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PROLOGUE


I made a choice. A bad choice.

There was no other alternative, I kept telling myself. It's not my fault, I repeated. Nothing else could have been done, unless I wanted to die. I would have either way, but I didn't think of it like that. I refused to. My deal would be worthless if I did.

Just one, I told myself. Just win that one and I'd be set. But deep down, I knew. He was the best dealer, I wouldn't get it so cheap anywhere else. He knew that. That's what would keep me coming to him, answering to his every demand. Getting into every car he demanded I drive.

I don't have enough, I told him. But it's so cheap, he told me. Surely you can spare that. No, I said. You could do something else, he suggested, that you don't need money for. I didn't want to know what that was, I'd assumed it was sex. But no, it was worse. Something just as addicting as the thing I was trying to get. Something that would give me an equal—if not better—adrenaline rush.

Racing. Not that NASCAR Daytona oval bullshit. No, the kind that was just as illegal as Jextium. He said that if I won even one race, it'd be enough to pay him back. He asked if I knew how to drive a car, I said yeah, I did. I liked driving fast too. Preferred a motorcycle, but cars were cool.

I'll give you an easy race, he told me. One you're guaranteed to win. Whatever you win I'll consider payment. Little did I know that there was a sub clause. I had nowhere else to get Jextium, and still didn't have the money to get more. I'd have to race forever after to get my supply.

I should have thought it over, should have known he had a plan all along. But I didn't, I was desperate. I just wanted my Jextium. I'd do anything, and once I got into that car and heard the engine, got the rev and the horsepower coaxing my blood into circulation, I knew. This was just as dangerous as Jextium, maybe worse. Both could kill. Both could injure. But most of all, both were addicting and supplied the adrenaline I craved.


ONE


I'm sitting on the roof of my car, waiting. The guy to my left is short and tan, but muscular. I wouldn't be able to fight him even if he was piss drunk. He lights a cigarette and glances my way with black eyes. I look away, to the guy on my right to hide my slight nerve jumps.

He's tall and lanky, not much meat on his bones from what I can tell. His brown hair is a little past his shoulders, pulled back by a thin black ribbon. I immediately get the impression of an English man, not entirely sure where it came from. His eyes are a dark chestnut, and they refuse to look anywhere but forward.

I look down at my own hands, plain white and strong, maybe a little thin skinned, my tendons showing through. They are not shaking and I am not going through withdrawal, something I feared as little as a month ago.

I flip my arm over, looking at the thick vein that runs up it and disappears at my elbow. This is only my third race, and the first one had been a right-off so I only count this as my second. I didn't win the last one, I got close second, but he said that was good enough for him and handed me a twenty.

What's this for, I asked. More people betted on you than I thought, he informed me. There's two payments here plus some, and you need spending money. It was only a twenty, but it was more money than I'd ever seen in one place. I thanked him, not really sure what to do. He clapped me on the shoulder and walked out.

I fist my hand and watch as the vein darkens then untense and look forward. People are gathered on both sides of the road, a man is walking through them and collecting the betting money. I doubt anyone's betting on me, but that's good. If I win, there'll be more coming our way.

I realize the brunette is staring at me and I force myself to meet his eyes, which are blank. A true poker face. You need to learn how to mask your feelings, he'd said as he'd walked away after giving me the twenty. Why, I'd asked. People can read you like a book, and when you're so open like that, you're easier to take down.

I'd never thought it would apply to this, and still don't, but I don't question him. He's been doing this much longer than I have, and he practically owns me. There isn't much I can do to go against him and I don't want to, anyways.

The brunette tilts his head and I can't stand his stare any longer. I look away and sigh, trying to come off as disinterested, but it comes out shaky. I swear silently. I've never been good at 'being cool'.

“Aight, boys,” the collector walks up to us. “Your turn.” He holds out his hand and we each put a bundle of cash in it. He waves us into our cars but I think we all take our time getting up and opening the doors, the tan guy especially, smushing out his cig real slow.

I close the door behind me and all of the sudden all the outside world noise is cut out. It's glorious, and I instantly calm now that I can concentrate. The collector raises his left arm and we all start our cars. The one on my left is the loudest, but I doubt he has the fastest car. It's too chunky.

The collector steps back and raises his right arm. The others rev a couple times but I don't. It's more for show, and that's something I've never cared for.

He looks us all in the eyes and stares us down, then nods to himself. His arms come down and we take off. Just barely seconds after starting, I'm already feeling the adrenaline. The cure for my nervous shakes and bad nail-biting habits.

I'm slowly inching ahead of the tan guy, but the brunette knows what he's doing more than I do. He's slowing slightly and he whips around the corner, where we end up on a road that's only one car wide and no one can pass. I'm stuck in the middle.

It slowly widens out and tan is weaving a little to try and pass me. I'm closing on brunette, three feet between us. I have to wait until the last second, otherwise tan will pull up beside me and take the opening.

Two feet.

Tan's getting impatient, flooring it and slowly inching closer.

One foot.

Tan's close enough I can see his toothy smirk in my rear-view mirror.

Half a foot.

I'm just about to take the opening but brunette turns the corner, and I was too focused on him to realize there was one. I don't spin out, but my turn is too wide and tan whips right past me. I swear quietly and floor it to catch up.

Now I'm the one in tan's rear-view but I'm self-respectable enough to keep my mouth closed. We turn right and I stay on his tail, staying to the right just a bit. We turn another corner and I take this opportunity to come up beside him.

I don't give him the finger, or look at him and smirk. No, he's not worth my time. By the time we're out of the turn, I'm in front and I pull into the middle, directly in front of him.

I need to catch up to brunette, but he's a good distance ahead of me. I look at my steering wheel, one button on either side. Two bursts of NOS, that's all I have.

I manage to stay in the middle for the next three turns and finally we hit the straight I've been waiting for. I start gaining on brunette ever so slowly, and then I hit the NOS button. I come up to him and pass him within six seconds, and I'm a good ten feet ahead by the time my car slows down.

I allow myself a small smile but know this won't last. Both of them still have their NOS, and I expect brunette to use one but he doesn't.

Two more corners and we're on the start route back. Brunette's gaining on me and there isn't a thing I can do until I hit a straight.

Three corners. We're halfway there. Brunette's only six feet behind me, and tan three feet behind him. He's more focused on tan right now but it won't be for long.

We all go single file through the S bend and go around and up onto the top section of the road, going down a bridge and around another corner. Just one more and I'll have the straight I need.

Brunette's four feet behind me, and tan has fallen back enough that he's not the center of attention anymore. I can't push any harder on the gas pedal and I pray that I can hold out, just for two minutes.

There's a small dip and I wait for five seconds, then we hit the turn. I count to six then press my NOS, but so do the other two. Tan doesn't pass me, but brunette's coming up level with me. That's when I realize his trick. He has one more burst left, and he'll go right past me.

I'm starting to inch forward as he slows and I wait for him to hit the NOS button but he doesn't. Tan has and he's gaining on brunette, pulling up right in-between us and trying to push one of us off the road. Brunette's too concentrated on that. Tan has him cornered so that if he used his NOS, he'd tap tan's car and spin out.

I'm inching forward. Trying to hide my disbelief and hope with neutrality. Both of them are almost level with me and the finish is not even seventy feet away. I can do this.

Fourty feet. So close I can almost taste it. I glance back and see that brunette has pulled ahead of tan but I'm in his way so he can't hit the NOS.

Thirty feet. He's weaving but I follow his every move, watching closely for feints and only blocking halfway so I don't go out of control.

Twenty feet. I can see the white line spray painted on the road, the people starting to back up to the sidewalks again.

Teen feet. I didn't block and brunette's a third of the way up my car length.

Five feet. He's got two-thirds on me but I think I can still make it.

Four feet. Still inching. I can't tap him at this speed or I'll go out of control.

Three feet. He's even with my window.

Two feet. It feels like forever. I'm not going to pass the line in time.

One foot. He's got me. That's it.

My wheels pass the line and I slow to a stop, brunette stopping just a little ahead of me. I'm not sure who won and I open my door to hear lots of shouting. I hope this doesn't lead to a re-race or I'm screwed. He still has one NOS left. He'd leave me in the dust anyways.

Then I hear that they're arguing in my favor. That I passed just a millisecond before him. There's lots of shouting and threats, but only because people don't want to lose their money.

Me and brunette sit on the roofs of our cars and tan pulls up, looking furious but not about to punch anyone. Then something happens that surprises me. Brunette stands up and walks up to the collector, who everyone is arguing with.

“He won,” he says, gesturing at me. “I was about an inch behind him when he passed.”

I stare at him, just barely able to contain my gape. Why would he do this? What reason would he have to say that? The only thing I can think of is that he'd get virtually no money because everyone was betting on him anyways.

Is it that? I doubt it. But after a small silence, filled with as much confusion as me, it's decided.

I won.


TWO


Brian comes forward to collect the money naturally. It is the thickest stack I've ever seen. Only Brian gets his money back. He hands about an eighth of it back to the collector, then spends the rest of the time counting it out in the passenger seat of my car. Well, he owns it, I just drive it.

People start leaving, lots of them angry. I'm new and no one knows me, so I'm not surprised. I get in the drivers seat just as Brian finishes counting.

“The bets were high.” He says, I think more to himself than me. “This is five payments worth. I'll keep four so you don't have to worry about it, and you can have the rest as spending money.” He puts out his hand and there's three thousands, five hundreds, and three twenties. 3560 dollars.

“I-I-I can't keep this.” I push his hand back.

“What are you talking about? If you didn't need Jextium you'd have five times that. This,” he waved it at me, “is all rightfully yours, kid.”

“I'll spend it in the wrong place.”

He stares at me and shakes his head, knowing 100% that that was bullshit. I sigh and shake my head. “I'm sorry, I just...I've never seen so much money before...I don't know what to do with it.”

“You've been struggling your whole life with money, kid. You know how and where to spend it. You can trust yourself with this.”

I shifted unsurely. He was silent for a minute, smacking his knee with the stack. “Tell you what.” He says after a minute, looking at me with dark green eyes. “I'll open a bank account for you and you can put it away, save up for something maybe. Don't spend it all in one place; I know you won't. Just get some food, okay?”

I nod. I can deal with it being put away. “Okay. Thank you, Brian. Thank you alot.”

“No problem.” He reaches over and ruffles my wavy blonde hair. Smiles. Puts the money in his wallet and leans back in the chair after doing up the seatbelt.

I push it back from my face and sigh, doing up mine. I owe him my life for giving me both Jextium and something better. Also for letting me stay with him.

I didn't have enough money to stay at my last apartment and I got booted. Spending everything I earned on Jextium left no extra for food, shelter, or clothing—all of which Brian supplies me with, without even thinking. Not food, always, and I figured that I should get my own clothes at some point, I feel gross borrowing his so often.

I have no job now, either. My boss figured out I was taking Jextium after I had to take a shot at work and he caught me in the bathroom, and he didn't report me—probably felt sorry for me—but I can't go back there ever again. Racing is all I have now. Racing and Brian.

I put the car into gear and turn the car around, heading out onto the main road and driving the speed limit, which is anciently slow after two loads of NOS.

After half an hour we get back to Brians place and we put the car in the garage, where he does the fixing and tune ups for the several cars and motorbikes he owns, and others who are well-off enough to afford his services. He teaches me in his free time, but I'm slow to catch and can't do much more than wash the outside.

We head inside from the garage and he goes straight upstairs to get ready for bed. I'm still strung up with adrenaline and I pace the main floor aimlessly. I've often thought of getting a passtime, something that will earn me honest money so I don't feel so guilty. But things that don't involve a boss also involve self motivation, and I'm not sure I have enough.

Even racing isn't self motivation. I'm motivated by the knowledge that this gets me my Jextium and offers a good substitute in the meantime. I sigh and head upstairs, sitting on the bed in the room that isn't mine.

I can't paint worth s**t and I don't have quite enough time to be writing books. I sketch, but I don't know if that can be counted. I don't take commissions because I like doing my own thing. My problem is that I don't think my stuff would sell if I tried to get it sold. If I ever finished it and colored it, it might, but it'd be dirt cheap.

And where would I sell it anyways? Online, I suppose. That's what everyone was doing now. Posting the picture and sending the buyer the original through the mail. It'd probably cost me more to ship it than however much the artwork is actually worth, though, unless I made people pay for shipping and handling.

I stand up and strip myself down to my boxers, putting on flannel pants and going into the bathroom. After running a brush through my hair and brushing my teeth, I go back to my room and sit there. I'm not getting anxious. I'm not getting claustrophobic. I'm not suffering from withdrawal, then. It's something else, something I've never had the chance to be calm enough to worry about.

I'm bored.


THREE


Brian squeezes my shoulder in the morning and my pale blue eyes slowly open, staring into his because he's crouching in front of the bed to be level with my face.

“Morning, sunshine.” He smirks crookedly, making me question why I ever trusted him. I really don't know why I did.

I wave him away and sit up, yawning and stretching.

“God, you really need some meat on those bones.” He shakes his head at me. “I have breakfast downstairs on the table if you want some.”

I don't even let him finish the sentence before I'm already heading down the stairs. I hear him laugh a little more openly than he usually does, and I'm wondering if he's getting used to me. My antics, he says.

I come down to the kitchen to see the best thing I've ever seen in my life. Bacon, eggs, toast, fruit, juice, and milk. Pretty...stereotypical, from what I remember of commercials but my plate is emptied three times before I even pause to notice that.

There's hardly anything left when he shows up in the kitchen to refill his mug with coffee.

“I'm sorry,” I somehow get out around a mouth full of croissant, “I hope...” I pause, giving myself a chance to swallow. “...I hope you didn't want much.”

“Don't worry, I ate already.” He takes the last piece of toast. “I'm not stupid. I eat first because I know you'll eat whatever you're served.”

I blush self-conciously.

“Don't take it personally,” he bites into the toast, “you need the energy and substance. Eat as much as you want. Don't be afraid to ask for more.”

I stare at him quietly over the rim of my glass. I go to take a sip but stop. He turns to leave the room but I stop him. “Brian,” I ask, he turns back. “Why...” I shift, uncrossing one leg and putting the other one over, “...why did you take me in?” It's the first time I've asked and I'm scared for the answer.

I don't even remember when he took me in. I stayed at his place one night after having a shot of Jextium and he just never kicked me out. I was booted from my job and apartment a couple days later and was having a hard time trying to find somewhere that didn't need everything short of full body inspection and I think he might have offered and I said yes, but I don't entirely remember.

“What do you mean?” He comes back into the kitchen halfway, stopping in front of the island and leaning on it.

“Well, I stayed here, what...one night? And I don't remember ever staying anywhere else after that. You kinda just...took me in without saying anything.” I wouldn't admit it but really I'm wondering why I never said anything. What made me trust this man so much? With his drug selling and drag racing, he wasn't the kind of man to put your trust into. So why did I?

He leans heavily on the counter, chin resting on the back of his hand. “...I don't know.” He admits, crossing a foot over the other ankle. He's silent and then he decides it better to be sitting and takes a stool.

“I've had other customers,” he starts, “like you, who can't pay for their drug. I offer racing to all of them because if they're successful, there you go, and if you aren't, well you'll die and the drug will end up killing you at some point so just as well.” He shifts on the seat.

“You're the first person to ever say yes to the racing. I wasn't sure if you'd be skilled enough but you really are.” He crosses his left leg over his right, absently mimicking my own position.

“The truth is, I wasn't sure what to do with you. No offense, but someone desperate enough to risk their life at racing must be damn desperate.” He shrugs with one shoulder.

“I let you stay the night because I knew you'd be in no condition to face your landlord if he came knocking. And the next night we stayed up late debating, so it seemed wrong to send you home. The day after that you got evicted and fired so...you already seemed comfortable so I didn't say anything. If you got out of hand I would have kicked you, but you're decent.”

He smiles absently and gets up. “You're a good kid. Try not to let your bad habits get the best of you.”

I let him leave after that, letting this all sink in. Here I was, sitting in this couple million dollar house, at a table full with food just for me, having a man who went to drag races and sold drugs showing compassion towards me. Okay, maybe not compassion. Sympathy. Pity.

Not exactly how I pictured a man like Brian to be, but just my luck that he had a softer personality.

I get up and gather all my dishes, rinsing them in the sink before putting them in the dishwasher. I stand there for a few minutes, just stand there, thinking about nothing. I then decide that I owe Brian more than my life, and that I'll do anything to pay him back.

That may take my whole life, but from where I stood right now, that seemed like a pretty good bargain.
=========

Okay, I put it in science fiction because it will be in the slight future and I'm not sure if it should be in action as well?

Anyways, the title I have now is Jextium and I'm obviously not keeping that. I was thinking Twice the Addiction or Death by Addiction or something else that doesn't need to have addiction in the title XD I just don't want the title to give it away right flat out that it has racing and drug use in it.

Also, if you have other questions/etc about the story or characters or whatever you can add that too. smile