Modern Disney

Aurora

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Chapter 1- Fake

I was hopelessly entangled in the sheets, my legs entwined and my arms in a strange position. I struggled, thrashing about silently, and ended up rolling- straight off the bed and onto the floor. I landed painfully with a dull thump, the hardwood flooring apparently NOT the ideal place to fall.
Wasn't I just graceful this morning. At least now, I was disentangled from the silky sheets, and able to move (which, on second thought, might not have been a good thing, considering how clumsy I was). I clambered to my feet and stretched, a loud yawn escaping my lips.
"Ma'am? The fire is stoked and breakfast has been attended to." Flora leaned slightly against the doorway, wringing her hands nervously.
I nodded in her direction. "Dismissed."
I hadn't always been this forward with maid service, or any of the staffing. However, as I grew older, they politely declined my -offers for outdoor strolls and movie marathons. Feeling rejected, I finally went to father to ask about the staffs unusual behavior. It was like I had shot one of their grandmothers. Maybe both. Or at the very least, had accidentally lit one of them on fire. In the end, It had been HIM asking them to keep their distance, as it was improper for them to act as if on equal terms.
She lingered hesitantly, and I frowned. "Are you alright?"
"The Mother has ordered me to inform you that you are under house arrest. You are not, under any circumstances, to set foot outside these walls." She blurted. Bowing her head respectfully, she backed away and hurriedly made her way down the hall.
House arrest, huh? As if. UNFORTUNATELY, Leah and Stefan weren't home to enforce the rules they set down. Being the daughter of extremely wealthy parents had plenty of upsides. I was almost positive neither one of them had set foot in this home for two years straight.
Yet, they still liked to pretend they had jurisdiction over my lifestyle.
They still had daily updates from Flora and Fauna- my eating habits, my clothing, my grades, sex life (VERY, VERY absent).
That didn't count. Unless they were actively participating in the home and talked to me more than twice a year, I wouldn't abide by their rules.
Rummaging through my closet, I slipped into ripped skinny jeans, converse, and shrugged into my trademark checkered hoodie.
Slinging my book bag over one shoulder, I flicked the light switch off and walked out, shutting the cast iron door behind me.
[UNSPOKEN RULE #1: If the door is closed, DON'T GO IN IT.]
I didn't stop. I continued straight down the velvet carpeting, only pausing to snag a croissant from the kitchen counter, and strode right out the front door.
Flora sighed, but nodded dutifully.

My pocket buzzed. Confused, I patted my pocket.
Oh. My phone.
I had a phone?
Why was it buzzing?
Did I get a message?
I could get messages?

This is why I shouldn't drive in the morning- I would probably forget what STOP signs were for, and run over some poor harmless civilian and not even realize it.

I blinked sleepily, and withdrew the cellular device.

JAYY: We have the prescription drugs you requested, Blaze. Hard to get them, but we did. It'll be waiting in your room. At OUR flat.

I grinned, remembering the time they delivered at my actual home. Flora had come across the hidden-in-plain-sight stash and tried to make me take a drug test.
Of course, I refused, since I knew would fail.

. . . . .

[At our trading house in Beverly.]

I walked in and barged into my room, frantically searching for my latest fix. I found it wedged between the headboard and the mattress. The blue plastic was soon ripped, the pieces fluttering down to rest on the bedspread. Popping several PhilAxafor, I winced and staggered back as the effects hit me.
Recovering, I headed out, and slid behind the bar.
"What do you need?" I asked.
She couldn't have been more than twenty. Yet, her face was haggard, eyes hollow and cheeks sunken.
"The usual."
I sighed impatiently. Did they honestly expect me to remember one out of the thousands that milled around?
"What exactly is the usual?"
Her shaky finger drummed anxiously against the steel counter, and she glanced over her shoulder nervously.
Probably on the run. Just like so many others.
"There aren't any cops here. What do you need?"
She turned back towards me, quivering. Her pale face was cast down, her greasy hair sticking to her skin. She mumbled, "Heroin."
Good god.
"How many grams?"
The customers behind her were growing restless.
"Five."
She shakily slid the money over to me, and rummaging through our cabinets, realized we didn't have any on ready. Jesus. Going to the back, I set to the task of making sure the heroin was powderized, mixed with distilled, lit, and soaked into several cotton balls. I stuck the needle a third of the way into the white fluff, drawing back the plunger slowly. I twisted, ensuring I had everything. Gently pressing, allowing liquid to rise to the tip, making sure there weren't any remaining bubbles. I cleaned up, and walking back, collected the payment and handed her the sterilized injectors.
"Next."