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Into the Abyss

Chapter Six

(TW: Substance abuse, mental health struggles, confrontation with authority, physical restraint and confinement)

I let out some air when I got in the car. Why bother? Why try? Why arrest me when there are other dealers out there? Dealers, not criminals, all have their reasons. Why send me to rehab? Sure, I was consuming some of my stock, but why send me to such a cold place? I should’ve just run away, instead of letting it consume me. Sadly, I still had to suffer the consequences, but it was worth it for a while.

Rehab was a whole other story. Once I got out of the car, I was shipped off like a package into a facility. Two weeks felt like a decade, sitting in that chair, explaining my circumstances to some old bastard with a balding head. Telling others about my emotions, however shallow they were. Listening to their stories and following orders. Needles stuck in my veins, depressed and tired. I couldn’t take it anymore. So I became an outpatient, even though I wanted to jump out of the window and break the hospital equipment. Farewell to the people, I am forced to identify with. Some of them had similar stories, just wanting to have fun and get rich. But I was never addicted, no withdrawals, no cravings, nothing. Right?

No matter how much I pleaded that I was fine, they wouldn’t listen. Off I went to psychotherapy, being chased by a mob of professionals, pills, and my mood. Healthcare workers would just ask me how my day was going. That would make me trust them, even though they just wanted to harm me. They stopped my fun, stole my money, and forced a diagnosis upon me. I don’t want help. I don’t need it. Back again, I spiraled into medication. Swallowing pills like a donkey eats a carrot was hopeless. My mood used to exist, although unstable. However, now, it is simply non-existent, in a pitch-black void where I can’t retrieve it. Sure, I’m not using drugs, but my happiness is flat. Is that worth it? I’ll give that old guy a piece of my mind, once a well-decorated cake, now an unsightly muffin.

Ah, my old psychiatrist, a greying man who aged like milk. He never seemed fit to be a psychiatrist, but here he was, had a face like stone. His office was like him, personally designed, with beige walls with oak wood floors, and a small VHS player in the corner his name etched onto a gold prism on his desk, Alvin. What a fun name for a not-so-fun guy. I feel somewhat numb right now, not as angry as I thought I would be. But the pills don’t always work.

Screech! The old door nearly falls off its hinges as I barge and tell him just what he did to me. Sweat drips down his forehead as he clutches his phone like a grandmother in shock. Everything feels shaky as my breathing becomes shallow. I detail everything, for example, why must I have some arbitrary diagnosis when I was simply missing my friend? Or, why should an aging fart like you be a psychiatrist when you can’t even comprehend the struggles of the younger generation?

He sighs, looking exasperated. I’m seeing red as I charge towards him, heart racing, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Quiet beeping removes me from my trance. Hushed whispers and raspy tones What is it with these annoying men? First, the principal, that undercover cop, and now him. I roll my eyes as I’m being dragged by security. Ah, another statistic, maybe they should make a documentary about me.

There’s no fighting fate. Rough hands ply me from the grips of what just happened, bound to leave marks. Murmurs swirl around me in an ocean of confusion, the guards appearing fish-like. Silence leaves its mark as they aren’t yelling. I comply with their demands. Mannequin-like upon a stretcher, I exhale as my eyes close. Why should I care? I am indifferent, neither happy nor unhappy as I stand to be put in a straitjacket. An electronic pharmacy sign waves at me, a young nurse frantically sorting through prescriptions.

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Into the Abyss

Chapter Five

(TW: Substance abuse, description of drug dealing, arrest and legal consequences)

I did what I had to do. At the crack of dawn, I ran from my mom’s basement with some baking soda back to school. Aurora was just trying to have fun and make some cash, perfectly reasonable. Just because she may have broken some rule that everyone else follows: don’t make/sell drugs, doesn’t mean she was a bad person. Here I was, letting her legacy live on beyond the TV coverage and missing posters.

Glimmers of sunlight reflected from the window onto the beakers, blurred figures of the light. Head spinning, fingers trembling, sweat beading from running a mile at one in the morning. The wind’s chill embraced me. Emotion flooded my mind like a dam breaking open. Inhale, exhale, repeat. My pockets contained her remnants; a handmade bracelet, diamonds of black and pink, woven to perfection, and her diamond heart necklace that matched my pastel blue flower one. A rose quartz bracelet that I would’ve given to her. Tearful laughs filled the air as I picked up a paper from when we wrote an exceptionally dreadful romance story about two classmates, layered with tropes and cliches, only eight chapters in before we got caught—annoying Theresa May. I miss her hugs in the morning, her laughter in the halls, the light in her eyes as she talked about her life, brushing her fingers against mine, tiny fiery sparks slithering their way into my soul. Shared secrets, stolen glances, and small smiles were all hidden in her bedroom. I wish I had told her I cared sooner.

But alas, no more crying over old times, I should get this over with. Remember her in the only way I know how. Finally, a piece of her stash lay in my jeans' crevices and dark corners. Bubbles from steam evaporated as I combined baking soda and the crack, a white crystalline powder, you could’ve mistaken it for salt. Finally, the mixture was done. I had freebased crack cocaine, and a burnt serving spoon lay astray on the table. Now all I had to do was wait for the money to roll in. It was child’s play. An experiment for the daring, innovative risk-takers of tomorrow. How could I ever get caught? A question that crossed my mind several times, eventually running through the traffic of medicated, forced thoughts.

Weeks passed as I used a counterfeit volunteer sheet to sell “bricks” for signatures. I was getting some recognition, rising from the underground. Not infamous, but getting there. Like different species, my buyers were of a unique kind. Older men who blurred together, my mom’s flings who wanted to take some edge off, gangs, sometimes even Rita, as I loitered downtown in hidden alleys, conveniently tucked away from the cops. One guy in particular, however, was my downfall, and just as I was starting to pay my bills.

His job was on the line, he needed a fix, or that’s what he said, walking up in a black hoodie, the mask and drawstring easily hiding his badge. He took his hand to give me money as more cars pulled up. I was frozen in place, numb with shock as he handcuffed me. Cool metal against my flushed skin, not resisting. Rough edges indented my flesh, as I sucked in a breath. I know I didn’t deserve this. I was simply trying to accomplish her goal, or at least attempt to. God, what a roadblock. But what would I do about it?

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Into the Abyss

Chapter Four

(TW: Substance abuse, descriptions of drug dealing. Reader discretion is advised)

Near spring break, Aurora made a fatal decision. She was coming to the end of her options, coming up with a temporary solution. I couldn’t do anything. She never told me her plan, unlike herself. I never saw her in school anymore, but when I stopped by her house she seemed oddly excited for someone recently expelled. We chatted about everything and anything, when I asked about her plans she told me she would get a job. But that doesn’t mean the job was safe or morally good, she wasn’t technically “helping” anyone, right?

She began selling her cocaine, as strange trucks pulled up to her house, with even shadier people driving them. There were the trenchcoats and the undercover businessmen. Her hands were full of cash while doing her little science experiments in her basement. Boxes of baking soda and piles of baggies, spoons, and beakers were laid out and about. Meanwhile, her mom was still far gone, working a small job. Aurora had changed slightly, or at least had a noticeable increase in her drive for money. But as her dream of living the fast life had just begun, her health took a sharp decline as she fell into a spiral of crack addiction and dealing.

Wow, for once, I realized something was wrong. Nobody around me smoked that much, just in the bathroom. Didn’t stop me from trying to crush my grandpa’s prescriptions. There were a few clean girls. Every time I tried to tell her, she responded with “At least I get that bank.” or “It’s really not that bad, just quit overreacting.” Aurora became more and more erratic, I had to let go. But it wasn’t me who saw her in her last moments.

He wasn’t your typical crazy guy. He wore a white sweater, contrasting his true nature as he approached her house. She was rubbing it on her gums as he convinced her to go out with him. “I’ll drop you back at ten.” She was only seventeen but had no hesitation whatsoever, I liked that about her, her fearlessness. He took her away and she was found dead in a parking lot seven hours later. The doctors found it in her system. But what shocked me the most was who did the act. Someone tall and familiar. Someone who always was a stoner. Why, oh why would he want crack?

And this brings me to how I avenged her death. My heart was crushed when I found out, at the same time as everyone else. I wasn’t special. She didn’t even write me a note. Did she want this? Her smiling yearbook photo is next to Jake’s mugshot in the news. Did she realize how selfish she was? With her death, a little bit of my morality came back. The same amount she robbed from me with her glamorized lifestyle. But not enough to prevent me from what I did next. My goal was to live fast or die trying.

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Into the Abyss

Chapter Three

(TW: depictions of vandalism, risky behavior, themes of rebellion. Reader discretion is advised.)

In my junior year, my misadventures with Aurora continued as tension escalated in her family life. Her mom started dating random men, as guys were brought home like a cat getting a dead mouse to its owner. She related several of these stories to me daily, clutching my shoulders as she spoke exaggeratedly. We went from stealing wallets and skipping school to meeting older guys, (I never realized how bad that was until what happened to Aurora), which eventually put a stop to the fun-loving girl I once knew. One of these times remains fresh in my mind.

We were ditching class for the fourth time, walking through the plastered halls, makeup with fancy jeans. But instead of going out to a diner, or a park downtown, we stayed in. Her blue eyes were glittering with mischief, as she recited her plan, her usual smirk painted on her face with a slight blush. The leather purse had an extra weight to it, not simply due to drugs, but an aerosol of black spray paint.

She had a motive that surprised me. The math teacher had failed her for speaking out about how stupid his lesson was. Fair, because when will I ever need to know calculus? I agreed with her in that class and called him a phony. Anyways, he failed her, her mom found out and was planning to kick her out her senior year. “I just can’t deal with her anymore, she criticizes me for questioning the curriculum, while she gets drugged and assaulted by old guys on the daily.” She stated when she saw me look down. “I hate this school, I hate the teachers, but you, Hannah, you’re like the only one I care about. And that’s why I’m doing this with you.” My smile softened, still a bit worried.

Her hand let go as she took the spray can out of her purse, clutching it until her hands turned slightly cherry. She signed an A, meant to look like a star. I put a heart with an H inside, as she bumped me with her hips, laughing. She tossed the can aside, running and dragging me by the wrist, chuckling. Until we felt the cold hands of security upon us.

The office was cold as the principal eyed us down with an unrelenting stare. Like many teens, we had a reason that they never believed, which prevented us from ever opening up again. Aurora couldn’t ask for a welfare check, because her mother would lie to the workers and neglect her even more. But at the end of the day, he had made his decision, she was suspended for vandalism, while I just got a warning. The principal’s wide nose only amplified the humor in his pig-like face.

We left together, sighing as we stomped out, her eyeliner running as she held my arm. The frigid air punched us as we stepped outside, sitting on a bench nestled in the outskirts of a cafe. Everything but our hearts were cold that day, eyes averted. I got her a coffee as she shuddered in fear. Her deadbeat mother would be pissed, “I-I’m not scared of her, I promise.” She sobbed into my embrace. “It’ll be okay, I’m sure. We can get jobs.” I replied, I hoped I was true, but I was mostly wrong, again. “What jobs can I get? Fast food? Hooters? Drug dealing? Oh, maybe I can follow my mother and become a wreck.” She laughed, frustrated. But that was her final choice, one that eventually cut her life short.

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Into the Abyss

Chapter Two

(TW: depictions of drug use, addiction, substance abuse. Reader discretion is advised.)

When I was little, I sought out friends who were different from me, in almost every way. When I was shy, my friends were bold, when I kept my mouth shut, my friends shouted. You get my message. It’s been a while since I’ve seen these people, but memories linger. I even used to be friends with Theresa May, but before my dog, Emma, died. And in 10th grade, I met a cool girl.

The sun was shining as I exited my car. For that day, I wore a gray tank top from my vacation to Hawaii, with a purple hibiscus. A windy breeze frolicked throughout the air as I saw the pretty and cynical new girl. Her hair was down, dark brown, and wavy. She had a t-shirt of a skull a pink bow and a crown, with black. Oh my god, she was so pretty that day. Bejeweled flared jeans with two studded belts, and combat boots. I twirled my hair while complimenting her bag, she said my shirt was cute, and told me her name was Aurora. She never seemed to care about much in life, and I learned my ways from her all the times we hung out.

My childhood could only be described as a mess, hot off the pans of misery. My dad and my miniature dachshund died when I was 8, which made me lose hope in the world because it felt like everything and everyone was dying. Especially those you care about. However, in that first time of grief, Aurora became my saving grace.

She wrote her address down in my school notebook, 98682, Stone St. Black glitter pen in a beautiful manuscript. I still remember how it felt to walk up her wooden stairs after school, leaving my bag on the floor. Her bedroom was an escape for her, hiding her darkest secrets. It showed every side of her, animal print bedsheets, band posters, magenta fairy lights. We could chat for hours at a time about anything and nothing in particular. Day by day, as I got glimpses into her home life the more intrigued I became. How she could be effortlessly careless, but still be sweet. How she was bold in times of distress, hiding her love under a fiery smirk.

She was always free-spirited, sneaking out to concerts and parties. Until that excitement was blown out like a candle, a story for another time. But one day, she showed me her stash. We were in her bedroom when she pulled out a book, from her shelf. Her thin fingers opened it, revealing a box cut out of it. I didn’t see it at first in the hole, but then I did. A small baggie of cocaine, barely anything left. No wonder she was so hyper all the time, bouncing off the walls, and tapping my leg when she was bored. But she was never truly bored, just experiencing withdrawals.

She made me promise to never tell anyone, pinkies interlaced as her bracelet touched my wrist, trembling as tears fell from her striking blue eyes. I smiled and said the magic word, “Yes. I promise I won’t.” A week later, she was very irritable but wouldn’t admit why. I rubbed her back as she sobbed in gibberish. But instead of concern, I felt curiosity about the drug, because why should I care about my existence if it will fade away too? We partook in a science experiment, where she made her supply, letting me sample some. And that’s where I learned how to make the same thing I got thrown into rehab for, in the school’s science lab.

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Original Work Masterlist

Into the Abyss (Completed)

(TW: addiction, substance abuse, self-harm, suicide, mental health struggles. Listed on each chapter)

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

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Writing Masterlist

Obey Me!

Original Work

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You and the Prince of Slumber

In a landscape of plush pillows and endless sheets, you and Belphegor were the only constants. Gentle piano notes filled the air as you observed his snoring frame, breathing softly, drool slowly rolling down his cheek. Purple flannel blankets and checkered pillows behind a golden-mooned wall. Cosmic photos above the bedframe, galaxies watching over you.

He yawned as you stretched, joints clicking and popping, embracing you tighter. Slight pressure was applied to your shoulder as he laid his head down, refusing to let go. He couldn't. You laughed at your morning routine as he tapped his fingers along your side, finally waking up.

The polyester of his sweater comforted you. He caressed your face, softly kissing your forehead, spreading warmth throughout your face. It had been two decades with him, waking up like this. But something felt different.

A sharp pain swam through your back, down from your spine to your waist, as you flinched. The grimace you wore reminded him of how time ebbed and flowed. Your time would come shortly, the fatigue after classes, flyaway hairs turning grey at the edges as the clock striked eleven. You were becoming fragile, like a glass ornament, eventually shattering where anyone could see.

Belphie knew humans were incredibly frail, from his rage at Lilith's human, to the general knowledge about them in the Devildom. He remembered how easily they could be eaten or skinned alive. It only made him want to hold you more. He knew you would eventually pass, your current state deteriorating with every passing day. He just couldn't admit that it would actually happen, it shouldn't have.

The shades of grey and purple filtered in through his windows as he woke up before you. A loud yawn escaped from his lips, but you were still sleeping soundly. He covered your shoulders with the blanket and patted it down. Uncharacteristically, however, he got up to do his laundry, which was becoming a heaping pile in the corner of his room.

After class, he went to the library to find you nearly drifting off on a leather couch, the fireplace illuminating the shelves and chairs. For once, he didn't hide his concern, sitting by you as you leaned on his shoulder. You felt your hair being ruffled as you laid on his lap, cherishing him one last time. And in the library on this rainy day, his favorite human had drawn their last breath.

[the-pessimists-paradigm]

Random but I hope you have a good day/night and don't forget to drink plenty of water ✨

(Also what's your favorite hc about each of the bros, if you don't mind answering?)

Aww, thank you so much!

Lucifer is the type of guy who practices calligraphy. Pristine handwriting, cursive loops, and edges. Ink quill, 15 different bird feathers. All to send you the most heartwarming love letters you have ever received. Essays about how beautiful you are, inside and out, laden with symbolism and metaphors amongst the starry skies.

Mammon would totally get lost in an airport with you. He'd arrive all pristine in a nice coat and jacket, and be frantic by the end of the day. You'd be exploring terminals, baggage claims, and restaurants just before missing your flight. Totally cute disaster couple.

Leviathan usually doesn't watch horror, but when he does, he always cuddles into your side, turning his face away. The only indication of his presence is the pressure and heat on your shoulder.

Satan is secretly a cat dad. He started fostering a kitten in his room, begging Lucifer to let him keep the small thing. Whenever you come over, there are always soft meows coming from inside.

Asmodeus has a fashion blog. He curates his ideal outfits, asks Levi to help him sew, and then has you model with a smile on his face. He loves how you pose, and you love how happy it makes him to see you in something he picked.

Beelzebub has a passion for baking. On birthdays and anniversaries, he's always there with a baked good. He started learning by watching YouTube tutorials with Barbatos (my self-sufficient man). Whether it's biscuits or cookies, he always knows just how to make you smile.

Although he would rarely admit it, Belphegor cherishes it when you cuddle, preferring to hug you from behind after a tiring day. You hug him when you're done with class as he dozes off in your arms.

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He's so fine!!! >//<

Belphie painting :) Very happy with how this came out, he was looking ROUGH for a hot minute lmao

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When ghosts haunt a place, is it like loitering for humans? Like a ghost would get fined if they haunted a place for too long.

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THEY'RE SO CUTE!!!

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THE QUEENS ARE HERE!!! 💖💖💖💖

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(Art belongs to Solmare & has been edited by me)

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Chihuahua toy

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Essie 185: Beachy Keen

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