Glamour hasn’t had a hit in two days. 

She can already feel withdrawal setting in; she’s shaky, her gray eyes are dull and bloodshot, and she aches. Not to mention the curling pain all over.

She thought she could do it. Thought she could make herself stop. But here she is, wearing her blue hoodie, the one that lets Falkon know she wants some.

Before she left, she loitered, just waiting for her eldest sister to wake up from her hangover and stop her. But she never has. She’s the one that gave Glamour Moonshine. She started all of this.

But Glamour waited by the door nonetheless, her younger sister, Sugar, watching with wide blue eyes. Sugar’s lucky. She has no idea what she’s named after.

Or what’s wrong with Glamour.

“I’ll be back,” she said, patting Sugar’s mess of black curls. “Wait for me. I’ll read you Alice In Wonderland when I get back, okay?”

Sugar had nodded, “Okay.”

Glamour can’t help but wince as she thinks of her baby sister. Their mother would be so disappointed. If she was still alive, maybe Glamour wouldn’t be doing this. Wouldn’t have accepted it from Tara. Wouldn't have met Falkon, her dealer.

But she isn’t.

Glamour tugs her hood up to cover her white hair with the scarlet tips. Tara, Glamour’s older sister, had insisted she change her fuzzy hair into something more wild. More like her.

All the while she was getting it dyed, Glamour had thought it was more like Tara than her. She liked her hair.

But that didn’t matter.

Glamour turns sharply, squeezing in between two garbage cans to enter her regular meeting place with Falkon. It’s between a pet shop and a coin launder. Glamour had found it when wandering the city, Moonshine running through her veins and soothing her like no one else could. Moonshine is fingers through her hair. A warm hand in hers. A gentle caress.

Moonshine is everything.

Falkon is silently waiting, his dark hair knotted atop his head like usual. Glamour’s heart gives a jolt as she notices the vial he is tossing up in the air; light blue grains go back and forth inside with his movements.

“Falkon,” Glamour tips her chin at him when he looks her way, the falcon tattoo on his neck twisting sideways.

“Glam. It’s been weeks. I thought you stopped.” 

More often than not, Glamour finds herself silently searching for a new dealer. Someone less likely to judge her. Pity her. Tell her to stop.

“I did,” she shrugs, “I guess I just like your company.”

Falkon’s black eyes narrow, “How much do you have?”

She fights the urge to sigh. This is what he does. He pretends she doesn’t have enough and refuses to give it to her. But Glamour knows how to sway him. Falkon may be a little too invested in her life, but he is also greedy. She has started shoving cardboard between the wads of cash to make it look bigger. Thicker.

He can’t resist.

“Enough,” she pulls the wad from her pocket, sealed with a pink rubber band. It is supposed to be for food. Extra clothes for Sugar. But Glamour needs it. If she doesn’t get Moonshine, she will die.

Falkon’s eyes light up. The vial moves towards Glamour’s waiting hand. But then he pulls back, “Glam, you need to be careful with this stuff. It can be intense.”

“It’s just Moonshine,” her hand shoots out to wrench the vial from him, but he holds it high above his head.

“This is different.”

“How?”

“I changed the recipe. It’s more soothing.”

Glamour’s mouth waters at the prospect. More fingers through her hair. More caresses. 

More.

“I don’t mind,” she waves the wad before him. “I have extra for the new mix.”

“I know you don’t mind. That’s what scares me.”

Glamour lowers her head. She is so tired. “Please, Falkon. I’m literally begging you.” She feels so small as her voice squeaks at the end.

Her parents would be so disappointed.

Falkon’s eyes flit to the cash clutched in her hand, “All right, Glam. But this is the last time, understand?”

She nods all too eagerly, “Yes! I understand!”

The vial is in her hands moments later.

Her eyes study the fine grains of the drug, her body wanting so much to take it right then and there. But she has to think about Sugar. Sugar who needs her. Who loves her. If she takes it all, she’ll overdose. She’ll die.

And she can’t.

“Thank you, Falkon.”

“I won’t be here when you need another hit,” he warns, fingers tightening on the money.

She nods and shoves the vial deep inside her hoodie’s pocket, through the hole she made earlier that morning in anticipation of the drug. Drug raids are happening far too often. She has to be careful.

She turns to go, hunching her shoulders slightly to guard against the biting wind, when Falkon taps her shoulder gently. “Please, Damansi, don’t take it all.”

Glamour flinches at her real name. The one her parents gave her and not her drunk sister.

“You know what you remind me of, Ansi?” Her sister had leaned back, studying Glamour with a bottle tipped over in her hands. “A drug that clings. Steals. Your emotions practically don’t exist when taking Glamour. You feel nothing. That’s what you do; suck the fun out of life. So I’m calling you Glamour.”

That was the day she was given her first batch of Moonshine.

“I won’t,” she says, trying to think of Sugar. “Now let me go.” 

Falkon squeezes her shoulder tightly before releasing her. “Be careful.”

Glamour flashes him a tight smile. “Always.”

She stumbles out of the alleyway; the Moonshine pulsing inside her pocket. She restrains herself as she makes her way to the designated drug spot she spends most days in. 

The billboard depicts a smiling girl holding tight to her father, her black braids spilling over her shoulders like twin waterfalls. Beside their forms are the words Drugs take lives. Join the fight. 

It all started as a joke, she thinks. I laughed with my friends as we climbed up there and tipped back our drugs.

She shakes her head as she ascends the ladder. Now it feels like a betrayal to the happy family looming over her as she sits and pulls the bottle from her pocket. No one bothers her as she leans back, even though the floodlights are pointed right at her face.

No one cares. 

No one has for a long time.

Her eyes grow big and hungry as she uncorks the bottle, fingers shaking in anticipation. She forgets Sugar and the fear of an overdose. She’s so hungry for comfort. For calm. In one go, the bottle is empty. 

Euphoria.

The relief is instant. Glamour’s shoulders fall, the weight set there permanently disappearing so quickly she is shocked. 

Falkon did improve it.

She leans her head back and grins wide, letting the moon shine on her face. How strange that just days earlier she had been trying to fight this. But why had she been trying? Why did she ever try? Moonshine is the only thing that is hers. The only thing that makes her feel lighter. Better.

Freer.

She’s too busy reveling in it to notice her hands are shaking. She can’t really feel her feet anymore. From the cold, she tells herself, head hitting the billboard with a thud that she doesn’t feel.

Something is not right.

Glamour presses her hands to her chest. It feels tight all of a sudden. Like she’s underwater or a big weight is pressing against it.

Still shaking, she stands, vision blurring. Falkon will know what to do. Maybe he’ll laugh and say it’s just the new mix. If it is, she doesn’t like it. She wants her old Moonshine. She wants fingers through her hair and gentle caresses.

She wants her mother.

The thought sends tears to Glamour’s eyes as she stumbles down the ladder. Trips her way to the alley.

And finds no one there.

Falkon is gone.

She presses her head against the wall, feeling the cool stone against her burning head. She’s feverish.

She’s dying.

More tears flood her eyes as her knees hit the ground, something wet seeping through the fabric of her jeans. Who will take care of Sugar? Who will try to stop the drugs from entering the house? Not Tara. She’ll shove drugs down Sugar’s throat and laugh while doing it.

Glamour’s eyes flash and she knows she can’t die. Not today. She can’t leave Sugar alone with Tara.

Using the grimy wall, she stands and tries to reach the nearest garbage can, but her legs are too shaky, her gait too uneven. She smacks her chin hard on the ground, pain sparking behind her eyes. Grimacing, she sits up on her knees and spits blood. She can’t waste time dwelling on pain.

She has to get back to Sugar.

Glamour hurriedly gets to her feet and manages to stay upright as she squeezes in between the two garbage cans and trips out into the street. People barely spare her a glance as she starts for home. That is, until she’s bumping into them, her heart seeming to slow as her stomach churns.

“Watch it!” A man yells, shoving her into the side of a building.

For a long moment, she stays here, trying to clear her vision and remember where she is going. Home. She’s trying to get to Sugar.

Sugar who needs her.

She shifts back into motion, heading into the suburbs where her house is. It’s littered with beer cans and half-full vials of liquid or a sand-like substance, all of its windows boarded up and its door hanging off the hinges.

She stumbles up the steps and slips through the door, passing Tara still passed out on the couch with a bottle of beer in her hand. Sugar will be awake in her room, waiting for Glamour.

And she is when Glamour trips into her tiny room, clutching her head and falling to her knees by Sugar’s bed.

“Glamour? Are you okay?” Sugar’s tiny hands come up to touch her sister’s flaming cheeks. “Where did you go?”

“Nowhere,” Glamour’s voice sounds tiny to her ears. “C-can I sleep w-w-with you?”

Sugar nods and Glamor slips under the covers, holding her sister tight until the aches, pains, and fever slowly fade. She’ll be okay, and never again will she take Moonshine. She silently swears it to herself.

And wonders why she’s lying.