she'll go for anything;
dark circles under her eyes;
As for clothes, Ginger is stuck in trends from 2010. She hasn't bought anything new since the October of 2010 and she doesn't plan to, instead pushing her money into a different field altogether. Ginger is usually caught in clothes with no logos or designs that are in the earth tone field of colors. And she is never caught dead without a scarf around her neck, even in the summertime.
can pick out any star constellation on a clear night;
never goes to class with a fresh high (i.e. if she has a class at noon and wakes up at eight, she won't smoke/snort until she finishes her class)
Before the accident, as it so shall be referred to, Ginger was a sweet girl. She was approachable and funny and knew how to capture the attention of a room. Those characteristics are still there, but never seen by anyone that goes to CSU but a select few. Sometimes she'll invite someone over, although she'd never admit she cared for them more than as just a friend.
While being high off her rocker at the time, her would-be-friend could get a glimpse at the Ginger that once was (and could be) before Ginger completely broke down sobbing, her mood taking a complete 180, talking about her sister, her best friend, the one person that she lost before her eyes. Her mood swings happened so frequently, one moment she was bitching, the next she was smiling, and then the moment after that she'd be sobbing and throwing things. To be frank, Ginger was growing more and more mentally unstable the more she put off grieving and got high.
After Ginger had transferred to CSU, switching her major to Astronomy after Sophie's death, she couldn't find a way to properly grieve. In all honesty, she was a complete and utter mess. Attending several frat parties within her first couple of weeks, she became known as that girl who passed out on the couch...yeah at every party. One guy, a college grad, pulled her aside one night and asked her if she wanted to bump some ice. Ginger knew the lingo, she knew what he was truly asking. Even if he was assuring her that 'you never get hooked your first time', she still left that part with a small bag of weed and an even smaller bag of cocaine. She was hooked. She could forget about the pain that lingered from Sophie's death. And she didn't care how insane it made her.
Turning on the light to her small studio apartment, Ginger slipped her shoes off, leaning back against the door and closing her eyes. She stayed there for a long moment, just breathing and picking up each of her feet and massaging them. It was a long day on the streets, peddling her product to anyone that would stop and talk, and the cold didn’t necessarily help. But she needed to pay the bills and to keep her boss happy, so she couldn’t exactly complain much.
She pushed off the door, the worn floorboards creaking and shifting with her weight as she walked in the one room that made up her apartment. There was a mattress in the corner and a dresser that she found on the sidewalk by a dumpster. It wasn’t much, in fact it was barely anything, but it was home and it was enough to sustain her and keep her living. She blew out a heavy breath, dropping her bed by the front of the mattress and then letting her body follow suit onto the mattress itself.
As she lay there, unmoving except for her chest heaving with the breaths she took, she tried to mentally calculate how much she peddled today. Her boss usually gave her a set amount for the week, including some for her own recreational use, but it was never enough. She was usually out by day 3 and she always ended up having to buy from herself in order to keep everyone above her happy. Maybe it was the desperation for the high that she felt herself slipping from already, or maybe it was actually logical, but she figured that she had sold enough for the day to gain a bonus.
Sitting up, she grabbed her hemp bag from where she laid it earlier, and as she pulled out the necessary equipment, she completed her usual security checks. Door locked? Blinds drawn? Lights dim? Heater on? It wasn’t until she went through it a second time, and then a third, that she was absolutely sure she was ready. It was always on the descent, coming down from a high, that her concentration completely left her, instead replaced by the desperate crawling under her skin, the ache for relief.
Ginger began humming the melody of some Nirvana song as she began, something that she had done since she first began using. Pulling one of the small baggies out from the hidden pocket she had made in the lining of her bag, she opened it gently and shook the small rock into her hand. It hurts. Fuck I need to get high. I need it. I don’t want to think about her. Her mind was beginning to panic, not ready to deal with the pain that she tried so hard to hide behind closed lids and slack jaws.
It took her very little time to place that rock on a spoon and melt it, the liquified contents just daring to spill over the edge. Very careful, even more so since her fingers were beginning to tremble, she set the spoon on the bed and drew as much of the liquid as she could into the needle. Soon. Soon, I promise. Relief will come soon.
She grabbed the small belt from when she had laid it on the bed and wrapped it around her upper arm, pulling it tight and threading the latch through the self made hole near the end. It took a few tries, her fingers already steadily shaking from withdrawal already, but she finally pulled it tight and gripped the end between her teeth tightly.
It wasn’t until the needle was poised above her vein and the freckling track marks around it, that her thoughts were invaded. “I’m so sorry, Hayley. I’m so sorry.” Her voice was pained and muffled around the fabric of the belt, the rare feelings of embarassment and shame at how bad her addiction is washing over her. And then Ginger plunged the needle into her vein, eagerly pushing the contents of the syringe into her arm.
As she loosened the belt, slowly letting the drug take its much needed effects, a smile crept over her face. It stayed for just a few seconds before her muscles began to relax. Her jaw went slack, her mouth hanging open in a stupor while her eyes rolled back into her head before quickly being shielded by her eyelids. This was always the best part. Waiting until the last desperate clinging moment before she shot up again. The euphoria that she felt was always so much stronger in her mind than it probably actually was. But she didn’t care about how much her brain exaggerated the swimming feelings in her head. She was home, among the bright fireworks exploding behind her eyelids, and that was where she intended to stay.
At least until morning.