Ashes to Ashes
I
"Find your target. Hold steady, aim, and shoot."
Carter Bishop was six years old when her Daddy taught her how to shoot a gun. Her Mama hadn't wanted him to - "It's a boy's sport, Roger." - but he'd insisted - "She needs to know how to shoot, Margaret.". No one had asked what Carter wanted, they never had. Maybe that was why she was here now.
Here was a shitty apartment in a cheap suburb of Nashville with dirty carpet and a few broken windows. The air felt sticky hot, sitting heavy on her lungs; the miles of trees, concrete, and metal felt like a noose around her neck, giving her the claustrophobic feeling of the walls closing in on her. This certainly wasn't where her parents had expected her to be at this point in her life. Daddy had wanted her to marry Peter Jacobsen and have the quintessential four piece family, complete with a dog and a white picket fence somewhere in suburban Ohio. Mama had wanted her to go off to one of those nice, upscale colleges somewhere in New York and get a good education.
Carter hadn't wanted either of those things. She'd wanted a warm, salty breeze running through her hair and a Southern California tan, a bad boy by her side, and a passport to take her anywhere in the world. She'd wanted loud music and fast cars, expensive clothes and even more expensive wine. Instead, she had loud neighbors and a 1994 Ford Crown Victoria. Most of her clothes had come from the Salvation Army, she drank Barefoot wine, and she'd never been to Southern California.
Her cell phone rang and the blonde was jerked out of daydreaming abruptly. Her phone had been ringing for thirty seconds before she found it lying on the floor underneath a few dirty shirts and a book.
"Hello?"
"Carter, honey! You answered!"
A groan fell from her chapped lips at her mother's bubbly tone and she briefly considered hanging up the phone before she realized that if she did that, her mother would probably just call the cops again. That was the last thing she wanted.
"Hi, Mom."
"Are you feeling well? You sound ill. You really should come home, honey. All that humidity can't be any good for you. Daddy would love to--"
"I'm not coming home, Mama. Tell Daddy I said hi."
She knew that her mother wouldn't, but she didn't care. She hadn't talked to her Daddy in over a year now. The last time she'd seen him was before she'd moved here a year and a half ago, when she'd been in the hospital in Akron. She felt a surge of guilt as she recalled the look of disappointment on his face as he'd stood at the end of her bed.
Her mother didn't say anything for a few moments and she could hear her parents whispering in hushed voices on the other end of the line. She knew Daddy didn't want Mama calling her, especially not after last time. Carter couldn't blame him, she wouldn't want to talk to her either after the things she'd said and done.
"Mama, listen. Seth is going to be home in a few minutes. I should probably go, okay? Take care of yourself, Mama."
"Carter, I--"
The blonde didn't give her mother a chance to say anything else before she hung up the phone, this time turning it off. She knew how her mother felt about her boyfriend, and she didn't want to hear it. The TV was now blasting in the other room and she sighed as she stood up, staggering out of the room, banging on the wall to the other bedroom.
"Turn the fucking TV down! The neighbors will complain again!"
She turned the corner to head in to the living room and then stopped in the bathroom doorway, biting her bottom lip as she caught a glance of her reflection in the water-spotted mirror.
Mama would be so worried if she could see how thin she'd gotten in the last eighteen months. Opiates did that to a person, she had known that for awhile now. She heard Seth calling for her from the living room and walked towards his voice, smiling when she saw him standing at the front door. Anymore, he was the only person who got to see her smile.
He looked just as scraggly as she did, with an old grey t-shirt hanging from his frame like a sheet over bones. His jeans were years old, worn and frayed all over the legs and patched over with red and black plaid fabric in some spots. His shoes were so worn that the stitching had come loose from the rubber sole, leaving his dirty sock visible. His hair, dark and unkempt, hung in greasy strands over cobalt blue eyes. It was his smile that had pulled her in from the start, though. He had the smile of an angel, and some days it was the only thing that kept her here.
"Look what I scored." He grinned, his voice sing-songish as he wiggled a small baggy in front of her. She smirked, reaching for it. Inside the bag were a few white and pink pills. Morphine. He always knew what she was in the mood for, even without asking.
Neither one of them said a word as they walked towards her bedroom. As they reached her door, another door opened and Carter sighed, turning to face the other end of the hallway. Her roommate stuck her head out, a frown on his face. "Don't be banging on my wall again, kid. I'll keep my TV as loud as I want!"
Carter simply flipped him off before leading Seth into her bedroom. He looked around the walls of the place - they were bare except for a single Pink Floyd album framed on the wall above her bed. Dirty clothes littered the corners of the room, though it was for the most part clean. He looked over at the wall as they heard someone banging on it and he arched his eyebrow, looking back to Carter.
"He's a friendly fellow, isn't he?"
"Erik? He's just a junkie asshole." Carter shrugged.
"And you're just a junkie bitch," Seth retorted before sitting down on the bed next to her, pulling his coat off. She huffed, and he laughed. They both knew he was kidding. Carter opened the bag and was getting ready to swallow two of the pills when she noticed him pulling a spoon and a packaged syringe out of his pocket.
"I thought you didn't shoot up." She nodded at the spoon. "Trying something new?"
Seth looked up at her, that beautiful smile on his face again. An easy shrug lifted and then dropped his shoulders as he grabbed a lighter off the floor. "I've been dabbling here and there."
She watched, fascinated as he pulled his belt off and sat back down, pulling a little baggy with heroin in it out of his back pocket. He noticed her watching and smiled again, stopping for a moment.
"You want to try, don't you?"
Hesitation flashed across her features and for the first time in a long while, she felt uncomfortable. She'd been taking pills for a couple of years now, and she even snorted coke every once in awhile. But heroin? She'd seen too many people die and too many episodes of Intervention. But she couldn't deny that a small part of her wanted to feel the same rush Seth was about to.
"I'm scared, Seth."
"Don't worry, Crash. I won't give you too much. It'll be okay," he reassured her, fingers searching for hers. He flashed that smile again, and she melted. At that moment, she would have jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge if he'd said it was okay. What was a shot of heroin compared to that?
She thought about it for a few moments and finally sat the morphine down on the table by her bed. She nodded at Seth and he grinned again, moving so that he was sitting behind her. His legs moved around her hips and she blushed as his lips delicately touched her skin, his fingertips dancing across her shoulders.
"I trust you," she told him, letting her head rest against his shoulder. He smiled down at her and kissed her lips gently before he moved his hands around her. She watched as he put some of the heroin on to the spoon with some water and began to heat it. He had already tied her arm off and when she felt that hot feeling rushing through her veins after he'd removed his belt, she knew she'd met the love of her life.
Carter Bishop was six years old when her Daddy taught her how to shoot a gun. Her Mama hadn't wanted him to - "It's a boy's sport, Roger." - but he'd insisted - "She needs to know how to shoot, Margaret.". No one had asked what Carter wanted, they never had. Maybe that was why she was here now.
Here was a shitty apartment in a cheap suburb of Nashville with dirty carpet and a few broken windows. The air felt sticky hot, sitting heavy on her lungs; the miles of trees, concrete, and metal felt like a noose around her neck, giving her the claustrophobic feeling of the walls closing in on her. This certainly wasn't where her parents had expected her to be at this point in her life. Daddy had wanted her to marry Peter Jacobsen and have the quintessential four piece family, complete with a dog and a white picket fence somewhere in suburban Ohio. Mama had wanted her to go off to one of those nice, upscale colleges somewhere in New York and get a good education.
Carter hadn't wanted either of those things. She'd wanted a warm, salty breeze running through her hair and a Southern California tan, a bad boy by her side, and a passport to take her anywhere in the world. She'd wanted loud music and fast cars, expensive clothes and even more expensive wine. Instead, she had loud neighbors and a 1994 Ford Crown Victoria. Most of her clothes had come from the Salvation Army, she drank Barefoot wine, and she'd never been to Southern California.
Her cell phone rang and the blonde was jerked out of daydreaming abruptly. Her phone had been ringing for thirty seconds before she found it lying on the floor underneath a few dirty shirts and a book.
"Hello?"
"Carter, honey! You answered!"
A groan fell from her chapped lips at her mother's bubbly tone and she briefly considered hanging up the phone before she realized that if she did that, her mother would probably just call the cops again. That was the last thing she wanted.
"Hi, Mom."
"Are you feeling well? You sound ill. You really should come home, honey. All that humidity can't be any good for you. Daddy would love to--"
"I'm not coming home, Mama. Tell Daddy I said hi."
She knew that her mother wouldn't, but she didn't care. She hadn't talked to her Daddy in over a year now. The last time she'd seen him was before she'd moved here a year and a half ago, when she'd been in the hospital in Akron. She felt a surge of guilt as she recalled the look of disappointment on his face as he'd stood at the end of her bed.
Her mother didn't say anything for a few moments and she could hear her parents whispering in hushed voices on the other end of the line. She knew Daddy didn't want Mama calling her, especially not after last time. Carter couldn't blame him, she wouldn't want to talk to her either after the things she'd said and done.
"Mama, listen. Seth is going to be home in a few minutes. I should probably go, okay? Take care of yourself, Mama."
"Carter, I--"
The blonde didn't give her mother a chance to say anything else before she hung up the phone, this time turning it off. She knew how her mother felt about her boyfriend, and she didn't want to hear it. The TV was now blasting in the other room and she sighed as she stood up, staggering out of the room, banging on the wall to the other bedroom.
"Turn the fucking TV down! The neighbors will complain again!"
She turned the corner to head in to the living room and then stopped in the bathroom doorway, biting her bottom lip as she caught a glance of her reflection in the water-spotted mirror.
Mama would be so worried if she could see how thin she'd gotten in the last eighteen months. Opiates did that to a person, she had known that for awhile now. She heard Seth calling for her from the living room and walked towards his voice, smiling when she saw him standing at the front door. Anymore, he was the only person who got to see her smile.
He looked just as scraggly as she did, with an old grey t-shirt hanging from his frame like a sheet over bones. His jeans were years old, worn and frayed all over the legs and patched over with red and black plaid fabric in some spots. His shoes were so worn that the stitching had come loose from the rubber sole, leaving his dirty sock visible. His hair, dark and unkempt, hung in greasy strands over cobalt blue eyes. It was his smile that had pulled her in from the start, though. He had the smile of an angel, and some days it was the only thing that kept her here.
"Look what I scored." He grinned, his voice sing-songish as he wiggled a small baggy in front of her. She smirked, reaching for it. Inside the bag were a few white and pink pills. Morphine. He always knew what she was in the mood for, even without asking.
Neither one of them said a word as they walked towards her bedroom. As they reached her door, another door opened and Carter sighed, turning to face the other end of the hallway. Her roommate stuck her head out, a frown on his face. "Don't be banging on my wall again, kid. I'll keep my TV as loud as I want!"
Carter simply flipped him off before leading Seth into her bedroom. He looked around the walls of the place - they were bare except for a single Pink Floyd album framed on the wall above her bed. Dirty clothes littered the corners of the room, though it was for the most part clean. He looked over at the wall as they heard someone banging on it and he arched his eyebrow, looking back to Carter.
"He's a friendly fellow, isn't he?"
"Erik? He's just a junkie asshole." Carter shrugged.
"And you're just a junkie bitch," Seth retorted before sitting down on the bed next to her, pulling his coat off. She huffed, and he laughed. They both knew he was kidding. Carter opened the bag and was getting ready to swallow two of the pills when she noticed him pulling a spoon and a packaged syringe out of his pocket.
"I thought you didn't shoot up." She nodded at the spoon. "Trying something new?"
Seth looked up at her, that beautiful smile on his face again. An easy shrug lifted and then dropped his shoulders as he grabbed a lighter off the floor. "I've been dabbling here and there."
She watched, fascinated as he pulled his belt off and sat back down, pulling a little baggy with heroin in it out of his back pocket. He noticed her watching and smiled again, stopping for a moment.
"You want to try, don't you?"
Hesitation flashed across her features and for the first time in a long while, she felt uncomfortable. She'd been taking pills for a couple of years now, and she even snorted coke every once in awhile. But heroin? She'd seen too many people die and too many episodes of Intervention. But she couldn't deny that a small part of her wanted to feel the same rush Seth was about to.
"I'm scared, Seth."
"Don't worry, Crash. I won't give you too much. It'll be okay," he reassured her, fingers searching for hers. He flashed that smile again, and she melted. At that moment, she would have jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge if he'd said it was okay. What was a shot of heroin compared to that?
She thought about it for a few moments and finally sat the morphine down on the table by her bed. She nodded at Seth and he grinned again, moving so that he was sitting behind her. His legs moved around her hips and she blushed as his lips delicately touched her skin, his fingertips dancing across her shoulders.
"I trust you," she told him, letting her head rest against his shoulder. He smiled down at her and kissed her lips gently before he moved his hands around her. She watched as he put some of the heroin on to the spoon with some water and began to heat it. He had already tied her arm off and when she felt that hot feeling rushing through her veins after he'd removed his belt, she knew she'd met the love of her life.