Re: Ocean's Eleven, PT: Meredith J/Sam A/Cris M
[Sam was losing it, yeah? That junkie hunger gnawing, withdrawal pushed to sweat-damp skin with money burning a hole in denim. And, yeah, ok, so she'd been holding it together to get to that money, to get to that hit, but there was only so much her body could take. Her head, yeah? And she would sell every last fucking thing she had for a hit just then. She'd turn herself inside out, break T's piggybank, draw a fucking map to Joey's heart. Anything, anything just to ease that fucking pain that showed stark and bright anguish on her too-pale features.
She was caught up in her own shit, and she knew that made her an asshole. It made her an asshole, but she was reaching for Cris anyway, yeah, and she still didn't know how she'd get away from him to score, but she'd manage somehow, she HAD to. But, yeah, reach, and then Meredith talked, and it was like fucking ice water down Sam's spine.
Stay. Please.
It showed, yeah? On Sam's face, how hard that was to hear, because she couldn't turn her back on it, but her body fucking HURT, and she would be the shittiest person if she insisted on going, yeah? She stood there, trembling, and her hand dropped. She knew she was part of Meredith's downfall, yeah? Junkie clarity, hunger making her belly churn, and she knew it. She hadn't helped. If anything, she'd driven a wedge between Neil and Meredith, and that was before fucking him.
And it was fucking hard, so HARD, but she dropped back down onto Cris' lap, cheeks damp and so fucking close to scoring, and her head twitched, little jerks from side to side.] We're not going. [Her voice was unsteady.] And you can come stay with me when you're out of here. Ok? Until things are better with Neil.