*twenty minutes earlier*
Marcy couldn't walk straight. Her shoulders banged into the bunks as she staggered past them, bumbling down the corridor like a pinball. It sort of hurt. Well. It did hurt. A lot. The bunk frames were made of wood and the corners were sharp. They dug into her skin each time Marcy thudded into them.
She couldn't stop though. No matter how painful it seemed. Her body was hellbent on hurting itself, making a beeline for everything that would be unpleasant to crash into. Marcy thought maybe somewhere down in her subconscious she must have had a hidden desire for self destruction. Or maybe she just had very bad luck. Or she'd completely lost her coordination. That was probably it.
Everything was so... wrong. The world wasn't quite right. Because the walls were a slightly brighter shade of orange than Marcy remembered. And she was just a little taller and the bus was just a little smaller. She was heavier too. Her veins were filled with lead, dragging her down. Each step Marcy took shook the bus.
Marcy felt as though she was watching herself from above. She certainly wasn't controlling her body, that's for sure. It was all over the place. Crashing into things. Stumbling. Filled with static. Her hands were clammy and sticky with sweat. They tremored and twitched, looking for something to grab ahold of. Each time Marcy reached out to grasp the bunk for support she missed completely and nearly stumbled to the ground.
Her mind felt clear. Sort of. It was focused on something like a tractor beam. She didn't know what she was thinking about. But at the same time, she did. Nothing made sense. But somehow, she knew exactly what she was doing. Her head had been split in two. One half was dazed and confused. The other was clean, crisp and clear. Marcy didn't really connect to either.
It was impossible to describe. You'd have to experience it yourself to understand. It certainly wasn't fun. In fact, at first Marcy had thought she had overdosed. She'd been scared. Convinced she was going to die lying alone on the kitchen floor, listening to the seconds tick by on the clock above the microwave. The bottle of Jack in her hand had been her only company. A pretty shitty way to go if you ask me.
Half an hour had passed before Marcy realized she wasn't dead yet and she wasn't going to anytime soon. It took her a couple of minutes to convince herself to move from the floor. If the others came home and found her on the floor like that they would have been shocked, to say the least. It took a couple more to will herself to get up. She was afraid she might pass out of she did.
The way the coke and the meth worked together in her system was insane. Marcy could feel the drugs as they burned their way around her body. They felt like corrosive acid pumping through her veins. Each heartbeat was pure agony, only aggravating the fire. It itched like a million termites had burrowed into her skin. Marcy felt like she was burning from the inside out. Sort of like those people she'd heard about on TV once. Where they just went up in flames for no particular reason. Spontaneous combustion. That's what it was called. And to tell the truth Marcy wasn't entirely convinced she wouldn't end up as a smoldering pile of ashes like the people in the documentary.
The couch beckoned to her, asking Marcy to sit and stay a while. Her legs just sort of gave way and she fell onto the soft leather like a bundle of sticks. At almost the exact moment her feet left the ground, the fire began to cool. It wasn't gone. Marcy was almost convinced it would never leave her alone. She'd never be free from it's burning grip.
Marcy should have thought this through more. She knew that now. It had been stupid to think this wouldn't be to much. Why had this seemed like such a good idea? Why did she always have to be such a goddamn idiot? It was pathetic. Marcy was pathetic.
She had absolutely no idea how long the high would last. It could've been merely minutes. Hours. Days. Marcy had no way to tell. And when it was gone, how soon before she was out cold? Roofies, alcohol and heroin. Enough to knock Duff out, which was really a big claim to make, considering how much he drank every day. Somebody as small as Marcy... they couldn't be expected to stay alive, let alone awake. This was a mistake. A bad, bad mistake.
