i.

I hiss in anticipation as the woman, a graverobber, stalks around me in circles, the zydrate gun clenched in her hand. I can almost taste the icy blue concoction, feel the relaxation of my muscles as the addictive substance emanates onto me. The glass vial is locked into the gun. The woman simply needs to pull the trigger with the gun pressed against my waist, and I'll be in bliss again.

The woman is scarily beautiful; perfect by anyone's set of standards. I wonder how many surgeries she's had. Dark eyeliner rims both of her eyes, and shaggy bangs hang low on her forehead. She's wearing fishnet elbow gloves, and lingerie made out of black leather.

I moan, the pain becoming almost unbearable now. My body yearns for the zydrate; I've been without it much too long.

A flicker of amusement flashes across the graverobber's face for a split second, and I can see that she's testing me, teasing me. Her eyes narrow as she allows another step towards me, the zydrate gun trailing across my too-thin lips. "Another surgery?" she asks me mockingly. "This must be your twentieth, if I'm not mistaken. I see you around here fairly often."

Helplessly, I nod quickly. Anything to get the zydrate back into my system. "Make—make me skinnier, please. And give me the turquoise eyes graft. Please!"

"Sixty grand." The graverobber looks at the zydrate gun, then sits down on me, just below my hips, arching her back. "Stay on top of your payments. We wouldn't want the repo man to come, now would we?" Before I can respond, the woman presses the zydrate gun against my waist and pulls the trigger.

Everything blurs together, all the colors swirling into each other, and I'm happy again, my bloodstream brimming with all the zydrate.

I'm vaguely aware of the surgeons hovering over my face and my torso, murmuring words I can't comprehend in this state. "More zydrate!" One growls at another. "Her eyes are opening!" Another vial of zydrate is injected into me, and I'm nearly unconscious now.

I'm limp, boneless. The surgeons have secured me with ropes well enough so that I don't roll over, but I still can't fight the feeling of plummeting continuously off a cliff, even as I sink deeper into my trance.

ii.

I'm leaning against a cracked wall, still completely limp, the whole world blurry. The zydrate is still pounding through my veins, urging me to get up. Instead, I fall to the side, my head landing on someone's lap. My new turquoise eyes gaze up at the unfamiliar male face inquisitively. "I- I'm sorry." My voice cracks as I try to raise my head up again.

"No, it's fine." He smiles at me. "You can stay there."

"Thanks." My muscles are still noodle-like, and it would be senseless to sit up anyhow. I'd just fall over again.

The man- he's nearly perfect, with full lips, black hair, and thickened eyebrows which accent his golden-brown eyes. There's a nearly imperceptible scar on his earlobe, though, and there's a slight amount of stubble on his chin.

"How many surgeries have you had so far?" I ask.

"None, actually. This is my first one." He nods at me, as if further convincing me.

"No!" I gasp, the words out of my loose lips before I can stop them. "I mean, no way. Wow, that's pretty insane." The zydrate has turned me into a babbling idiot. Fortunately, I don't tell him straight-out how perfect he is.

"It's true." He shrugs. "So, d'you just have it done right here?" He motions towards where he's sitting.

"Yeah. These are the surgeries performed using zydrate via black market, so you don't really expect high-class treatment around here- oh!" My mouth opens, forming a perfect 'o' shape as the man is injected, unexpectedly, with a vial of zydrate, my head still resting on his lap.

"What'dwe do with this other one?" A gruff voice asks behind me.

"Another shot of zydrate. She's already addicted, so why not?" The graverobber responds. "I don't think she'll be moving anywhere soon, of her own accord anyway."

A third injection of zydrate, albeit weaker this time, enters my bloodstream, allowing my body to relax, making my eyesight blurry again. My perception of time is distorted while in the zydrate-induced trance, because suddenly, the man's surgery is finished, and I'm moving my lips towards his still-perfect face.

He's returning the favor, and our lips touch- fire and ice. He opens up his mouth, and my tongue slips inside easily, exploring. We kiss fiercely, urgently, as if there's no time left in the world.

There's a scoff from next to us. It's the female graverobber who first injected me with the zydrate. "Get a room, guys. Please, I don't need to see two horny teenagers sucking face while I'm working."

The man blushes. "Sorry," he apologizes. "We'll leave. Come on." His voice is light as he stands up, then offers a hand to me.

I hesitate for a split second, then grab onto his hand and stand up. My legs are wobbly, and I need to hang onto the man for support.

He flashes a piercingly white smile at me. "I'm Everett; you?"

I return the smile, something I haven't done in a long time. "Nicole."

iii.

Slowly, I pace around the small room, eyelids tilted downwards slightly as I examine the bed. "It'll do," I say, mustering my sexiest voice. This isn't hard to do, with the zydrate still in me and all. With zydrate flooding my veins, nurturing my cells, I'm looser, happier; have fewer inhibitions.

"It'll more than do, Nicole," Everett scoffs incredulously. "It's fine." He sits down on the bed, laying his head on the pillows; his outstretched legs hanging off.

Smiling, I take off my metal bracelet, hitting the microscopic off button, so I can't receive any angry calls from GeneCo. I set it on the wooden desk that's next to a mirror, and examine myself for a quick second before sitting on the bed next to Everett.

Made brave by the injection of zydrate, perhaps, I lean down upon him and press my lips to his passionately. I close my eyes, inhaling, memorizing his wonderful scent. Strawberries, honeyed milk, and pure zydrate. Kissing more fiercely, I lower my body onto his, wrapping my legs around his hips and squeezing them together tightly.

Everett returns the kiss, tapping me on my nose lightly. "Let's not get carried away, Nicole," he teases, winking as his hand skims down my back to clutch my ass.

"Don't be fickle. You either like it or not, damn it!" I hold onto one of his hands, guiding it slowly to my jeans zipper, making him unbutton my pants. "See? Zydrate addicts can have some fun, too," I imply.

"That's the only kind of fun you can have… Did you see that graverobber? She was almost half naked!" Everett's warm amber eyes meet mine expectantly as he removes my skinny jeans.

I shiver, the iciness running down my spine to my toes, and then continue to kiss him, starting at his jawbone and working my way down, inch by inch, to his jeans button, which I plant my lips on sweetly. "It is the zydrate, you know," I say. "I can't help it. Neither can you."

"I know I can't." Everett's voice is husky, and down nearly half an octave as he removes my black shirt. "It's… even worse for me, you know. That was my first time ever being injected with the stuff. And now-" He sighs. "I want more."

"And you can have more," I tell him, pulling our bodies even closer together as if I'm attempting to merge them.

"You, and zydrate? Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me." He closes his eyes, and engulfs my body with kissing.

iv.

"I need a job." I stare pointedly at the graverobber. "Whether you like it or not." Placing my hands on my hips, I narrow my eyes.

"You'll steal it, or get caught," she tells me. "I know you, Nicole. You can't be around the stuff without going into withdrawal."

"How do you know? That's just in the salon, when I haven't had it in awhile. I'm sure I can handle it- I'm only going to be near it for fifteen minutes. Fifteen damn minutes, Leslie." Internally, I groan. The graverobber is clutching a bag, brimming with glass vials of zydrate. In her back pocket, I know, is a specialized zydrate gun. But I have to hold myself back.

"It's too pure for you. The liquid will be seeping out of the body, and you won't be ale to stop yourself. As soon as you perform the injection, you'll pass out and get us all slaughtered." Leslie argues. "You'll be carrying around a zydrate bag at all times. How do I know that you're just not going to use it on yourself?"

"Because," I state simply. "Listen, I owe you twenty grand. That's only thirty vials of zydrate, thirty victims. Maybe I'll get lucky and I'll be able to hop upon a disposal truck. There are loads of bodies there, just waiting for me." Pausing for a moment, I continue, "And I'm already trained. I've done this before."

"Fine. But if you fuck this up, we're all dead. Rotti and his henchmen will murder us before we have the chance to plead innocent." Leslie glares, handing me a leather bag filled with empty zydrate vials. In a zipped pocket, there's a zydrate gun.

I snatch the bag away from her and stalk off, before she can try to change her mind.

Sprinting quietly through the shadowed alley, I set off towards the north-most area of the graveyard; there won't be as many repo men lurking around. They figure that we won't bother to travel that far away from the main part of the town.

As I reach the graveyard, I duck down behind one of the gravestones cautiously, peering around in all directions. Off in the distance, there's a slow-moving flashlight, but the light isn't advancing terribly quickly. I reckon that it's just a repo man scanning the area, but he's pretty far off. I'll be safe for the moment.

I'm not going to waste my time actually digging out a casket; besides, I didn't even think to bring a shovel. Stupid idiot, stupid, stupid. I'll just raid the family coffins that are above ground- it's easier.

Grimacing at the screeching noise it makes as I push the top off, I reach inside and pull out a dead body. Using gloves I find in the graverobber bag, I unwind the gauze that is wrapped around the rotted face. I attempt to ignore the smell, grabbing a vial and placing it inside of a needle. I stick the needle in the nasal area, extracting shining blue liquids.

"My first graverobbery," I smile, proud at this feat, dropping the filled vial into the bag, repeating the process again with the next dead body.

v.

Everett looks at me, pained, but doesn't open his mouth to speak.

"What is it? You can tell me!" I try to coax it out of him. "I've known you- we've been together for seven and a half months. I won't tell anyone, I swear upon my life." I sit next to him, petting his hand.

He shakes his head. "No." It's his first word for over three hours. "You'll hate me. It'll be too frightening…"

"Please, Everett!" I beg, my hands clasped around his now. "I won't leave you, and I'll stay loyal. I promise."

He looks out the window. "Who says you will?" he asks quietly, pondering. "I know it just came out of your mouth, but isn't that the response that comes from the norm?" He hangs his head. "I love you, Nicole, and I know that you love me, but I don't know if that's quite enough."

I make a muffled noise, almost like a pained whine.

"But if you insist. I just don't want you to leave me," Everett concedes finally. "It's multiple things, really."

"Go on…"

"I have a genetic blood disease. It was just discovered last week. I didn't want you to find out, just in case the doctors were incorrect." He sighs as he says this all in one breath. "Yes, that's why I've been drinking that… liquid more often. That's why I've been leaving the house a lot. That's why I've been more distant. That's why." His usually amber eyes are black, and cold. "My doctors work in GeneCo."

"GeneCo?" I gasp loudly. "But that could get us both killed! You know how the repo men are, Everett!"

"No black market surgeons could figure out the cause of my sudden fatigue and lethargy. I'll be careful, I promise." His voice wavers, and I know he's not certain.