Emily had taken great care to hide her tracks. A prospective employer might wonder why she needed long sleeves on such a brutally hot day, but explaining away the tracks and abscess scars? That would have been impossible- even if she was given the opportunity.
As she waited at the transit mall, she drank in the landscape of street-life squalor that surrounded her. No longer was it camaraderie that she felt. Nor was it pity. For the first time, it was contempt.
She knew how crucial that feeling of disgust was. It was the one difference that might give her the edge- this time.
It was then, that she caught sight of him. It was James. Her James. His beautifully cut, tattooed arms- clutching a trash bin, as he hovered over it, a thin line of spittle connecting the two of them. Undeniably dope-sick.
Her junkie heart leapt.
Written for Crispina Kemp’s Crimsons Creative Challenge #20