Gehenna's Rogue Gallery: Nectar

'Addiction begins with the hope that something out there can instantly fill up the emptiness inside'

~Jean Kilbourne~

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I feel itchy. Every time my feet hit the pavement, the crunch, crunch, crunch on gravel is like the ticking of a clock. Tick tock Nectar you’re gonna be fucking late. They’ll cut your pay again. Stupid fucking adults trying to take advantage of a teenager. They can all just go die or whatever.

God I feel itchy.

Gripping the parcel tightly in one hand, I utilise the free one to scratch at my neck. There’s a satisfying point right above the collar bone; those little needle holes that’ll never heal. My gateways to ecstasy. I claw at them with vigour. Picking up the pace in time with the active scratching, my unkempt nails manage the catch at the fragile skin, ripping small shreds of it apart. I continue to scratch, smearing the blood over everything. My fingers, my neck, my shirt, everything, until I look like the extra in horror film.

I don’t feel any better.

The veins expelling my blood scream for something to replace the liquid. Something sweeter. Fuck me, I need a fix. When I’m done with this job I’ll hit up a dealer and dance my ass for the rest of the night. Amby’s working tonight I think, so I should see her at the club.

Tick tock Nectar, hurry the fuck up.

Ignoring the aching and trembling in my limbs, I kick into full throttle. I conjure up my internal GPS, setting my legs on autopilot. A map of Gehenna’s streets appears to vividly in the forefront of my mind. In an instant I’m able to pinpoint both my current location and the delivery destination.

Right, so it looks I’ve got two paths I can take. One will take fifteen minutes by awkwardly bumbling through Cifer Central then down the residential streets. Option two will only take five minutes but it’s a straight path through the junkyard.

Tick tock. Scratch scratch. Get that liquid.

The screech of my high-tech boots halting on the path is ear splitting. Fuck, it’s so loud, shut up. Keep moving. My head snaps to my left, as though yanked by an invisible force.

Wasting no time, my shaking little skinny legs drag the heavy bastards strapped to my feet in that direction. This strange magnetic pull drags me down a crumbling alley that leads directly into the junkyard. The heavy boots crush anything small underneath, though the larger obstacles must be dealt with by a human touch. As my legs are directed mentally, my arms exert the little strength they have into heaving my body over crates and trash. The package receives a little wear and tear, but I’m careful not the break the contents. I’m also especially sure to keep it close to my person as I streak through the makeshift paths of the junkyard.

Fuck, it stinks. It always stinks.

Rustling the bloodied hem of my t-shirt over my nose to mask the smell, I move hurriedly, avoiding visual contact with the surroundings and letting the map do the work. This place is known to crawl with human maggots; plagued by junkies, drunkards and serial killers. Though it’s generally advised not the cross paths with scum layering the grounds, I despise them more than most. The junkies especially, leeching like bugs for another drop of syrup. Fuck off, at least I work for my shit. Those bugs make me itchy. As I near the opposite end of the yard, one of the bugs decides to have a tug my ankles. She slides her grimy fingers around my foot, resting her chin upon the front, begging in a language I barely register. It ceases quickly when her hands find the button for my boot’s blades upon my heel. My veins begin screaming again as her neck becomes as bloodied as mine. I shake her off and continue to run.

I arrive thirty seconds later than calculated thanks to that little interruption. A short distance ahead a fairly burly looking man stands with arms folded outside of a decrepit, yet fairly conventional home. The tapping of his foot in time with mine becomes acutely distressing. Ignoring the itchy feeling rising again, I shamble over to him. His eyes catch mine as I come closer. I shove down my concerns about the smirk he quickly flashes when we are face to face. Well, chest to face. He’s almost twice my size, in height and weight.

“Where’s my parcel?” He growls. 

The deep level of his voice feels demonic. God I wish my voice was that deep.

In response to his question, I raise the hand holding the parcel. I turn it back and forth to show him that it’s largely undamaged. He grunts, snatching the parcel from my hand. As I move to lower my arm however, he snatches that too. That smirk I was concerned about comes back. Placing the parcel down on the half wall surrounding his home, his now free hand starts pinching at my sides.

“My, you’re a skinny lad, aren’t you?” His moans, that deep voice developing a sickly seductive tone.

I feel itchy again.

The hand travels further up, halting at the hem of my binder. His face twists in confusion. My breath stops. He does not cease his endeavour, instead forcing his hand underneath the constricting fabric until he reaches no man’s land. The confused face contorts back to an even more disgusting smirk.

“Oh, so you’re actually a lass? Well, then this might be even more fun”

My leg jolts out instinctively, the bottom of my boot laid flat on his chest.

“Move your hand…or I’ll kill you” I manage to croak. 

My natural pitch is showing. My throat feels itchy. He moves his face close to mine, the tips of our noses lightly touching. The combined foul smells emanating from his breath heightens my stress induced nausea.

“You’ll do what to me, lass?”

The last sliver of energy I had thrusts its way through my leg, pushing it into his chest. The shot it fires recoils through my whole being, completely draining me. I feel ready to pass out, until the man’s limp body collapses in my direction, pinning me to the floor. The feeling of his clothes, his skin, his facial hair scratching against me. It’s all so...itchy. I manage to pull together the resolve to wiggle myself out from under him, crawling a fair distance away. For a few minutes I lie on the floor and catch my breath, facing away from my assailant. The itchiness in my skin surfaces in the moment of calm. I find myself subconsciously rubbing my bare skin against the gravel any attempt for relief. Nothing works. It never works. Only one thing ever works. I need it. I need it. I need it.

Ding, mental map sends me a reminder.

The Supernova isn’t far from here.

Of course, I was gonna get my fix there. You just gotta get yourself up and keep going Nectar. Don’t scrounge here like a maggot all night. Flashbacks of the woman from the junkyard needle into my brain. Damn it Nectar, get the fuck up.

It takes quite a few minutes, but limb by limb I’m able to push myself back to my feet and moving in the right direction.

As I slink away towards the club, the creepy guy’s words echo in the back of my head.

Lass…lass…lass.

It feels so…wrong.

The thought accompanies the whole time I’m walking. The more the word repeats in my head, the more everything starts to fade into a numb blackness.

Lass.

Girl.

Woman.

You’re wrong. Shut up.

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

I can’t breathe. It feels like two weights are crushing my chest. I begin to scream but the shrillness pierces my ears so shut up. It carves at the insides of my throat instead. I tear at it again. More blood, more stains. I can’t control it. I need something to replace the lost blood.

I need…

Need…

Mild bliss. Not overpowering, but the gentle cloudiness replaces the blackness. My vision comes back slowly, not helped by the blinding neon illuminating the surroundings.

The voice in my head quiets down, allowing another voice to be heard. Muffled but familiar, assertive with a hint of a Jamaican accent.

“Nectar…Nectar!”

DJazz shakes me gently with one hand. My senses are guided into a calm state by her presence. A pleasant floral perfume, the bright beauty of her appearance. I’m awash with a sense of safety. That could just be the drugs talking though. DJazz is a lovely person and all but that alone isn’t enough to calm me down that quickly.

“Jazz…what’s going on…?” I ask, slurring my words. She sighs.

“Bouncer saw you coming this way. Said you looked pretty banged up so I abandoned post to come check you were okay. When I saw you mumbling and scratching your neck I figured it was withdrawal” she explains. 

Reluctantly, she shows me a partially empty vial of golden liquid. Syrup.

“I wouldn’t usually do this. I don’t like and neither does Ambrosia. But in this case…it looked like a rough night” she continues. 

I can tell her tone is serious but for some reason I can control myself giggling while she talks. Either the drug’s fault, or a twisted need to find something so amusing about this whole situation. Whatever the case I find my eyes solely fixated on the vial as she speaks. My head moves as it moves, like a puppy longing for its ball. I’m so pathetic. DJazz seems to notice as she curls up her hand, covering it. I whimper. She stands up and turns around to face away from me. A few seconds of silence pass between us with no-one moving.

I feel itchy again. My fingers scrape at the floor. She sighs.

“Look…if you plan on slurping up tonight…just promise me you’ll stay in the club until you come down”

DJazz unfurls her hand, dropping the vial. It lands with a clink, rolling very slightly towards me.

“Just so I can keep an eye on you”

She begins to walk away. I pounce on the vial, removing the lid and downing the sweet syrup within seconds.

I feel…bliss.

Things are blurry. Things are also bright. It’s beautiful.

I feel so light. The scent of flowers returns. I latch to it like a butterfly, following it inside the colourful blur ahead. 

I hear so many wonderful sounds!

The scents of flowers fades away, but that’s okay because now I have all this…this music!

I feel so light. The music makes me want to move. So, I sway, I dance, I move around, blinded by colours, smells, sounds and everything is amazing. 

Nothing is itchy. I feel numb and tingly, but I like it.

What was I worried about again?

Ah, who cares.