TITLE: Declaration of Co-dependence

EMAIL: Snarlsnout@yahoo.com

PAIRING/RATING: Nic/Sam-Molly (see A/N) "R" for Language/Drug References

DISCLAIMER: Ryan Murphy (Popular)/ ? (Trapped/Purple Haze)

A/N: Try something different. A one-off piece; not really a song-fic (tho it's lyric-driven). Feel free to insert any drug-dependency/-abuse lyrics you feel appropriate ('60s Velvet Underground up to my personal fave--Jesus and Mary Chain...) A brief excursion into the land of angst & pathos. Sam's character more closely resembling Carly Pope's role of Molly in "Trapped in a Purple Haze". A tear-jerker, cautionary tale of drug-addiction; that despite the dismal outcome is still must-see material for Carly fans! Also, trying to trim down the excessive word-play my works tend to suffer from...beginning--now!...

Nicole's hand finally left the concealed .32 automatic she's taken to carrying, long enough to fumble for the keys. Even dressed down in old jeans, she still stood out in this nieghborhood, and while it was "streets away from where it gets the roughest", she barely felt comfortable coming down here in broad daylight anymore...

A quick scan of the dark hallway revealed only a small Mexican girl, no more than three, dressed in a threadbare pink summer playsuit. She stared blankly at the blonde; she did not offer to share the doll who's head she was intently gnawing on...

Finally, Nic managed to work thru the 2 locks and the dead bolt. At least Sam had been coherent enough to fasten them; she couldn't count the times she'd been able to just walk right in.

She raised the blind by the rusty sink in the corner, and  shuddered as she watched the roaches scatter. She visually tracked the shaft of sunlight (and it's inherent dust particles) to where it ended, illuminating a decrepit '60s style E-Z chair and a crate supporting Sam's sole luxury/creature comfort item: a cheap K-mart CD boombox, which Nicole noticed was now playing softly in "repeat" mode--

Are you a god, man? Are you now? Are you now?
Are you a frogman? Are you now?

Nic searched her vast data-bank, soon identifying the song--"Main Man" /mid 70s/ Mark Bolan aka T-Rex--Her formative years spent sequestered in the east wing of the manor alone w/ the radio finally proving beneficial...

"Jeez! What is it with junkies?" Nic groaned. "It's like another language--some hidden message; some 'mad-note' only the initiated can hear? Why else would anyone listen to some flash-in-the-pan 70s overdose case like T-Rex--his crap's pushing Mitsubishis now!" But she knew the song itself didn't matter--it could be anyone from Billie Holiday to Blind Melon--the attempt to vocalize the junkie quest; nirvana always the next hit away..."I don't get it" she concluded, attempting to distance herself...And, as usual, Sam was in no condition to translate--

Heaven is hot now; ever so, ever so.
Heaven is hot babe; watch it glow...

Sam was sprawled across the sagging metal framed double bed in one of the 3-4 poses she shared with the little girl's rag-doll out in the hallway. Head and matted brown hair hanging over the edge of the bed. Nic stopped short, immediately noticing the variation of Sam's usual m.o.--her arm was still tied off, spike protruding from her vein back-filled w/ a few drops of blood...

"Aw fuck, Spam..." Nic cursed under her breath. She was resigned to her fate; she'd be the one to find her--no one else even bothered to look anymore...Nic stiffly approached the still brunette form, removed the needle, the tourniquet and worked the arm in a circular motion before attempting to feel for a pulse...Sam coughs/gags/groans; flailing her arm. Nic avoids the attempted backhand and slowly sighs out the breath she'd been holding...

Bolan likes to rock now; yes he does, yes he does.
Bolan likes to rock now. Yes he does...

Nic could barely recall how it all started; how it all turned to shit. She could work up a couple of images from the early days. Partying w/ mutual friends; she'd notice Sam across the room. Vague, honest pleasantries exchanged now that they were beyond the confines of school. Both enjoying the freedom, both abandoning themselves to the quest for new adventures. They'd cross paths often back then,--clubs, concerts, parties--Had Sam ever showed any signs of being out-of-control? Had Nicole been in control enough to notice if she had? Honestly, the last couple of years were pretty much of a blur...time (and a shaky new sobriety) distorting even further, the gaps between memory & imagination...

Is there a sane man anywhere? anywhere?
Got giraffes in my hair and I don't care...

Nicole's thoughts turned from vague, wistful memories to dark, violent reality as she flashes on image after image of Sam's descent--The constant fights w/ friends and family; the scams, sob-stories, the stealing to get her fix. Going with any guy (or several) who'd hook her up. She'd made it her mission then: not to let Sam fall...Sam was the one with the promise; the future...Nic was the suicide course--surely any one could see that?!?

Nic was running the gamit of her internalized emotions--pity, anger, sorrow (and warmth) for a love that had lain hidden in her for so long...one which, now of course, was pointless. She'd come close to the precipice; Sam had dove in abandonly. How much are you willing to give? To give up? Sam had made her choice...over her, over everything...Nicole was stubborn; but could she wait it out--or was it just an exercise in futility? It's not like she had anything else to do...

As a child I laughed a lot, yes I did, yes I did.
Now it seems I cry a lot; tell me true, don't you?

Nicole was stirred back to the present by Sam's violent retching. She leans her forward enough so that she won't choke and as the fit subsides, pulls her up to sit beside her on the bed. She opens a half-pint bottle of generic bourbon; Sam takes a couple of deep gulps before her head crashes and lolls on the blonde's shoulder. Nic's learned to buy the  cheapest rot-gut possible--it helps with the shakes, but it always comes right back up...A temporary solution as Sam's "need" is already rising...Repositioning herself slightly she removes the pistol from her waistband and sets it on the bed--right next to Sam's rig. Nicole sees the two, side by side in an theosophic moment of clarity--The road forks: with one path long and rocky; but the same destination in the end...

Sam groaned softly against her shoulder; Nicole sighed and hugged her, instantly at peace with the new option presented...

Just not today. She reaches for her cell phone-- "Sugar? Nic. I, uh, need a favor..."

Are you my main man? Are you now? Are you now?
Are you my main man...

The song fades and so does this vignette. The shaft of pale sunlight creeping slowly, steadily over the blonde girl cradling the broken brunette in her arms...

The End
(...well, I guess, that I just don't know...)

I'll reserve the right to present Sam's POV accompanied by Lou Reed & The Velvet Underground's "Heroin"--(Hey kids! It's the ultimate love song--Download your copy today!)