🎵 𝄞 🎸 𝄫 🎷🎶 🎻 (jukejoint) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2014-01-17 22:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | christine daae |
Who: Sam (and an NPC Murphy hitwoman)
What: Bang, bang!
Where: Outside the mental health clinic
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: Language, drug meta
Sam didn't mind going to the clinic anymore. Yeah, at the beginning she had, but now it was a soothing pattern, and she didn't hate it anymore. She didn't have the bike, not since she'd given it to Joey, and they didn't have all the fucking cars anymore, so she took the bus and it felt like things had when she first moved to Las Vegas, when she'd only had the 5k she'd stolen from Russ to her name, but when everything had felt like a new fucking beginning.
But it wasn't a new beginning.
Things had felt off for fucking months, yeah? Since she'd broken Iris' face, and since Neil had given up the Aria suite. And so, yeah, ok, she'd kind of thought he'd still been living there or whatever. But that wasn't her fault, right? He was never home for weeks, and what was she supposed to think? So, yeah, she'd thought it was just his way of keeping her without slumming, living at Aria and getting her some place in an ok neighborhood. But it had turned out to be way fucking worse, and Sam was just so sick of the shit with Chloe. Some days, it felt like that shit would never end. That they'd spend an entire fucking lifetime looking over their shoulders. And worse, it felt like they'd never fucking win. Chloe would just keep throwing her fucking metaphorical punches, and they'd just keep rolling over and taking the blows to the belly. She was fucking sick of it.
But Sam had other shit on her mind too. Her lawyer - Neil's lawyer - had been talking about her pleading "no contest" to the Iris thing and getting a walk, but that lawyer was gone now, and the public defender didn't answer any of her fucking calls. She was supposed to be in court in a week, but she had no fucking idea what was even going to happen, because the old lawyer had told her that she wouldn't need to go to court.
And then there was the shit with the drugs. Yeah, ok, so dealing meant Sam could afford the fucking mortgage on the house (or her share of it at least), but she had such a hard fucking time being around the product. She was mainlining Naltrexone these days, just so that she would get sick as fuck if she used. It had worked so far. She'd taken one needle, and she'd spent the rest of the night throwing up and wishing she was dead. So, yeah, she'd managed not to touch anything again. And, luckily, the smack hadn't come up in her piss test that week. But she was playing with fire, and she fucking knew it. But what was the alternative? They were fucking broke or whatever, thanks to Chloe. And it all came back to fucking Chloe, didn't it? It always came back to fucking Chloe.
But there was good shit too. Joey was talking to her a little, and Shane was in town, and Lou hadn't gone nuts in months. Family made her feel safe, everyone except Iris, and her brothers made her think shit would be ok, maybe. And at least people didn't scare her like they used to. She didn't stand in line at the clinic and flinch every time a guy's voice came too close to her ear. She didn't think she saw fucking Ian out of the corner of her eye everywhere. She could finally fucking sleep without waking up in a screaming sweat. And yeah, ok, she should focus on that stuff. Her old shrink, back when Daniel was paying for a decent one, always said to stay busy, and not to dwell on the bad shit. So, she was trying. And maybe life wasn't turning out to be painting or welding or whatever, but that was ok. That shit had only been a stupid dream anyway.
And the line at the clinic moved slow, and she crossed her arms over the camo jacket she wore over her shorts. It was a nasty part of town, the free clinic and generics and everybody pissing in cups because they'd failed drug tests. She'd been fucking terrified to come to the place alone once, now she just felt like she belonged there again. After all, it was like fucking home, yeah? Kind of.
She took her dose in a paper cup, shit to keep her from adding to the vertical scars on her wrist, from beating the shit out of her sister. She peed in a cup, and she lit a clove as she went outside. It was dark, because the clinic shit took hours every fucking day, but she didn't have the money for a real doctor, and it was court mandated. So, fuck it, you did what you had to it.
It was crowded on the sidewalk, people waiting for druggies and junkies to come back outside, kids waiting on their moms and pops, boyfriends, pimps, wives. She tugged up the hoodie on the jacket she wore beneath the camo, and she stepped off the bottom step, graffiti everywhere and a right turn for the crowded bus stop.
Buzz.
And man, that shit was loud. She put her hand over her left ear, and fuck, then the pain kicked in. Her hand came away bloody, and she stared at it in confusion.
"What the fu-"
Slow motion, and she turned and saw a shock of blonde hair, a woman running, yeah? Someone pointed. People screamed. She didn't understand why the world was a fucking shuttering thing black, then back, then black again.
Slam.
And something hit the sidewalk. She didn't even realize it was her. People crowded over her, and someone yelled about calling 911. Her name? They wanted her name. Fuck, what was-