The woman lay there, completely naked. Next to her unconscious face a small puddle of sick was slowly trickling out of her open mouth. The toilets reeked of piss, and the sound of buzzing flies echoed around. Jack knelt down on the wet floor and leant across her, cutting a line of coke onto her left breast. He buried his head down into then, and ran his nose across the line snorting it up. He fell back onto his back as his head buzzed, the familiar sensation as it soaked into his nasel passeges and flowed into his blood stream. The room spun, and he shook his face as he once again felt on top of the world. He blinked his eye lids and looked around. The sick had stopped trickling now, and small droplets fell from her lips now onto the puddle, causing little ripples like rain on a pond.

Jack went across and slapped her across the face, and she stirred. Her name was Janet, apparently. She was a prostitute but she also pushed drugs for her pimp/dealer. Whatever, it didn’t bother Jack what she did to make her money, she had good stuff. Still though, it seemed she was insistant on taking about half of the stuff she was meant to sell, meaning she got free coke but she made shit money from it. Plus she was dirty – HIV positive – Jack wouldn’t touch her that way, and he never shared a needle with her if she decided to delve into the world of heroin, a change from her plaguing coke addiction. That was the problem with coke, or any drug really. One leads to another. And when you’ve got the money, like Jack, it seems like there’s no point in stopping. Not that he wanted to stop, oh no. Live fast, die young. No point getting old and shitting yourself every day in some little home where no one remembers you. Na, fuck that. He’d rather live another year of having a good time than another lifetime of doing nothing.

Janet’s eyes flickered open a second, but then stuck back together. Her running mascara was now mixing with the sick, and made a kind of strange whirling pattern in the puke green/yellow of her vomit. Janet wasn’t going to wake up any time soon, it occurred to Jack. Fuck this, he thought to himself as he left the rancid London toilets.


ooc: Comments please :) I'll be posting some more, but this isn't particularly important or anything it's just building on Jack's character.

After a relaxing wank, Jack lay back on his large bed. Redtube was still fucking away on his Mac, and a pile of tissues was almost a structural masterpiece in it's design, second only to the one of condoms. His eyes soaked in the vibrant colours of his bedroom. It was beautiful, and where he came when he wrote his music. Pictures of things as distantly related as a knife and a horse shoe were placed next to each other on the walls, which were almost covered in paintings or photographs.

His junk draw was open, perfect little bags of brown powder piled upon one another. God knows how much it was all worth - but it was pure, that's what mattered. No point getting that shit that's been played around with. You could never know what they'd stick in it. Still, it was worse with coke. Dealers often cut it with crazy stuff, like broken down medicine tablets or talcum powder - or if you were unlucky, tiny shards of glass. They'd mess your nose right up. When Jack was a kid he'd known an older lad who used to do it all the time, but of course as a Romani gypsy he didn't have accsess to the purest cut's like Jack now did. The kid would constantly have nose bleeds, where the glass had just ripped it to shreds. But still he kept on doing it, he had no clue that he wasn't snorting pure coke - he thought the nose bleeds were just a part of it. And then of course, one day, he got a load that was as white as snow. Somehow his dealer had got his hands on a big shipment, and he hadn't bothered with the dodgy cutting like usual. Then the obvious happened - the kid OD'd, went into a fit. He was dead for two days before the police found him because the stench had alerted the neighbours of the abandoned house he used to use. He died alone, in a dingy little house with the only company being starving rats that were slowly eating away at his face.

A shitty way to die for a 15 year old.



ooc: Thanks Elliot :) This whole thing's going to hopefully explain why Jack's so fucked up, so I hope your enjoying it so far!

Edited by user 03 January 2010 08:49:52(UTC)  | Reason: Not specified