Dahlia didn't like it when Jenny lit up, but she figured if Jenny didn't complain about Dahlia's vice, then she didn't have much room to voice her complaints. Besides, this was her room, not Dahlia's, and if she wanted to flood it with the noxious smell of smoke, then she guessed it was the blonde's right to do so. Even if there was the occasional sign that said smoking was against the house rules.
It took mere seconds for the first signs of Dahlia's high to hit, and she was all euphoric smiles and fluttering lashes. Cocaine had different effects on different people, but for Dahlia, it was a pure, unadulterated rush. Her pupils were blown wide, nearly drowning out the chocolate hue that surrounded them, and when she spoke, the words were rushed and elated.
"You sure you don't want any? This is ... this is really good stuff." And it should have been. Dahlia had been using the same dealer for two years now and was a constant source of income because of mommy and daddy's funds. She didn't have a job for herself for obvious reasons. She could have, of course; she had learned to fend for herself these last three years, but the thought of working after being so long without it was an overwhelming one at best. So, instead of working, she kept cashing in on her parents' generosity and just waited for darkness to fall so she could go to the Red Moon.
Like muscle memory, Dahlia laid back on the bed, kicked off her boots, and began fumbling with her shorts. The only rule she had in terms of the biting was that it go where no one could see the scars, and the proof of that was obvious in the contrasting flawless expanses of untouched skin paired with places meddled with bite marks. Some had been healed for a long time, and others were still on the mend, but there were nearly too many to count.