DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything, I just supply the drugs.
"Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape."
-- William S. Burroughs
It is nearing two in the morning, and a teenage boy is rummaging through his room frantically, scattering the drawers of his cherry wood wardrobe, throwing the clothes into a heap on the floor. Dragging his dull nails across the surface of the wardrobe, not finding what he's looking for, he turns and starts his pursuit elsewhere. He walks to his bed and shoves the mattress off, flipping it over and searching the silky, flower print material for the seam that he had sewn back up many times before. Feeling his fingers brush against the rough tell-tale stitching, he rips it open and digs his hands in, searching frantically and blindly, also to no avail.
"Shit, I have to have some stashed somewhere..." he mutters to himself, aquamarine eyes darting wildly and looking around his now-trashed room; drawers are scattered, clothes litter the ground and his bed lays a mess with some of the inner cushion ripped out. Leaving his room, he half-jogs down the hall, passing the bathroom and turning the corner, paying no mind to the noise he makes as he stomps noisily down the creaking wooden steps.
Finishing his descent, the teen stumbles into the living room, going directly to the couch to toss the leather cushions aside and reaching into the crevice. He finds nothing and checks each of the cushions in turn, unzipping them and digging his hand inside, then lifts them up to give them a rough shaking. Throwing them aside once more with a curse, he hurries over to the oak bookshelf, ripping the books off and letting them fall to the floor; he finds nothing but dust collecting. Yelling and cursing, the teen moves to the end tables by the couch and knocks the flower-print china vases to the ground, letting them shatter and running his hands through the shards. Still he finds nothing. Leaving this mess behind like the others, he turns on his heel and stomps across the room into the kitchen.
"Come on, come on," he spits, now digging through the silverware drawers. His hands are shaking something awful, causing the silver cutlery to clash together loudly despite his efforts to muffle it. Taking the drawer out completely, the boy tips it and dumps the contents onto the floor and inspects it closer. Turning away, he walks across the kitchen and bends down to look under the stove, reaching his hands under it, groping. He then stands quickly and gets dizzy; that's when the first wave hits him. He rushes to the trash can, doubling over it and vomiting. He made it in time to stop the real mess, but he still ends up with some trickling down the front of his shirt and splattering on the freshly polished oak flooring. He turns to the sink, running cold water and splashing his face with it, trying to get the fresh vomit off of his chin. He panics when he hears the stairs creaking once more.
"Riku, honey, is that you?" a voice calls, fading out as it reaches the bottom of the steps. "...What happened here? Were we robbed?!" She sounds strained as she turns into the kitchen and takes in the new sight of the scattered silverware and vomit that mingles on the floor. She gasps, and then looks to her son who appears to be the source of the commotion. Her aquamarine eyes, identical to his paranoid ones, widen in shock. "Riku, what's wrong?" She reaches out to him as her voice shakes, concern and worry wrinkling her pretty, yet tired features. "N-nothing... I'm fine. I just... I need to go out, mom," Riku stumbles over his own words, and goes to leave the kitchen through the back door, kicking the cutlery and utensils aside. He pushes his silver hair from his face nervously as he slinks by, avoiding her gaze. However, his mother puts a hand on his shaking shoulder and turns him, looking into his bloodshot eyes at the dilated pupils.
"Riku, what is going on? Are you sick?" Her voice is laced heavily with worry, and she tries to follow his gaze. She takes in the appearance of her son in his current state, and her eyes begin to water. "Your eyes... What's wrong with them? They've changed..."
"N-nothing is going on, just ... just get out of the way, mom," he says, his eyes darting frantically around the kitchen, as though looking for an escape route. "I need to get somewhere"
"You need to talk to me; what's wrong?" She presses the issue, squeezing his shoulder. "You're shaking... Are you cold? Do you need a doctor?"
"No, mom! I need to go! If you just let me go, I'll be fine, okay?!" He rips his shoulder from her nervous grip and steps back.
"What's wrong with you?!" she sobs. "I know you're doing something! You go out every night! You're gone constantly, you're so skinny, and you steal from us and miss school..." She moves forward and touches his hand. "You always want money, And you've changed so much in the past year..." Her eyes widen but her voice softens as realization hits her. "Have you been doing drugs?"
His eyes widen, and he stares at her blankly. Suddenly, his hands started shaking with rage and he stomps forward, pushing her roughly. "It's too late for that, mom!" He crosses the threshold of the living room and steps pointedly over towards the front door, slamming it open and walking into the night.
His feet beat the ground, following the familiar route he's taken so many times before. The crunching noise of the gravel under his shoes is the only sound that follows him on this warm summer night. He knows this path so well; his feet take the lead until he finally comes to a dark alley hidden between the bakery and the shoe department, walking into it.
Halfway down the alley, his knees start to quake and he topples over, throwing his hands out to catch himself on the rough asphalt that comes up to meet him. His palms, being as dried and cracked as they were, are scraped open and start to bleed a little. The fall has made him dizzy, and the sensation of vertigo overcomes him as he gets sick for the second time that night. His stomach retches until it seems empty and he is left with nothing but a dry gag. Pulling himself to his feet, he slumps over, using the rough brick wall to balance himself. His eyes flicker shut, weakly overlooking the alley.
Finally, the teen appears to find what he's looking for and pushes himself away from the wall, taking off in a sprint. Dodging a couple dumpsters in the alley, he stops when he reaches a red-headed figure leaning against a wall, apparently waiting for something.
"Please," he gasps, grabbing the man's arms, "I need a hit, anything. You have to help me out."
The man takes a cigarette from his lips and shakes his head, fiery spiked hair swaying with the motion. "You still owe me money, Riku," the man states coldly, shoving the teen away. "I'm not a goddamned charity. I don't even have any on me."
"Please, Axel... Please!" The boy falls to his knees, gripping the front of the man's hoodie. "I'll do... anything. Please," Riku sobs. The tall red-haired man shakes his head again, a look of disgust on his face.
"You're a fucking mess... come on," Axel grabs him by the arm, dragging him roughly to his feet and leading him out of the alleyway.
A few minutes later, they're walking up the creaking blue steps of an apartment complex, Axel leading the way. Reaching in and fumbling with some keys from his pocket, he unlocks and opens one of the doors, leading Riku inside. He tells him to sit on his couch and goes to the back of the apartment. Riku complies and sits, fidgeting on the lumpy brown cushions, picking at his arms because of his nerves. Suddenly, another wave of nausea rushes over him and he leans forward, gagging dryly. Nothing comes.
When Axel walks out of the back room, Riku jumps to his feet and approaches the man, determined. "Please, a-aren't you going to..." he begins, his voice shaking. He stares at Axel with paranoid aqua eyes; his teeth clatter together loudly when he shuts his mouth.
"Do you have my money?" Axel asks coolly, dismissing the boy's desperation. "I can't just go giving this shit away." Bright, cat-like green eyes stare at the wreck before them.
"I don't have any money, b-but I'll do anything. I need some, please," Riku begs, his hands reaching towards Axel's hips, fumbling for the waistbands of his pants and underwear. "Anything," he whispers the word again, his glazed eyes meeting Axel's piercing green, though bloodshot, ones. Axel looks at him blankly, then nods his head and lets a smug grin play across his lips. This is why he likes the kid in the first place. He reaches his hands down, taking Riku's, and steps backwards, leading him into the bedroom, closing the door.
Author's Note: This is a joint project written between myself and my friend gentlestep. ;D It was spawned from our sadistic minds one day when we decided AU Riku needed a drug addiction. I hope you read and review, as many more chapters are to come.