my skin will scream {theo and hat}

[maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]]

T H E O D O R E  H A R T

I think I know that if I don't leave soon he'll kill me. Somewhere beneath the sleepy warmth weighing down my limbs and pressing my head further into the pillow. There's not a moment pain does not snake up my spine, purple kisses throbbing under the weight of Arsen pressed against my chest. My best friend sleeps soundly, comfortably. And although he is a year my senior, he seems so innocent under the night's cloak. 

Gently I slide my arm out from under his head, sudden cold fracturing my bones as I pull a sheet up to his shoulders. I do not say a word as I step into my shoes, pulling down the sleeves that had crept up to my elbows during a restless sleep. Arsen didn't see them, the sores upon my forearms from hungry needles. And I know that it is not me that he is friends with, but the idea of me. The dream that I hide behind because if Mew or Arsen or Haven knew who I really was I'd have no one. 

The door doesn't creak as I slide out into the night, stars spraying my skin with bullets and harsh breezes. I can feel it... the desperation clawing it's way up my throat. The yearning for release that I have only ever found in a vial. 

I'm scared. Thick wool rests on my skin uneasily, goosebumps creating braille upon dark skin. I am so, so tired of hurting. I wish that he would just kill me. We both know that's how it will end, Jordan and I. He gets more and more carried away with every beating I take and I grow weaker by the day. His fists and his drugs have made me so frail that I know that I could die tonight. 

That I probably will. 

He waits on a park bench, wispy hair piled atop his head and eyes curved downward in keen disapproval. "I'm sorry," I run my hand through messy hair, numb fingers feeling rough cheeks as I sit next to Jordan and try not to shake.

"Where were you?" His voice is deathly quiet. He's pissed. More than that. And I can feel his hands upon my skin and I think maybe I should just run if he's going to kill me anyway.

But his fingers dig so tightly into my forearm that I cannot escape. "Sleeping." 

"Really because you weren't in your room, Theodore. What have I told you about lying."

"No please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." His fingers are scraping at my skin through the fabric. Digging, digging, digging down into the bone. He pulls me into him, pulling my face into his fist with ease as I go limp beneath him. There's no fighting back.

"We can end this all now, Theo baby, just tell me where you were." 

My lips remain sealed. 

And his fists fly. 

I think i'm in the dirt now, He's screaming and shouting and there's something warm making it's way down my face. I can taste the bitter iron and i can feel the vibrations of my throat as screams tear them apart. But I can hear nothing but the frantic beating of my heart and I can see nothing but him on top of me and I can think of nothing but how much i want to die. 

But he's not done with me yet. He doesn't want me dead.

We'd be late to the party if that happened.

He draws me into him, helping my feet move one after the other because I couldn't do it myself. "You know I can't stand lying, Theo, you brought this upon yourself. Baby, don't look so pitiful." 

There's still blood dripping off of my chin but no one will say a thing. Not as he drags me down the street and not as we make our way into a warehouse filled with beautiful relief. The light burns my eyes something awful and he lays me on a couch, pushing a vial into my hand and kissing my forehead, painting his lips red.

No one hears the whimper escape from between swollen lips. 

I'm so miserable that I don't feel the first hit. Not even as I press a cotton ball to the blood beading upon my skin, I don't feel the second or the third of the fourth either. I don't feel the pills I crush between my teeth or the smoke I press into my lungs. 

And I can't even find the veins in my hands anymore so I stick the needles into my feet. 

I want it all to go away but nothing is working. Where is the sweet relief, the goodness rushing through my veins and holding me like only it could. I've searched four vials so desperately for it, they lay scattered around me and my chest is beginning to burn from the strain but I need it.  I need it. I need it. I need it. 

Please.

Maybe if I could remember how to move my legs I could go ask Jordan for more. He always had the good shit. That's how he keeps me around. 

The wispy brown locks dance above the crowd. "Wait." my words move sluggishly as I wade through air filled with smoke and dust and sex. "Jordan wait I need..." My chest hurts so bad. I don't remember how I got to my feet but they decide to leave me. Sliced off at my hips like how I saw in the games not too long ago. 

My back is arched off the ground, writhing upon the dirty floor until nothing remains.

And I think I've finally died.

sometimes to stay
a l i v e
you gotta kill your mind

[gamemaker kelsier]

H A T.

Click.

The flame lights up and dances.

Click.

The flame goes out and spots form in front of my eyes.

Click.

The mahogany counter glistens.

Click.

Sticky darkness.

Cli-

"Look, if you're this goddamned board then get the fuck out of here Hat."

She doesn't have to tell me twice. I straighten from my slumped position across the bar's counter and head into the back room without a word. The only thing that's mine is a black leather jacket and a pack of cigarettes. I'm out the door before Celina can change her mind.

I've got more important shit to do tonight than man a bar on a Wednesday night.

I only had twenty minutes left anyway.

My gear is stashed behind a brick in the wall near the back door of the bar. I look up the alley first to make sure that no one's watching before I reach in and grab my gun and knife. The gun goes in my waist band, the blade in my shirt. Suddenly I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go.

It's been three weeks since I got home from training. I've always been patient but something about this current stream of self-destruction doesn't need waiting. My whole life has been leading up to it.

There's a party tonight. Getting an invitation was a fluke. I was walking back from the grocery store when one of Ian's old friends saw me walking. I gave him an excuse, I'd been living with my parents for the past year and they'd tried to make me go straight edge. I told him I was ready to get back into it. He failed to remember that I'd never been in it in the first place. Drugs were never and have never been my thing.

He didn't seem to remember that.

I know the address he tells me, remember it too easy. It's the same goddamned house that Ian overdosed in, where they let him lie dead on the floor for two hours before I got to him. If I had any doubts they're gone.

My fingers brush over the knife in my jacket before resting on the pack of cigarettes.

"Smoking's a goddamned dirty habit, Hat."

"Yeah, well so is heroine, mom."

I light one up, relief filling me as soon as the smoke starts to burn it's way into my lungs. I didn't realize how cold I was until that first drag. I can feel the smoke going in and down, curling around my insides but I don't hear my heart beating. I stop walking for a moment, listening to see if it's still there.

The sounds of the District permeates the side street I walk through, the sun long set.

ba-dump.

There it is.

I take another drag and keep walking.

The party's loud. I quicken my pace. If I don't move fast the peacekeepers are likely to arrive before I'm done. Someone greets me at the door, I recognize him from before. I think his name's Dillon.

"Yo Dillon, what's up," I say with a nod. I push past him and he replies with a hearty 'Yo!' Guess I got his name right.

The party's raging. There's a kid passed out on the couch and this guy's getting it from some jacked out girl in the corner. I push into the kitchen where this couple is making out, one of them fallen into the sink. A couple communal lines of cocaine sit on a mirror on the island in the middle of the kitchen beside a tray of cupcakes.

I nearly forgot just how goddamned much I didn't miss this.

I open the fridge and pull out a beer. It doesn't hurt to look the part. One measly beer isn't going to ruin anything. I drink it back and light up another cigarette, flicking my butt into the sink beside the couple. They don't even break apart long enough to notice me.

No one here has looked at me twice.

Perfect.

I wait for an hour, watching the rhythm of the party. It doesn't slow down, just gets louder, more manic. More people arrive and I see the ones I'm waiting for. I perk up a bit, stubbing my cigarette into my long empty beer can. I leave the corner, watching them interact with the party. One of the trio has a waster attached to his waist. A fresh bruise paints his eye purple and he's having trouble walking. At first I think it's because he's already high but then I see blood on the side of his face and a hand placed on his side, like he's trying to hold himself together.

I stare at them for a good long moment, ignoring the fact that the other two head right for the backyard. The one with the waster, I know his name, Jordan, sits him down on the piece of shit couch and pushes a few vials into his hands. He doesn't even watch his bitch as he gets himself high, just turns and talks to some people.

That was the same piece of shit couch Ian fucked himself over on.

I watch the kid for a moment. His hands shake as he plunges the needle into his arm. He gives himself the second before even letting the first one sink in. Jordan's making his way to the back of the house too. He's my interest tonight, not the wasted kid on the couch. I drop him from my head and head to the back too, pulling out my pack of cigarettes.

I wait for a bit, watching the three from the kitchen window. The couple that was trapped in the sink are gone, probably off to find somewhere comfortable to fuck. There are sounds coming from the pantry. I can't judge.

There's a sound from the living room, people laughing and some high pitched screams. If they get any louder the peacekeepers will be here any minute.

I've been thinking about this for a long time.

I take a cigarette out and go out the back door, past the trio, tripping myself up. ("Wait, who the fuck is that,") I stumble against the wall of the house and laugh at myself. ("Just some drunk asshole, ignore him.") I put my cigarette in between my lips and fumble with my lighter for a bit, watching them out of the corner of my eye.

Elicia, the girl, has a needle in her hand.

"Boss wants us distributing this now?" whines Ted, the other boy.

I get my cigarette lit. Jordan takes the needle from Elicia, holds it up to the light given by the back porch and stares at the vial. He flicks it with a finger. "What's so special about it?" he asks in a bored tone.

"Longer, faster high," says Elicia.

I fumble with my lighter for a bit longer before finally catching the end of my cigarette.

"How much?" I ask.

The three of them pause and look at me like they forgot that I existed.

"What?" asks Jordan. He looks affronted.

"How much for the good shit?" I ask, slurring my words.

Jordan looks at Elicia, out of his element. I take that as my cue to stumble over to them, letting my cigarette fall out of my mouth. Ted steps over to stamp it out.

Elicia looks at me, tiny brain trying to calculate a price that'll seem fair to a wasted kid. She narrows her eyes at me and I grin back at her, having spent far too much time actually drunk to mess this up.

"Sixty bucks."

"Sure."

Jordan still has the vial in his hands and Ted stands beside Elicia, staring into the house. I look where he's looking. The pantry door has been opened and the couple are fucking against a shelf of baking goods.

I reach into my jacket and wrap my fingers around the hilt of the switchblade in my pocket. The party is loud, not loud enough for a gun shot. Jordan wraps his hands around my wrist.

"Hey," I say mildly, letting go of the knife in favour of my wallet.

He pulls my arm away from my jacket and lets go when he sees the wallet in my hands. Guess I have to get more creative.

"How many vials do you have?" I ask Elicia. I take three hundred dollars out of my wallet like it's monopoly money, "And do you have needles for them?"

She sets up five for me. I hand her the money and she hands me the drugs. My hands are shaking like I need it, but it's not from withdrawal.

"So how potent are these? Am I going to need more than one hit?" I ask.

"One's more than enough," says Elicia, not even paying attention to me anymore. She's busy counting the money she's just made and putting it in her wallet.

"Cool."

I take one vial and grab her by the arm, plunging it into her vein. Ted stares for a moment before reaching out to stop me, movements slow. He's already had a hit or two. I plunge a needle into his arm too, fist flying into his face first.

Jordan's behind me, I've lost the gain that initial shock might have given me. I don't care. I want to hurt Jordan. I duck and Jordan's fist goes flying into Ted's face. Elecia is sitting on the ground, dazed. Ted goes down too.

I turn and punch Jordan in the gut, watching as he doubles over. I pick up a needle from where I dropped them on the ground and shove three into his arm. He screams as I plunge them, knowing exactly what they'll do to him. He was always a straight edge, never tasted his own product, unlike poor ted.

He falls back, the juice flying through his veins and taking him away fast. He can't move anymore so I let him go down, knowing full well that I've just murdered him.

He was there that night Ian died. He watched him do the same.

Elicia smiles softly at me as I take my money back out of her pocket. I dig through her back pack and find a bag full of vials. There's another full of needles, tips protected by a small bit of silicone. I prep four more and shove them all into their skin, one by one.

Walking back into the house through the kitchen, past the fucked up fucking couple in the pantry and into the living room is simple.

The waster is on the floor now, eyes shut.

I bend down and place my fingers against his neck.

ba-dump.

People are stepping over him.

I slip Elecia's backpack over my shoulder and pick him up. Jordan isn't coming back for him tonight.

I leave by the back door, stepping over bodies.

I lock the fence behind us on our way out.

I'm not an animal.

[maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]]

I'VE GOT NOTHING LEFT

T H E O D O R E

INSIDE OF MY CHEST

I dream of death. Of anger turning my skin to liquid, peeling away at boiling layers and leaving me the empty husk I am. There's nothing left of me that has not been touched by rot, heroin pulls me apart at the very seams but I keep. on. fucking. going. I cannot stop, cannot go a day without the tranquility of a high, without gentle arms around me as I drift into a sleep to which there is no knowing if I will wake.

I'm fucking disgusting.

I despise the sight of me, the bones that I can count and the scars I cannot. Before he ruined me (before I ruined me) my cheeks were swollen, pink as a rose's bud. Perhaps I was something close to pretty. I smiled a lot more then, sat on Nikolas' lap as we talked about his day- about his adventures. He made this life seem so perfect, filled with acceptance and feeling as though nothing mattered. It was like being a snowflake, crashing into the earth at breakneck speeds yet there was nothing to fear. When you landed, you would simply melt. You wouldn't feel a thing.

For a kid whose heart was prone to racing and whose chest would leave him void of air on the daily- it sounded like damn heaven. Maybe that's why I haven't tried to stop- I've never really taken the time to think about it but it'd be like trading one hell for another. Drugs or hypochondria, falling asleep and never waking up or wishing that I could.

God, I'm a fucking mess.

But I do not hurt now, floating on this cloud with nothing but warmth of a humid rain to keep me company- pooling in my mouth like some poison lake, the ones ruined with oil and smoke. That's me. Ruined. Beyond repair and utterly fucking useless. No one wants a drug whore.

Well, that's a lie. Plenty of people have wanted me, plenty of people have taken me- sometimes twice in one night.

No one cares about a drug whore.

He'll do anything for a high right? Even let the man who claims to love him count the bills shoved into his palms as a stranger with blood on his knuckles pulls me away. He didn't even look at me.

And I know I damn well don't deserve pity. I'm a junkie, a no good fucking junkie and I have signed this devil's poem with every needle stuck into a hungry. This is my fault and I know that I would lose everyone if I told them that the Theo they have come to love is not me at all. I can't even pretend to be him anymore. This burden is too heavy to bear and it is only for fear of hurting Mew that I do not stick a needle too many into my flesh.

When I wake up, I don't recognize the place. I'm not surprised. Jordan probably found me on the floor and was offered something he couldn't refuse. (Hopefully more than five dollars and a broken pencil.) I'm sure someone was desperate enough to fuck me. I'm sure I'm in their room right now, eyes fluttering as I am suddenly assaulted with light that pierces every bit of exposed skin.

Which is surprisingly, not very much. And there is no familiar pain, no aching up my spine as I push myself into a sitting position. It's hard not to feel empty. I think I stopped crying after the fifth sale. I stopped expecting it to change a damn thing. The place is small, a one room studio apartment flooded with natural sun. It reminds me of the glass house I am so often told not to throw stones from. I never do. I am far too weak, too accepting of my fate to gather up the pride sat shattered at my feet. I would simply slit my wrists with the shards anyhow.

"Tell me-" I murmur, rubbing swollen eyes and staring at the blurry figure sat a little ways away from me. He's younger than I expected- far too attractive to have to resort to buying a frail thing such as myself. Shit, I dunno, maybe he likes the passed out sort. I certainly wouldn't put it past anyone. "what's the price of a cheap whore these days? Last time I went for twenty bucks and a pack of cigarettes."

I smile, but it is empty- awful truths masquerading as humor, just like always. I throw the sheets off of me, finding clothes where I expected none to be. It leaves me oddly panicked, gripped by the sins that surround me and I'm going to be sick. It's so much better, easier, knowing what's in store. What happened to me. "They're usually a lot grayer than you. Uglier too. Figure this was a power trip or somethin' I dunno and, frankly, I don't care."

The moment I stand I crash, like a star from the heavens and headfirst into the floor. Crack! My skull shatters, pain radiating down my shoulders as I swallow the sob that bubbles in my throat. "FUCK!" I manage, biting my lip so hard that blood runs down my chin.

But I won't cry. Not here.

A drug whore deserves this.