Players:
Summary: The day after having some nastiness sprayed in her face in the park, Anita has to deal with the consequences. (Vignette)
Date: April 5, 2011
Log Title: Reaching for a Helping Hand
Rating: PG(L)
NYC - Midtown Apartments - Anita's Apartment
What the HELL was that shit he gave me?! Anita lays curled up in the middle of her bed, knees drawn up to her chin. The familiar, though near forgotten, need of a fix leaving her shaking and weak as a pup. She curls into a tighter ball, her hands clenched into fists on the crown of her head. A high pitched, almost animalistic whine rips through her, echoed by concerned whimpers from the dogs that flank her; twin canine bodies curled around her, protecting her from a world that's suddenly gone cold and far, far too lonely.
The phone rings again, probably Liam calling to check on her. Again. Or maybe the manager from the club. She hasn't answered the phone in far too long, but she just can't bring herself to admit to her friends that she's got the shakes. That she used again, even if it wasn't her idea.
She cringes internally at the thought of what her friends would say if they could see her now. What would they think if the ones that haven't known her for very long knew that this isn't the first time she's experienced the after effects of drug use. If Tony and his young friend Kaji could see her now, they would likely turn their backs on her forever. That's something that really doesn't appeal to the dancer: Losing the friendship of someone that's so enjoyable to spend time with and the potential friendship of someone she finds fascinating scares her almost as much as the thought of losing her dogs.
Vividly, Anita remembers the feeling of power that she felt when the drug in that inhaler hit her system. The intense sensation of being totally in control of herself and the world around her. She craves that feeling. She wants to again know what the world around her is thinking, to be able to know what the animals of the city are thinking without actually being able to hear or see them.
She should get up.
She should be at work.
She can't think beyond the need well enough to even call someone.
"¡Oh, Dios, ayúdame!" The words are hissed out through clenched teeth as she opens her eyes to look at the cell phone on the bedside table and the card next to it. "Kyle, hijo de puta … Usted me hizo esto. Hay que arreglarlo." Almost painfully, she uncurls, Dodger and Anna sitting up alertly at the movement, and reaches with one trembling hand for the phone that might as well be a world away.
