Date: Sat, 24 Sep 2005 12:47:08 +0100
From: Kitti Ivan <emo_smex@hotmail.com>
Subject: Kimberly: Chapter 3

~ Chapter Three ~
Meth and Mew

Beyond the open door were a set of grey stone stairs which led up, on quite
a steep angle, to a battered red door at the top. The walls that cased the
stairs were just like the street, covered in names and slogans. As I
followed Jack up the stairs, like some little kitten who's afraid that it
might become lost, one of the slogans caught my eye.

"Jack Rydon Ownz Yor Ass" in brilliant red. But when I looked for a second
time, I soon became aware that somebody had tried to cover the "Ownz Yor
Ass" part in a sickly shade of green and had written: "Is a GaY FUcker"
beneath it in the same grassy colour, along with the prominant name "Tar".

As I wandered up the stairs behind Jack, staring around at a few of the
names which had been plastered about, "MEW woz Eya", "METH", "Rob iz HAWT",
I began to wonder what it was that ever so famous Jack Rydon actually did
for a living. Soon another thought struck me. "Jack." I said, as we reached
the door at the top of the stairs and he began to fumble with the handle. It
seemed that it was jammed. "So, err, do ya always take in kids from broken
homes, then?"

Jack struggled with the door, thrusting his shoulder against it in swift
movements. But it didn't budge. "Nope. Ya the first." he answered and all of
a sudden I got an awful feeling in the bottom of my stomach. If he had never
taken in a kid before, then why was he helping me? Instantly I got ready to
bolt down the stairs and out into the street.

Jack must have noticed my fear and took a few steps back from the door,
cursing quietly under his breath as he did so. "Ya looked like ya needed a
friend." he told me sincerely and then charged back at the door. His
shoulder came into contact with the wood in a loud "THUMP" and the door flew
open on its hinges, sending the raven and blue haired boy stumbling into the
room beyond.

For a moment I stared on in perplexity as the heavy sound of a rock band,
that I had only heard a few times on the radio, greeted me from the inside.
The room, it seemed, was a living room, for there was a three seater sofa
along the back wall and two, rather tatty, cream armchairs on either side.
On the front wall was a decent size t.v, which was switched off, and beside
it stood a large stereo, full of flashing lights. There were two figures in
the room and a rectangular glass coffee table was situated in the centre,
bundled with all sorts of junk and odd looking contraptions.

One of the figures was Jack, who was now grinning at me with an odd glint in
his eye that I'd not seen before and gesturing for me to enter. The other
was slouched in the nearest armchair.

Warily, I stepped into the room. Jack gave the fellow in the armchair a
swift flick of the ear and he startled, spinning around to face us. The
first thing that I noticed was the guy's hair. Long choppy lengths of bright
pink hung over his face, concealing his eyes completely. The only features
of his face that were visable to the eye was the end of his pointy nose, the
lower half of his cheeks and then his lips. "Kimberly, this is Mew." Jack
told me over the sound of the music.
I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly way and nodded. "Hey."

"Yo." was the pink haired boy's reply as his black fingernailed hands
struggled to remove the hair from his view, in order to peer at me better.
Frowning, he shot Jack a look of confusion and let his fringe drop back down
over his face. "I thought ya were goin' to see Shade 'bout that new batch
he's jus' got shipped in?"

Jack turned that strange grin to Mew and in the process fished a clear
plastic bag, full of white powder, out of one of his many pockets. Waving
the bag temptingly in front of Mew he said in a silky voice: "Twenty quids
worth, my friend, as a tester."
But Mew had snatched the bag from him and in the same instant was dipping
his finger into the powder.

"An' this is that stuff from France?" he asked, finger pausing half way
between the bag and his mouth, lightly coated with the mixture.
Jack nodded and took his patched leather jacket off, throwing it onto the
sofa. "Yup. That's the one. We get that lot as a free trial an' if we like
it we can buy three 'undreds worth off 'im for two-fifty. Special offer." he
told him.

"Yeah?" asked Mew, putting his finger in his mouth.

"Yep." Jack answered and motioned for me to sit down.

I perched myself onto the edge of the sofa and Mew spoke again. This time
his voice was hushed and only just hearable over the thundering of the
music. "An' . . . what 'bout Tar?"
Jack's dark blue eyes narrowed at the mention of the name and flashed from
Mew to me and then back again. Lips curled into a sort of snarl, he
answered, "Wha' 'bout 'im." But it was no more of a question than it was an
answer and from this I gathered that Jack had ended that particular
conversation, for now Mew had fallen silent.

I watched as Jack knelt down in front of the coffee table and began scouting
for something, his pale fingers rifling across the various objects atop it.
He soon produced an illaminated card of some sort - possibly a fake ID - and
then cleared a reasonable space in front of him. Glancing once at me, he
took the bag of powder from Mew and tipped it over the table, pouring half
of the contents onto the glass. Using the card, he manipulated the powder
into two thin horizontal lines and then produced a five pound note, which he
rolled up into a sort of tight tube.

            * * *

I wasn't stupid. As soon as I'd seen Jack hand Mew the white powder I'd had
an inkling that it was some sort of drug and even if I hadn't, their talk
would have certainly let me in on the idea. Add to that Mew tasting it, both
of the guys' unusually short fingernails and then Jack's little preperation
on the coffee table and by the time that they'd come to actually snorting
the stuff, I knew that it was cocaine. Not only that, but it seemed that
they were dealing it too.

Don't get me wrong, I didn't have anything against drugs. I had a few
friends back in Wikemsburg who thought that it was cool to smoke dope and
another who claimed that he lived on solvents. But none of them were on the
really hard stuff and I guess that's what surprised me the most.

I'd heard about people on cocaine and heroin, but I'd never actually met
anyone that did them. So I think I can safely say that I was somewhat put
out by suddenly finding myself in the residence of two coke sniffers.

* * *

Just as Jack poised himself above the first line there was a voice from the
back of the room.

"One day you two are gonna wake up in hospital lookin' like good old Michael
Jackson, ya know that."
Both Jack and Mew looked up. I followed their gaze.

A girl was standing at the door to one of the bedrooms, staring on in
disgust at her two flatmates. Her cherry red hair hung in jagged lengths
about her shoulders and her face was decorated with dark make-up. Lots of
it. It was her outfit, however, that captured my attention . . . possibly
for all the wrong reasons. A black t-shirt displaying the phrase "Life's too
short to dance with ugly men" led down to a tartan mini-skirt which stopped
a few inches short of her knees and a pair of chunky New Rocks rose halfway
up her shins.

In an instant Jack was on his feet and dusting himself down. Adjusting his
tie for perhaps the one hundreth time that day, he winked at her. "Aww c'mon
Meth, don' be 'arsh on us. We're jus' 'avin' a bit a fun."

The girl's brow wrinkled, "Fun? You call destroyin' yourself bit by bit . .
. Fun!" She shook her head at them in disbelief and then added, "Man I hate
to see what you're idea of "not-fun" is, then." The girl's eyes suddenly
fell upon me and she glanced to Jack. "'Ave you been raidin' the highschool
again, Jack?" she asked sarcastically.

Jack rolled his eyes and gave her an I-don't-find-that-funny look. "Meth,
this is-" but he was cut short by the girl who was now holding her hand out
at me.

"Hey kid, I'm Mandy Cole, but call me Meth."

I stood up and shook her hand, thinking about how odd it was that everybody
I'd met so far, apart from Mew, introduced themselves by using their full
name. But then I guess you had to tell people your full name, for in a city
as big as that one, there were plenty others with the same first name as
yourself. "Kimberly Black." I told her.

She too gave me that amused look that Jack had done some few hours before
and then repeated, "Kimberly?" asthough she wasn't entirely sure on what she
had just heard. I nodded and she shrugged, "Well, welcome to the
neighbourhood, Kim."
She paused a moment to check her nails, before adding, "I'll be off then,
otherwise I'll be late for Tar."

As she started for the door, Jack whisked around the coffee table and was at
her back with incredible swiftness. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she
turned to him, rolling her own eyes asthough she knew exactly what was
coming. "Meth, why do ya go out wi' that wanker, when ya could be wi' a guy
like me?" he asked, his voice was quiet now, but the music seemed to have
quietened off too.

"A guy like you, Jack?" she said softly, fiddling innocently with the bottom
of Jack's tie.
Jack nodded, "Yeah. I don' understand it, Meth."

"You don't?" She asked.

Jack shook his head and she went on. "Because what the hell would I want
with a lyin', cheatin', self-absorved pervert like you?!" She dropped his
tie which she had neatly unfastened, "I wouldn't go near you if it was a
choice between you an' a pigeon." She took a satisfied step back and I
watched as a look of utter hate washed across Jack's face. "An' ya still
'aven't paid Tar yet, 'ave you."

"I'll pay 'im as soon as the takin's for the last batch are sorted." Jack
told her.

"Two hundred and fifty pounds, Jack." Meth said pointedly, "An' if 'e
doesn't get it you know what he's goin' to do, don't you. He's a well known
man, Jack. He'll 'ave you tracked down and killed in a day, an' that's even
if you try to run away."

Jack's face suddenly became deadly serious and I watched as he shook his
head slightly. "I don' do runnin' away, Meth." he told her slowly. But Meth
wasn't listening.

"G'bye Jack." She mused, ruffling his hair with one hand. Then she whirled
out of the flat door, leaving master Rydon looking somewhat awkward and
confused.

* * *


There was an air to Meth. A strange aura that seemed to cling to her
wherever she went. I felt it as soon as she entered the room. It's difficult
to describe to you if you've never felt, or experienced, it before. It's
sort of like when you meet somebody for the first time and you instinctly
know that they're going to become famous one day. Or like those certain
members of the Royal Family who just seem to ooze supremacy - not that I'm
much of a Royal fan myself though . . .

At first I was so niave that I confused the feeling with love. But it wasn't
love, in fact it wasn't even adoration. It was a sort of odd power that
emanted from her and I guess I wasn't the only one who could sense it for
Jack and Mew, it seemed, could feel it too. Jack suddenly became impressive
and self-concious, whereas Mew became somewhat polite and respectable. But
then I suppose that could be because she was hot and they wanted to get her
into bed . . .

Either way Jack was stood at the door, looking like an ass, for a good three
minutes after Meth had left.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent chatting with my two new rebel friends about
where I had come from and why while that distinct rock band, that I couldn't
for the life in me remember the name of, pounded around us. The talk soon
turned to the others however.

I learnt that Jack was an orphan who had escaped the hostel he had been
living in at eighteen in order to make something of himself. He rented a
flat and started work stacking shelves in a supermarket. He stayed there for
three months and then began ask himself if there was anything better than
that. Of course there had to be. He'd seen guys in huge flash cars driving
around the city all the time - so there had to be something, somewhere.

Jack moved from stacking shelves to bar work in the local punk nightclub. In
the year that he spent there he came across Mew, a pink haired eighteen year
old who had come from River Dale to leave behind the hassle he was getting
there and make a brand new start. The two of them became buddies and Mew
soon moved into Jack's flat. They started up a drug selling business and
before long their profit was growing wild and high.

Ever since then the two have been in business together selling whatever it
is that they can get their sticky little paws on.

Several times that evening either Jack or Mew offered me a line of cocaine
and several times I shook my head and obeyed my instincts. Mum had always
told me never to take drugs, so had the teachers at school and other rather
prominent people in my life. You see it all the time, t.v programmes about
"Just saying no" and those lovely little educational ones that explain all
the bad things that can happen to you if you take drugs. All of those were
imprinted on my rebellious little mind and I followed my common sense and
said "No thanks".

Of course I knew that the longer that I stayed with my two new friends, the
less and less that I was going to be able to find myself actually being able
to say "no", but then I guess that's what becomes of those who dabble in
dangerous affairs.

* * *

"Ya remind me of me brother." Jack told me in a vague voice. His glazed eyes
traveled over me for a moment and then he nodded and repeated, "Yeah. Ya
remind me of me brother."

I said nothing. I didn't know whether the likeness of me to Jack's brother
was a good thing, or a bad thing, seeing that Jack hadn't yet mentioned his
relationship with him and therefore I kept silent, watching as he pulled
himself up from his spot by the cluttered coffee table. But my quietness
didn't seem to matter, for it looked as if Jack had other things on his mind
at that particular moment.

"Mewww . . ." he drawled in a relatively irritating baby-voice, starting
towards the pink haired fellow who was still sprawled in the armchair and
managing to almost fall over the coffee table in the process. "James Mewton
. . ." He halted in front of the boy and held out an upturned palm.
"S'more?"

Mew opened one eye and lazily surveyed the scene in front of him. He shook
his head. "Nope."
Jack's eyes widened and I watched on in mystification as his bottom lip
jutted out a little and began to quiver. "But you 'ave some. You always dooo
. . ." he whined in the same annoying tone that made me want to seal his
mouth shut with super glue.
But Mew shrugged. "No means no. S'all gone. All of it."
His curtain of fuschia hair parted a little as he moved his head, revealing
one, rather expressionless, eye.

"James don' fool wi' me . . ." Jack whimpered.
And to my utter surprise he climbed into the armchair, lowering himself over
Mew's knees so that he was straddling him.
Mew didn't move.

Jack brought his head level with his friend's so that both of their
slightly-too-big noses were touching. "I told ya not to fool wi' me . . ."
he breathed, his voice coming in a husky whisper this time. Quickly, his
small pink tongue darted out to run over the skin of Mew's lips and then
retreat again.

There wasn't a single gesture from the boy beneath.

Then Jack bent his neck, red lips coming into contact with Mew's collarbone
for a chain of deep kisses and the fellow beneath let out a small, amost
inaudiable, gasp and sat forward.

I watched on in a mixture of confusion and distaste as the boy's embraced.
Jack's gentle kisses making their way upwards now towards his companion's
earlobe and Mew, head back and eyes closed, whimpering with pleasure.

I'm not sure of the reason why I kept watching them. I don't know whether it
was out of pure interest or some odd feeling of arousal that seemed to creep
up somewhere around my groin. Maybe it was a combination of the two. Either
way I just couldn't seem able to take my eyes off of the pair and simply
regarded them with a strange sense of inexperience.

Jack's teeth bore down onto Mew's earlobe in a series of passionate tugs and
nips, one hand clasped onto his associate's shoulder, the other hanging
somewhere around Mew's lower back. Mew's own hands were not as still as
Jack's, however, groping inbetween their pressing bodies, clearly seeking
out the buckle of the blue and black haired boy's belt.

But in the same instant, Jack had leapt free of the embrace.

He was stood in the middle of the room, a large grin of mischief plastered
across his pale face. His black studded belt, which had earlier held his
tousers in place, was unbuckled and hanging loose. And in one long fingered
hand, he held a clear plastic bag half full of white powder which - I
guessed - he had whipped from Mew's back pocket in the midst of the
seduction.

Mew scowled. His face was slightly flushed, giving a warm lively glow to his
skin.
"I 'ate you, Jack Rydon . . ." he growled under his breath. But there was a
strange tone in his voice that seemed light-hearted, cheerful almost, and I
gazed on with furrowed brows as he shook his head in disbelief and headed
for one of the bedrooms.

I turned back to Jack, my face screwed up into a look of complete
bewilderment. The boy cocked his head to the side and winked. "An' that,
dearest Kimberly, is 'ow we do things 'round 'ere . . ." he said.

It seems odd to me now, looking back on everything that's happened and
remembering the way that I just sat there taking them in with childish eyes,
like a kid who comes across a porn movie for the first time and is unable to
tell exactly what the two people (or three even) are actually doing and for
what reason.

But I knew what they were doing. I knew exactly what they were doing. The
fact was, that I'd never seen two guys so much as give one another a peck on
the cheek before and there were Jack and Mew getting all busy right in front
of me. Not to mention that peculiar sensation of actual enjoyment that began
to pulse somewhere a little too close for comfort.

Then there were Jack's words, "'An' that, dearest Kimberly, is 'ow we do
things 'round 'ere . . ." Did that mean that he did this sort of stuff
everyday? Baffled thoughts swarmed my mind for an instant and I recall
sitting there, totally bemused by the whole affair.

Was the ever so famous Jack Rydon a male whore . . ?

* * *

That night I slept on the sofa. Jack said that I could have borrowed Meth's
bed, but he wasn't sure on what time she would be back, so it would be a bad
idea to shove me in there if she happened to turn up a few hours later, only
to walk in and find me dozing in her precious bedroom. Thus I took to
sleeping on the settee and Jack brought out a few blankets and a pillow for
me, before venturing into the bedroom that Mew had entered a few hours
previously.

I guess it struck me as a little odd that the exact two fellows that I'd
just seen caressing one another shared the same bedroom aswell and a small
part of me began wondering whether they slept in the same bed, only to be
deeply scolded by the larger part of me that told me to get real and stop
being so nosey.

It certainly nagged at me, the way that Jack and Mew seemed like simple
friends one minute and then passionate lovers the very next. The way that
they both seemed to adore the glamorous Meth, a female, which seemed to cut
out the prospect of Jack being as straight as a circle. It bugged me to hell
and no matter how much I tried to work it all out in my head it just somehow
managed to tangle itself up again and take me right back to where I started
from.

Were Jack and Mew fucking each other?

Was Jack fucking Meth behind Tar's back?

Or were they all simply fucking one other and having wonderous little orgy
parties at the weekend?

Jack's words still raced around my brain as I tried to make sense of them -
tried to dechiper what exactly he meant by it all. So much so that I fell
asleep that night and dreamt about being seduced by both boys who were
wearing ever so pretty angel wings and telling me that "That's the way" they
"did it" there.