, her heart raced. Every beat echoed the storm raging inside her, the inner battle that no one, not even Mike, could see. She stole a glance at him—his focus fixed on the road, his jaw clenched in that familiar way that spoke of silent determination. The silence between them had grown thick, charged with unspoken words, heavy with the weight of what she wanted to say but couldn't.
She swallowed, trying to steady her voice. "Thanks for the ride," she managed, though it felt hollow, like a script she had memorized. Her hand gripped the door handle, but as she pushed it open, a wave of uncertainty rolled over her, freezing her in place. The moment felt fragile, as if the wrong move could shatter the uneasy peace between them. She hesitated, one foot on the pavement, caught between the urge to flee and the desire to stay—linger just a little longer in the safety of his presence.
"Josie," Mike's voice came after her, softer than usual, almost hesitant. She turned back to him, her heart leaping into her throat. There was something in his tone that caught her off guard, something that made her stomach twist with a mix of fear and longing. His eyes, usually so unreadable, held hers with a quiet intensity. "Remember what I said. I'm here if you need anything."
For a moment, she couldn't breathe. His words, simple as they were, carried a weight that made her chest tighten. In his gaze, she saw not just concern, but something deeper—a kind of understanding, as if he sensed the battle she was fighting beneath the surface. It was a lifeline, dangled just within reach, but to grab it meant letting him see everything—the chaos, the addiction, the fear.
Her throat felt tight as she forced a smile, brittle and fragile. "Yeah, I know," she replied, the words tasting bitter as they left her mouth. "I appreciate it."
She stepped back from the car, her legs feeling shaky as she closed the door behind her. The night air wrapped around her, cool and crisp, but the warmth of his gaze lingered, settling like a weight in her chest. She stood there for a moment, watching as the car pulled away, the glow of the taillights fading into the distance. Alone again, her apartment stood like a monument to the life she couldn't escape, a reminder of the walls she kept building, even when all she wanted was to tear them down.
The storm inside her raged on, louder than ever, and as she turned toward the door, the chaos felt overwhelming. Mike's words echoed in her mind—"I'm here if you need anything"—but they were a distant comfort, swallowed up by the darkness she couldn't shake. Even as she stepped into the quiet of her apartment, closing the door behind her, she felt the weight of what she hadn't said pressing down, the truth still buried deep inside.
Inside, the silence greeted her like an old, heavy blanket, wrapping itself around her, stifling and relentless. The walls, painted in warm hues, felt like a mockery of the chaos swirling inside her. She leaned against the door, her breath catching in her throat, eyes scanning her familiar space as if it could anchor her spinning mind. The faint smell of her apartment usually calmed her, but tonight, it was just background noise to the roar inside her head.
Her thoughts were a tangle of panic and need. What if Mike knew? What if he had already seen through the cracks, sensed the addiction festering beneath her skin? The Jesse who cooked meth beside her seemed like a stranger now, replaced by the shadow of who she had become—haunted, desperate. The gnawing hunger for a hit was always there, like a parasite feeding off her resolve, whispering promises of relief that never lasted long enough.
She tossed her keys onto the counter, the clink of metal echoing too loud in the silence. Her heart thudded erratically in her chest, a prisoner of its own erratic beat. The shard of meth in her pocket weighed more than before, its presence a sick reminder of her downfall. Her throat tightened, frustration bubbling up, begging for release. She wanted to scream, cry, something—but all that escaped was a shallow, shaky breath.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled the crystal from her pocket. It glittered under the light, hypnotizing in its beauty—a twisted contradiction, this thing that had such a hold over her. It promised peace, quiet from the storm in her mind, an escape from the chaos. But as she stared at it, her chest tightened, guilt sinking its claws deep. This was her life now. This thing had become her life.
She thought of Mike. Of the way he had looked at her earlier, eyes searching her like he could see past the noise she kept throwing up in front of herself. Could he see the truth? Could he see the addict hiding beneath her pink hair and loud laugh? What would he think if he knew? Would he be disappointed, disgusted? Would he understand the way it wrapped around her, suffocating her until the only escape felt like giving in?
Tears stung her eyes as she sank onto the couch, the crystal still in her palm, its weight so much heavier than it should be. The apartment's silence felt oppressive, the quiet amplifying the war raging inside her. She wanted to ask for help, to reach out, to break free from the addiction that shackled her, but at the same time, a part of her clung to the chaos, terrified to let it go. The vibrant, reckless version of herself had become her armor, and she didn't know who she'd be without it.
Her vision blurred as the tears finally slipped free. The loneliness was suffocating, crushing her under its weight. She was stuck between two selves—who she was and who she wished she could be. And the crystal in her hand felt like the only thing that could make the decision easier.
The temptation tugged at her, that sweet, dark promise whispering in her ear, promising release. The urge to escape, just for a little while, was overwhelming. With a shaky breath, she made her choice.
Her fingers crushed the shard into fine powder on some random plate she has used in the morning, her pulse quickening with anticipation and dread. The ritual was both surrender and control, a twisted contradiction she couldn't untangle. Her hands shook as she prepared the line, focusing on the task as if it could shut out everything else—the guilt, the fear, the weight of her secret.
She inhaled deeply, and as the powder hit her bloodstream, everything exploded into vivid clarity. The high washed over her like a tidal wave, drenching her in euphoria. The colors of the room sharpened, brighter than before, the silence humming in her ears. For a fleeting moment, the storm inside her calmed, the weight on her chest lifting. She was free—or at least, it felt like it.
But beneath the rush, the warmth, she knew it wouldn't last. It never did.
