Disclaimer: If Victorious belonged to me, it wouldn't be able to air on Nickelodeon. Or any respectable channel.

A/N: Credit for the title (and the role the title plays in this fic), goes to mygingernewyear. Follow them on tumblr, or, if you like the title (and it will become more significant), go and tell them how brilliant they are!

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Loneliness ate away at Cat like a cancer. It gnawed her bones, chewed away at her stomach, her lungs. It swallowed everything inside her until there was nothing left, until there was just aching emptiness and a memory of being whole.

Sure, she had friends. She was Robbie's wet dream. She was Jade's pet. She was Beck's little sister and Andre's toddler. They both treated her like a kid, like a baby just learning how to walk. She'd hoped Tori was different, and it started out that way. It started with hope and promise and a swollen heart just like it always does. Part of her thought maybe Tori really did like her. Most of her acknowledged that what Tori really liked was the weed. That was all anyone really liked about her. The pot, the pills, the parties. Everyone's nice to their dealer, but no one really likes them. Cat supposed she could always stop giving them to her 'friends'. Just cut them off, cold turkey. But then they'd leave, and at least when they were around they masked the rumbling of her empty insides.

Maybe if she hadn't gotten Tori to try the pot, things would be different. If she hadn't held the joint out to the curious brunette, gently encouraging her. Tori had taken it, sitting indian style on the floor, her fingers clumsy, pinching the thin paper. She'd been so nervous. Cat had grabbed a stuffed bunny, clutched it to her chest as Tori had inhaled, coughing and spluttering. It was just the two of them, at Cat's house. It was just the two of them in her room, and this was what people did with their friends. It was all Cat knew. When you were with a friend, you took things, you did things, you shared.

Cat had shown Tori the proper way to inhale. How to draw it deep into her lungs and let it sit. She'd been so nervous, so, so nervous. Shaking hands and tight shoulders. Cat had felt useful, had felt smart, as she'd instructed Tori in something that was so simple to her. She was helping Tori, and that was what friends did.

Tori always did it with Cat, at first. Cat was the only one she knew who held. Cat was the one everyone knew. They'd get together after school, and giggle and pig out and they'd both feel so much better. But it wasn't the drugs that did that for Cat. They didn't make things better. Just stopped them from getting worse. A few giddy sleepovers at Tori's had resulted in The Funny Nugget Show, and Cat had watched those over and over at home. Watched the way Tori touched her, draped over her. It couldn't just be the pot that made her act that way. It couldn't be. But then Tori had shoved a few wadded up bills into Cat's hand, palms sweating, and Cat had handed it back, along with a baggie. What were friends for? She didn't see Tori so much after that.

The Funny Nugget Show turned into an excuse to touch her. To be able to hug someone and not have them ask why. To not have them ask if she was high, or if she was stupid, or if she was crazy. She already knew she was all those things. She just wished people didn't blame her every action on them. Like she wasn't capable of thinking, or acting without something impairing her. She wished she'd never handed that joint to Tori, wished it hadn't even occurred to her to do so. She could've kept Tori clean, kept her just hers. Cat knew that Tori would've gone away anyway. They always do. The only reason she had any friends at all was because of what she could give them, and she gave them everything. Everything she had, and they took it all. Except for her. They never took her.

So she took the pills.

She had red ones, blue ones, yellow ones, green ones. All the colours of the rainbow. Ones to make her happy, ones to make her sad, ones to help her sleep, ones to keep her awake. But out of all these skittles, orange was her favourite. Orange was for forgetting. Orange was for dreams. It wasn't hard to get them at all. Therapy wasn't really therapy, it was just an interview for medication. To see whether they needed to send you up or down. It was like playing with an abacus. They'd slide one bead, one pill over, and see what that added up to. Then they'd slide it back, or add another. Cat was never the number they wanted. She never added up for them.

She was a ball of yarn without a kitty to play with her, so she stayed tangled up and tight. She stayed untouched, but the pills let her touch herself. They let her unravel and pool on the ground. If pills were her bed, pot was merely a throw pillow. Something to soften her fall. It wasn't like she had a shortage of it. Her brother practically had a whole forest out the back of their house. Their parents weren't around enough to really notice. They didn't particularly care anyway. There was nothing wrong with breaking the law, so long as one wasn't dumb enough to get caught. They paid for Cat's therapy, bailed her brother out when he got arrested. The biggest part of her parents wasn't their hearts, it was their wallets, and that's about the only thing they opened to their children. They spent most of their time travelling. Where, Cat wasn't sure, but they sent postcards sometimes.

This one was from somewhere with neon lights, a bright sign splattered over the front. The message on the back was brief. Be good. Take care of your brother. We love you. The usual. Cat's stomach rumbled, the petite girl twisting on her bed, postcard slipping off the covers. That's right, she hadn't eaten since lunch. She drew her knees up, curled on her side. Her head was swimming. When she'd gotten home the colours in her room were too bright. Too bright. They'd hurt her eyes, so she'd shut them for a while. It was darkening now. It was better. She dug into her bra, finding the coil of cherry licorice stashed within. She knew candy would rot her teeth, but didn't everything? Besides, she could always just get some metal teeth, like the man in that James Bond movie. She giggled to herself, gnawing at the candy. It was warm and soft from her body heat, taste growing thick and sticky in her mouth. If she chewed it enough, if she ground it and ground it until it mixed in her mouth, it'd colour her teeth red, make her saliva into a scarlet paste she could paint with. She'd done it before, dotted her sink with this faux blood.

Cat swallowed thickly, pulling the rest of the red rope from her bra and letting it slip to the ground. It wasn't like she had a shortage of it. Her mom always made sure she had plenty of money for food.

The house was empty, her brother out with his friends. Or maybe he was doing business. Cat wasn't sure. It was the same thing to her. She was alone again, and it wasn't okay. Red pills. That was what she needed. They'd make her fly, make her swoop and soar until it was tomorrow, and she could go to school again. Her friends pretended to like her in school. They sat near her and they jostled their shoulders with her and they talked to her in a voice that didn't want something, a voice that wasn't low and slightly pleading. They never sounded like that in the daylight, and Cat thought that maybe they were scared of the dark, that they needed all these things to chase it away. Maybe that was what made their voices turn to needles. Maybe they were just like her, and couldn't bear the dark alone.

She placed the pill she'd swiped from her bedside table on the tip of her tongue, curling it back into her mouth. It had a slightly chalky taste, one that cloyed with the heaviness of the cherry licorice. It made her mouth feel like ash, but she knew it'd make her brain feel like a fire, like her fingers were flames and her heart was a giant ember, glowing red. Her dreams would be tinged red tonight.

Cat's brow furrowed as she turned on her side, struggling to get comfortable. But they weren't alone. She fixed her gaze on her outstretched hands, blue in the sparse light that spilled through her blinds. Were her friends like her, even now? Were they ensconced in their rooms, lights off, wondering why they were so alone, why on a bed for two, there was only one? But no, they weren't alone. They kissed each other, and they fucked each other, and they dated. They spent a week glued together, and then it dissolved and things were the same. It was a game of musical chairs, and Cat never found somewhere to sit. She twitched her fingers in the tiniest of movements. Such a tiny motion, but it tugged at a long line of muscle underneath her forearm. Such a tiny stone thrown, with such a big ripple. It was funny how muscles worked, thought Cat. They stretched out in thin ropes, or sat in short, curved bunches, and they flexed and tugged each other and somehow worked together. Sometimes she wanted to strip away the skin, see how her muscles played with each other, how they danced and shivered. She thought maybe it'd be like underneath the lid of a grand piano. Touch the keys, and watch the shaking strings make the melody. Watching them shift underneath her skin was enough.

She wondered if her friends did this, when they fucked each other. Whether they noticed every little thing, how every breath affected their bodies, how every soft sound rumbled in their throats. Maybe they just focussed on the pleasure, on the in and out she glimpsed through a door left ajar. Maybe that's all she would do too.

That pleasure.

Cat ran her fingertips along her opposite arm, tracing the quiet skin. She wondered if it felt different with someone else. Mmm, it had to. She blinked, rolling onto her back. The pill was kicking in. The edges of her vision smouldered, like a photograph being eaten by flame. Yes, it had to. Her flaming fingertips sparked over her stomach, searing under the waistband of her loose pyjama pants. How would they feel? How would they touch her?

Robbie would be awkward. His thin fingers stuttered over her panties, grazing all the wrong spots. His breath would smell like french onion dip, and he'd hold himself uneasily over her. Andre would be smooth. He'd ease onto her like a big cat, muscles velvet. He'd touch her and tickle her, and his lips would dance just as much as his fingers. Beck would be strong. He'd be warm and hard, and make every move so slowly. His blunt fingers found her clit easily, delving through the warm flesh.

Cat exhaled slowly, eyes closing, flickers of flame still swimming around the edges. She was flying now, the bed a cloud beneath her, fingers rubbing furtively between her legs.

Trina would be quick, straight to the point. Cat gasped as Trina's elegantly manicured fingers slipped inside her. Her strokes would be short and shallow, too focussed on getting it over and done with, so she could have her turn. Jade would be cruel. Her fingers curled inside Cat, rocking in hard, almost painful strokes. She'd bite and nip at Cat's throat like a hungry dog. Her hips would grind over Cat's thigh, keeping her pinned in place. Cat would be a meal to her. Tori... Tori would be soft. She'd be full of smiles, of laughter. The kind that warmed your heart instead of scalded it with humiliation. Her fingers whispered inside Cat, steady and gentle, Cat's back arching off the bed. Her lips would press along Cat's jawline, a susurrus of sweet words spilling in her ear. Oh yes, that's how it would feel. That's how it would-

Cat bit back a moan, pearly teeth sinking into her lower lip, her piano keys of muscles all sounding at once, a booming scale. Her hips jumped, pushing into her hand. Her hand. Just hers. Her body relaxed, unwinding and sinking back into her cloud-stuffed mattress. She dragged her hand out, her own fingers appearing short and stubby, nail polish chipped and chewed at.

That's how it would feel with her, with Tori. If only she'd never offered that joint, if only she'd never placed that pale white pill in Tori's hand. If only she'd kept her all for herself, maybe that's how it would've felt. If she'd kept Tori clean, and sweet, and wanting nothing from Cat but her affection. Now all she wanted was Cat's special confections.

That was all anyone wanted, really. And by now, it was all Cat wanted too. Her special little pills. Her illegal apothecary. It fixed all her afflictions. All but one - the gaping hole in her heart. She went to sleep on drifting wings, skin afire and mouth stuffed with feathers, dry and ticklish. She'd see them all tomorrow at school, and they'd greet her with a smile, and for a moment, just a moment, it'd feel real. She'd spent hours tinkering with her medications, trying to replicate what that moment felt like, but the closest she'd come had carried a sense of dread with it.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be bright, and chase away these beasts of the dark that crowded in around her, whispering words in her own soft voice. The word repeated itself as she sank into sleep.

Tomorrow.

/

A/N: There's something just magical about drugs, isn't there?

Wait, I'm pretty sure I'm phrasing that wrong.

I mean.

The whole concept of drugs is pretty magical. Different chemicals changing your behaviour, your perception, your self. It can heal you, or hurt you, or make you think you can fly. It's like religion in milligram form.

Although, I mean... don't do drugs. 'Cause that's bad. Unless you're sick. Do them then. Think of drugs as magic. You wouldn't just cast spells on yourself willy nilly, now would you? I mean do you really trust your skills as a sorcerer? Pffft no, you go to a wizard! By which I mean, doctor. And he uses a magic wand (his pen) to write you out a spell in an ancient language (because how do you even read their writing seriously).

I really don't think I'm helping the anti-drug cause right now. v_v

Idk, review or something. I'm going to go and think about what I'm doing, and how to stop doing it.