Man stink, and weed.
That was how the majority of the frat house smelled. Well, that's how it smelled to Marlene. It didn't bother her much, though. In fact, she preferred it to her mother's countless Yankee candles strewn around the family house. At least these scents were properly earned. Her mother paid more than a bus boy's two-month salary for a single goddamn wick.
It was basically a huge man cave, filled with the stereotypical fraternity douchebags and their make-up caked, 3 AM booty calls, but that house had come to be her home. Marcy spent more time there in that tiny room, on that tiny bed with Nathaniel than she did in her own. She kept her clothes there, her toothbrush, her needles - the newest addition to her pantry of drugs. Her roommate had recently introduced her to the stuff, and Marcy and the heroin quickly became buddies.
By now, it was routine; Nate with his pills like a nightly cup of coffee and her with her lighter and spoon, a more fucked up NyQuil. After a couple of orgasms, maybe a Poptart to replenish lost calories, she would reach under the bed and prep her medicine. The stuff was getting more and more expensive. Or was it because she was just buying more of it? Marcy didn't know. Marcy didn't care. She just wanted to feel nice. Heroin was her better version of weed.
It wasn't that she had trouble sleeping or anything; it was the happy, mellow glow she returned for. And the fact that it didn't fuck her over in the morning for class (when she went) was an added bonus. All she had to do was push down on the injector, and bam! The world was at peace. She was floating on a fucking cloud in that beautiful fucking room room with that fucking beautiful man. Life was good, life was great, and sleep sounded like a good idea...
Suddenly, Marcy's eyes flew open. Or as open as they could have gotten under the influence of the heavy narcotic. Something was trying to claw its way out from her stomach by way of her esophagus tube, and it was waiting for no one. She peeled her cheek off of Nathan's warm chest. Somehow in her sleep, she had gained three tons of pounds, and dragging herself to the side of the bed was the feat of the century. Her blue eyes were practically rolling around in her head. Her diaphragm was in cahoots with the shit inside of her, doing its best to push it out of her mouth.
The effort of trying to keep herself up on her elbows was too much and Marlene collapsed back onto the mattress, laying like a rag doll with her face pressed against the edge. She wasn't aware but there were tears trickling from her eyes as the dry heaving worsened. The world was not at peace, it was actually crashing down around her. It was angry, and the proof was trying to get out of her body.
Somehow it registered with her that it would be rude to vomit the Poptart all over his floor, and with whatever strength she could muster she slowly reached back with her hand, exposing the tracks inside her arm, and tried to grasp for his shirt or something. But her hand was nowhere near him, and all she caught were sleepy fistfulls of air. She couldn't do that to him. He was so nice to her. She couldn't make a mess on his floor like that. "N-Nate..." she gurgled, whimpering like an injured animal as her diaphragm bucked again, "I'm go-gonna.. Throw up... Nate..."
He would fix this. He would make it all better. He always did.
Concept
