Chapter 1: The First Taste
The alley breathed. It was a wet, chemical gasp that hung in the air, a mix of gasoline fumes from the station next door and something sharper underneath—burnt sugar, maybe, or the tang of rusted metal. A flickering neon sign bathed everything in a sickly red pulse, making the cracks in the pavement look like veins. Courtney leaned against the brick, cool through her thin shirt, and watched Gage’s hands.
They were steady. That was the scary part. Everything else about him seemed frayed—the tired, bloodshot eyes, the nervous jump in his jaw—but his hands were calm as they worked. He knelt on the grimy pavement, a scratched CD case glinting in his lap. A single, jagged shard of something clear lay on the silver surface. He pressed the barrel of a cheap plastic lighter against it, rolling methodically. The crunching sound was small, final.
“You sure?” he asked, not looking up. His voice was low, scraped raw from smoke and too many nights shouting over bad music.
Courtney tucked a strand of dyed blonde hair behind her ear. Her chipped black nail polish was almost gone. “Just give it here before I think about it.”
Thinking was the enemy. Thinking led to her bedroom with the flowered wallpaper, to her mom’s disappointed sighs from downstairs, to the crushing weight of tomorrow which would be exactly like today, which was exactly like yesterday. This alley, this moment, this dangerous boy with the steady hands—it was a flare in the monotony.
Gage glanced up then. In the bloody neon light, his face was all angles and shadow. For a second, she saw the kid he used to be, the one who’d hung around her best friend, his sister, laughing on the porch steps. That kid was buried deep now, but sometimes he flickered behind the eyes. He held out the CD case. A fine, white powder lined the groove where the disc once spun.
“Ladies first,” he said, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.
Her heart was a frantic bird in her chest. She took the short plastic straw he offered, bent over the case, and inhaled. It was harsh, a chemical burn that ripped a line straight through her sinus and into the base of her skull. Then nothing.
A beat of absolute, silent void.
Then the world slammed into her.
It was a tidal wave of pure, crackling yes. Every nerve ending lit up at once. The grimy alley snapped into hyper-sharp focus—she could see every chip of paint on the dumpster, every glittering shard of glass in the asphalt. The嗡嗡 of the neon sign became a symphony. The heavy, chemical air felt like liquid energy pouring into her lungs. The low-grade anxiety that was her constant companion evaporated, replaced by a glorious, invincible certainty. She laughed, the sound bubbling out of her, strange and loud in the quiet alley.
“Whoa,” she breathed. It was all she could manage.
Gage was watching her, his expression unreadable. He did his own hit quickly, efficiently, a man completing a familiar ritual. When he looked up again, his eyes were brighter, the pupils swallowing the blue. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by a focused intensity that made her stomach flip.
She moved without thinking. The rush was in her limbs, making them liquid and sure. She closed the small distance between them, her back against the dumpster, his body crowding hers. The heat coming off him was immense. She slid her hand down the front of his jeans, feeling the hard line of him already there, straining against the denim.
“You’re already there,” she said, her voice husky, a stranger’s.
“For you? Always.” His breath was hot against her neck. He didn’t kiss her. He just pressed his forehead against the dumpster, right by her ear, his body caging hers. They stayed like that for a long minute, hearts hammering against each other’s ribs, the drug singing in their blood. It wasn’t just want. It was a collision, two lost things recognizing the same hollow space inside.
“Get a room,” a dry voice slurred from the alley entrance.
Katie, Gage’s sister and Courtney’s supposed best friend, leaned in the doorway that led back to the gas station lot. She was swaying slightly, a bottle of cheap vodka dangling from her fingers. Her shirt was unbuttoned dangerously low, one breast exposed to the cool night air, pale and tipped with a darker pink. She wasn’t looking at them with jealousy or disapproval. Her gaze was flat, distant, a spectator at a movie she’d seen too many times. She took a slow swig from the bottle.
Courtney should have felt shame. Embarrassment. Something. The rush burned it all away. She met Katie’s glazed stare and felt a wild, defiant grin spread across her face. This was real. This feeling, this electricity arcing between her and Gage, was the most real thing that had ever happened to her. Katie, with her bored eyes and loose clothes, was just part of the scenery.
Gage didn’t even turn his head. “Close the door on your way out, Katie.”
Katie snorted, a wet, ugly sound. She didn’t move. She just watched, her eyes vacant, as Gage finally turned his head and found Courtney’s mouth.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a claim and a surrender, all teeth and shared chemical breath. Courtney grabbed fistfuls of his jacket, pulling him closer, the rough material scraping her palms. The world narrowed to the points of contact: his mouth, his hands on her hips digging in, the cold metal of the dumpster at her back, the heat everywhere else.
She was falling. They both were. And as the dizzying high held her aloft, whispering promises of power and escape, the only thought that cut through was a clear, cold sliver of truth: she didn’t want to land.