TRACKS
Chapter Eight: A Volcano of Rage
07042009 - 0951P

AN: Ah, I'm so sorry. I've been bad about updating for the last week or so. Forgive me? I really had to force myself to write this chapter. I found it tedious to write, but I think it should be interesting to read. :3

Happy Fourth of July to all of you in the States.

To those of you in Britain, we kicked your asses hundreds of years ago, but you still have a more awesome music/club scene and pretty architecture, so Happy Fourth, anyway. XD

XxX

(Adam's POV)

I ignored the soft knocking on the door as I absently traced the veins of my left arm with my fingertips.

I wore a bandage to hide the scars. Robert was the only one who knows that it really covered my tracks. I wore long sleeves as often as I could. But it gets hot here, like everywhere else, and every now and then short sleeves put the bandage on display for curious eyes. For this I had an arsenal of excuses: I donate blood; I had to get labs drawn; I just think it's a lovely fashion statement. Anything to satisfy their curiousity.

Still, as hard as I try to hide it - to move on with my life and pretend it doesn't exist - it really pisses me off when someone brings up my past.

I'm not the person I was then. I shouldn't still be judged by it. Least of all by Robert.

I ignored him as he pounded, more insistantly this time, on the bedroom door.

Seeing Celia again had thrown me for a loop. I hadn't come across anyone from the streets since I left them. I wasn't exactly in that social circle anymore. In my own little private world with Robert, it was easy to pretend the others didn't exist; that that part of my life didn't exist.

And then there I was, rudely confronted with the evidence of my past.

I wanted to hate Celia for this. For shattering my carefully constructed illusion.

My eyes narrowed as Robert pounded harder on the door, this time with a verbal plea to open up.

No, I decided, I can't hate Celia. I'll hate him instead. Him and his stupid assumption.

Because as much as Celia represented a dark part of my life that I'd rather forget, I could understand why she'd assumed that I'd died. I'd seen many die from overdose, or once their bodies, ravaged by the drugs, had just quit working.

No, Robert's assumption had made me mad. Madder than what he had actually said. I had known him long enough that I could read on his face what was worrying him. He thought I would relapse. He thought I was weak.

Even as I thought this, I knew I couldn't hate him. I was raging mad, and I wanted to hate someone. But it couldn't be Robert.

With a sigh, I got up and unlocked the bedroom door.

I am a volcano of rage, ready to erupt, I thought as I hugged him.

XxX

(Celia's POV)

Adam Rose. Alive and well. Who knew?

I was musing along these lines as I arrived at my apartment. I pulled off my boots as quickly as possible while hopping on one foot for balance, before pulling down my skirt and letting it puddle around my feet. I stepped out of it, grabbing a pair of pajama pants off an armchair and pulling them on clumsily on my way to the couch. I sighed as I collapsed onto it, peering around the small living room. I needed to clean. This daily ritual of mine left a hurricane of shoes, clothes, school supplies, and assorted trash in my wake.

I couldn't bring myself to think about that too hard, though. Messes don't really borrow me. It's just embarrassing when someone comes over. And no one, I knew, was coming here, aside from Nina and maybe Kellan.

I couldn't dwell on them very long, either, before my thoughts returned to Adam.

He was all I had, from the time I was thirteen.

Up until then, I had been surrounded by family. We were happy. Like all families, we had our tough times, especially living on the west side like we did. My parents were artists, and sometimes work was hard to come by. They hadn't taken the easy route, like my aunt and uncle, the homemaker and the business tycoon. I know the business world isn't the easiest, but income was definitely easier to obtain.

But we were a loving family. Up until the accident.

My mother was a potter, primarily, and one day her kiln caught fire. My father came home to find the house ablaze, my mother nowhere in sight. He ran in, ignoring the shouted warnings of our neighbours, and searched for my mom. He found her in her workroom. And that's where they found him, his arms wrapped around her charred body. Both of them burned beyond recognition.

I was at school. I don't remember a lot of that day. The minutes blurred together in my mind. I remember breaking down in the principal's office. I remember getting into my aunt's car. I remember my cousin, Nina's disgustingly sympathetic gaze as she twisted around in the front seat. I couldn't hear what she was saying over the dull roar of crackling flames in my ears. I remember the smell of burning flesh overwhelming me, and becoming sick in the car. I remember being ashamed, not only because I had vomited in Aunt Julie's expensive BMW, but because I knew the smell was all in my mind.

After my parents died, I went to live with Aunt Julie, Uncle Dann, and Nina. I never felt welcome. They never said anything to suggest I wasn't, but I was old enough to know that I had barged in on their perfect single-child suburban family life. I knew I didn't fit in among with white picket fences and weekend barbeques with my piercings, chunky boots, and dark makeup.

Looking back at pictures from back then, I'm glad my style has calmed down a little.

I started sneaking out at night to take the bus back to my old neighbourhood. I'd meet up with my friends and at first we never got up to much, just making minor nuisances of ourselves around the town. I'd stay past the last bus run of the night and take the first one back in the morning, usually arriving mere minutes before the household woke up for the day.

But gradually the downhill slide began. The west side was well known for its drug trade, maybe even more back then than now.

It seemed glamorous, somehow, when I was young. It seemed grown up. I just wanted to try it once. But there's no such thing as "just once" in that world.

We were all running from something. The more we used, the further we had to run. The more we used, the further we felt we got.

That was how I met Adam. He was what we called a street rat. Not exactly homeless, but without an address, he floated from one friend's house to another. He knew everyone.

I met him when he was staying at a mutual friend's house. I was nursing the beginning of the withdraw symptoms, not having been able to score anything that night. I was shaking. Every muscle in my body hurt. I felt cold one second, burning up the next. I barely noticed the guy on the couch next to me. I really wasn't noticing anything. I could hear him talking to me, but couldn't comprehend it; couldn't respond. I felt something tighted around my arm and fingers whip across my veins. There was a sting, and then relief began to sweep through my body. Slowly the world around me became clearer.

I looked down at my arm and released the rubber tourniquet from around it. I stared at it for a moment and then looked over at the person beside me.

He was striking, all angular features and a build that hinted at muscles. His features hadn't yet sunken, so I guess at the time he hadn't been using very long. By the time he disappeared from our world, he looked gaunt, half-dead. But that wasn't the Adam I met. Adam Rose as I would always remember him was handsome, full of life and laughter. Heroin hadn't yet stained his life or his outlook on it. It was still a recreation, a fling rather than a mistress.

I never asked him why he saved me from the withdraws, and he never brought it up. The favour would be repeated many times over throughout our friendship.

I can't remember just how many mornings I woke up with Adam's arms wrapped around me. It was never romantic, but I loved it all the same. I felt safe with him.

As the days, months, and eventually years passed, and the drugs tainted our lives more and more visibly, we clung more desperately to each other. In that world, the other addicts were all you had. The rest of the world ceased to exist. It came to be strictly about dealers, users, and the drugs themselves.

Then one night, Adam disappeared. The word was he had died on the street. My world crashed around me. I started using more and more, but at the same time I didn't want to return to my old haunts without him.

Then came the day Nina found me.

The rest is history. I left that world behind me, the one that I believed I had belonged in, and tried to resume a "normal" life.

But now... this changes everything.

How normal of a life could I lead if Adam Rose found his way back into it?

XxX

AN: Celia's overthinking things, isn't she? Hmm... anyway, your thoughts on her character, please? :3

A comment on Adam's bandage: It's a strip of gauze, wrapped a few times around the crook of the elbow. This is how they wrap up my arm after I donate blood, which I found very convenient for this story, but I thought I'd make this note just in case they don't do it this way in all states. The first time I donated blood was in Virginia, when my dad took me to the military base for a blood drive. I have type A-negative blood, which means I can donate to A-negative or AB-negative, the two rarest blood types after B-negative, so everyone's always after my blood. XD But anyway, in Virginia they just put a gauze patch on and taped it on with medical tape. So yeah... it may vary by location. Just a bit of background info. :3

Replies now? Yes? :D

Milady Draigen: Haha yeah. I thought it was about time for a plot twist. Plus, I was having some difficulty finding a way to tie the charas together sufficiently with just what I had to work with in the beginning. I can only rely on parking tickets for so much. Lol.

AlwaysForTheGay: I. Love. The Wii. STOP YOUR WII BASHING! Lol. But seriously, I love it. My friend Chels has one, and we played Rayman's Raving Rabbits, and I swear, any video game that commands me to slap my ass as a dance move will have my love forever. And lucky you. I remember my mom deleted a large number of unposted chapters once because she found out I was supposedly writing "disgusting gay porn". -.-;;

CaseyBear: You jinxed it! You jinxed it! Why would you do that? D:

Sunny Optomism: Haha, that's probably the best assessment of Kellan I've heard. Although, while he is very naive about other ways of life, I hope people don't imagine him as a little kid. He's very aware of... well, things people his age should be aware of. Lol. Also, physically, he's not petite or particularly lithe, although that's the image I feel like his behaviour sometimes implies... I'm currently trying to figure out how to put in a description of him without it sounding awkward... And without telling the story from Nina's POV. I've tried that and it inspired much head/desk. XD

NekoRinChan: Yes, he's going to. But it's going to be difficult, especially since I see a lot of stress on the horizon. Incidentally, I'm attempting to quit smoking with Adam. Lol. But my life itself has been pretty stressful lately. It's not a good time to attempt to quit. Not if people want to live. XD However, I have cut back from a pack a day to a half a pack. Progress? Yes... It doesn't help that my mom decided that she's going to start taking my entire paycheck (cigarette money included) in order to "rescue me from debt". -.-;; I think I just need to keep reminding myself that I love my cancer mommy...

crack the sky: They're my two faves, too. And I do tend to favour Adam more. Kindred spirits? O: Lol. Jkjk.

What? I didn't do a product rec last chapter? Where was my mind? D:

I have nothing to rec this chapter... Except my deodorant, which is wonderful and smells faintly of coco butter and baby powder. It's lovely. I'm ashamed of my lack of rec material. -.-;;

Next chapter we get back to Kellan's POV. At least for a bit. I've been neglecting the poor boy...

love.
luci.