The world around me shifted as the drug took hold. The sweet rush of cotton candy was replaced by an overwhelming sense of weightlessness. The dim lights in the Vault blurred into tracers of blue and pink, swirling and merging like a dreamy haze.
I felt like a cloud, floating rather than walking. The sensation was disorienting, the edges of reality softening into a slow-motion ballet. My mind struggled to keep pace with the surreal shift, each movement deliberate but unsteady, as if I were drifting through a vivid dream.
I forced myself to focus on delivering the last few envelopes. Aspen's envelope, with its slightly crumpled edges, felt heavy in my hand, like it carried a significant weight that I couldn't quite grasp. The envelope for the door guard was larger, its presence more imposing. I had to get these to their destinations, but my thoughts were slipping away like sand through my fingers.
With each step, the Nebula's effects deepened. My previous concerns about escape and the complexities of my situation seemed to melt away. The idea of running felt distant, an almost forgotten fragment of a fading dream. Instead, all that remained was the overwhelming desire to stay—here, in the Vault, enveloped by the Nebula's sweet, intoxicating embrace.
Oliver. His name echoed in my mind, a constant refrain that grew louder with every passing moment. The thought of him was consuming, overshadowing everything else.
I tried to shake off the haze, but the more I focused, the more the drug's effects took over. The urgency to deliver the envelopes faded into a fog of longing. I wanted to be here, in the Vault, surrounded by the soft, colored lights and the gentle pull of the drug. I wanted to be with Oliver, to feel the heat of his gaze and the intensity of his presence.
My movements became sluggish, almost dreamlike, as I approached the door guard. His expression was a blur, his figure melting into the background of my altered perception. I handed over the envelope, but the interaction felt detached, as if it were happening in another world.
The nebulous euphoria was all that mattered now. Everything else—the escape plan, the warning from Farrah, the memories of my parents—it all drifted away, eclipsed by the overpowering need to stay in this perfect, intoxicating moment.
With a sigh of relief, I turned my attention to Aspen's envelope. A tinge of jealousy began to stir within me. I remembered how Oliver's gaze drifted on her. The memory of her kiss on his cheek at the lingerie stall came back to me vividly—how it had lingered a bit too long, an intimate exchange that seemed to stretch into eternity. That moment was a knife in my heart, twisting with resentment, envy, and an unsettling desire to be in her place.
I moved through the Vault, trying to find the location where I would deliver Aspen's envelope. The hazy pinks and blues twisted around me. The envelope seemed heavier with every passing moment, its contents a reminder of everything I desired and everything I lacked.
As I finally approached Aspen, her figure came into focus with a blend of sharp clarity and soft distortion. I extended the envelope towards her, my hand trembling slightly. The soft, colorful haze of the Nebula made her look ethereal, and I couldn't help but think of how effortlessly she seemed to command Oliver's attention, how easily she moved within his world.
My emotions were a tangled mess—jealousy, desire, and a need to prove myself. I felt as though I was competing for a place in Oliver's world.
As I handed over Aspen's envelope, a foggy, disoriented question slipped from my lips. "How exactly did you and Oliver get so close?"
I didn't realize I had spoken aloud until I saw Aspen's eyes widen in surprise. The question seemed to hang in the air, a jarring intrusion into the dreamlike haze that enveloped us both. My own words felt like they were drifting on the Nebula's cloud, distant and foreign, yet their impact was immediate and unsettling.
Aspen's gaze hardened, her posture stiffening as if the question had hit a nerve. I stood there, feeling a rush of shame and embarrassment. The question had escaped without my full awareness. My mind raced to recover, but the words had already set a ripple in our interaction, and I could only hope the damage was minimal.
Her grip tightened around my hand as she guided me to a chair, her touch firm and assertive. As I sank into the seat, the Nebula's haze made everything around me seem distant, but Aspen's presence was sharp and unyielding. She stood before me, her expression a mix of frustration and dominance.
"You really don't get it, do you?" she said, her voice low and edged with a cold certainty. "I've seen that look in Oliver's eyes before. The way he looks at you—it's the same look he gave me years ago."
Her words pierced through the fog in my mind. I tried to focus on her, but its effects made everything feel like it was moving in slow motion.
Aspen's eyes bore into mine, her gaze unrelenting. "He's not looking at you with genuine affection. He's looking at you with the promise of it. It's all part of the game he plays. And you don't stand a chance. Not now, not ever."
I felt a sting of betrayal at her words. Aspen's tone was harsh, her words cutting through the remnants of my defenses.
"You think you're special, don't you?" she continued, her voice dripping with disdain. "You think you're different from the rest of us. But look at you—carrying around Oliver's payments while popping Nebula like candy. You can't even run simple errands without making stupid decisions."
Her words struck me deeply, each accusation landing with a painful clarity. I wanted to defend myself, but the words caught in my throat.
"You're naïve," Aspen said, her voice growing sharper. "You thought you could waltz into Oliver's world and somehow come out on top. But you're just another pawn. You're nothing more than a temporary distraction for him. And now you're making yourself even more useless by using Nebula."
I tried to stand, but my legs felt unsteady. Aspen's dominance was overpowering, her words a harsh reality check that I wasn't ready to face. I looked up at her, my emotions a whirlwind of hurt and confusion.
As her gaze remained fixed on me, I realized that she was right. I was caught in a trap of my own making, my obsession with Oliver blinding me to the reality of my situation.
With a final, pitying look, Aspen turned away, leaving me alone in the chair, the weight of her words pressing down on me. The sting of her accusations was undeniable, a reminder of how far I had fallen from my initial aspirations.
Aspen walked back towards me, her movements deliberate and confident. In her hand, she held a long, thin clove cigarette, its scent mingling with the incense. Her perfectly manicured fingernails, painted a deep, blood-red, glinted menacingly as she gestured with the cigarette. The color was vivid against her pale skin, like bloody daggers.
"Don't believe everything Marge tells you," Aspen said, her tone dripping with contempt. "She's nothing more than an old hag who'll do whatever it takes to keep her position."
"Marge will put up walls between anyone who gets too close to Oliver," Aspen continued, her voice carrying a bitter edge. "She's on top right now, and she'll do everything she can to stay there."
As Aspen spoke, I couldn't help but think back to the moments I'd shared with Marge. She'd been kind to me, offering support and understanding, nothing like the image Aspen was painting. Marge's kindness felt like a lifeline in the cold, unwelcoming environment of the Vault.
Aspen's gaze was unyielding, her eyes filled with a mix of scorn and superiority. "You're stupid if you think Marge has any genuine interest in helping you. She's just protecting her own interests, and she won't hesitate to push you aside if she feels threatened."
The contrast between Aspen's harsh words and Marge's previous kindness left me feeling unsettled. I wanted to believe in the kindness I had experienced from Marge, but Aspen's dominant presence and scathing critique were hard to ignore.
I felt like I was in the midst of a storm, unable to find solid ground. The desire to believe in the sincerity of my experiences clashed with the fear of being misled. The Nebula only added to the disorientation, blurring the lines between reality and illusion.
In the end, I was left sitting there, torn between the conflicting narratives. My frustration mounted as I realized that I might never truly know who was lying and who was telling the truth. The uncertainty gnawed at me, a constant reminder of how lost and adrift I felt in this chaotic world.
I stumbled out of her stall and down the corridor. My thoughts were tangled with Aspen's harsh words, my confusion about Marge, and my obsessive longing for Oliver.
Reaching into my bag, I fished out my phone, the weight of it oddly comforting. I squinted at the screen, struggling to make sense of the time. The Nebula's effects made it hard to judge how long I had been delivering envelopes or how much time had passed since. The uncertainty gnawed at me, amplifying the swirling confusion in my mind.
In the midst of this chaos, Farrah's kindness stood out as a beacon of clarity. Her friendship had felt genuine, a rare and precious thing in a world filled with deception and manipulation. The idea of reaching out to her was a lifeline, a way to find some semblance of grounding amidst the storm of my thoughts.
I took a deep breath and dialed Farrah's number, my fingers trembling slightly. As the phone rang, each tone seemed to echo in the quiet corridor, a reminder of how much I needed a touchstone of clarity.
"Sup, Chica?" Farrah's voice came through, warm and familiar.
"Hi," I said, my voice wavering slightly from the Nebula's lingering effects. "I was hoping we could meet up. Maybe near the soup lady?"
There was a brief pause at the other end, and I could almost hear Farrah's thoughts as she considered my request. "Sure, I'll meet ya there!"
"Thanks," I said, a wave of relief washing over me.
After ending the call, I felt a beacon of hope pierce through the Nebula's fog. Farrah's willingness to meet felt like a small but significant step toward finding some clarity. I needed to talk, to sift through the tangled mess of my thoughts and feelings, and Farrah's friendship seemed like the best way to begin.
I arrived at the same spot I had sat with Farrah last time; my steps unsteady and my vision still swimming in pastel
swirls of blue and pink. The familiar sight of the stall, with its simple wooden counter and steaming pots, was a welcome anchor in the swirling sea of my thoughts.
Farrah was already there, her presence a comforting contrast to the kaleidoscopic haze around me. She spotted me as soon as I approached, her keen eyes quickly assessing my condition.
"Well, well," Farrah said with a wry smile as I neared. "Look who's been indulging. Got any Nebula to spare, or is that just for you?"
I managed to give a weak smile, though it didn't quite reach my eyes. Farrah tilted her head, her expression shifting to concern. "Hey, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Her words hit harder than I expected, and for a moment, I felt panic creeping in around the edges. My chest tightened, and I struggled to push the feeling down. "Yeah," I said, forcing the words out. "I'm fine. Just… a lot on my mind."
Farrah didn't look convinced, her sharp gaze scanning my face. "You sure? 'Cause you're looking a little pale there."
I waved her off, trying to steady myself. "I'll be okay. Just need to… reset."
She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned forward. "Perfect! Come on, let's go have some fun. You look like you could use it."
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and despite my unease, I felt a hint of relief. Farrah had a way of pulling me out of my head.
Before I could protest, she grabbed my hand and led me through a maze of brightly lit stalls and lively music. We passed a small area, complete with gambling games and colorful lights. Farrah's enthusiasm was infectious as she guided me to a booth with a neon sign that read "Fortune Telling."
"Let's see what the future holds for you!" she declared, dragging me toward the booth. "Trust me, it'll be a fun distraction."
I hesitated but felt a surprising sense of comfort in Farrah's decision. The neon lights and whimsical atmosphere were a welcome contrast to the heavy thoughts weighing on me. I realized that, for now, the best thing I could do was enjoy the moment and let the haze carry me away from my worries.
Farrah's antics and the playful environment helped clear some of the fog from my mind, if only temporarily. In this brief respite, I found a sliver of solace and the odd comfort of her presence.
She led me into a small, eclectic room adorned with colorful tapestries and an array of mystical trinkets, adding to the enchanting atmosphere.
In the center of the room, sitting behind a small, ornately decorated table, was Madame Zaria, the fortune teller. Her eyes were hidden beneath a heavy fringe of dark hair, and her fingers drummed softly on the table as she awaited clients.
Farrah nudged me gently. "Go get your fortune read. It might be just the distraction you need."
I hesitated, feeling a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "I don't know if I have anything to offer her."
Farrah grinned and leaned closer to me, whispering, "Just pay her with whatever you've got. It doesn't have to be much."
With a deep breath, I reached into my bag and fumbled around until I found the small stash of weed I had bought from Fred. I pulled it out and approached Madame Zaria's table.
She eyed the offering with a mix of curiosity and reluctance. She examined it carefully before giving a slight nod. "This will do," she said, her voice low and smooth. "Please, have a seat."
I took a seat across from Madame Zaria, feeling a bit self-conscious about the exchange. Farrah took a spot nearby, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she watched the interaction.
Madame Zaria studied me with a piercing gaze. "Let's see what fates have in store for you," she said, her voice carrying a hint of mystery. As she began to shuffle her tarot cards, the atmosphere seemed to grow even more charged with anticipation. Her hands moved with practiced grace as she shuffled the tarot deck, her fingers brushing over the cards with a sense of reverence. She laid three cards out in front of me, each one carefully placed to represent different aspects of my life.
"Let's explore what the cards reveal," she said, her voice imbued with an air of mystique.
She turned over the first card, revealing The Tower. The card's depiction of a crumbling tower struck by lightning. Madame Zaria's eyes met mine with a knowing look. "This represents your past," she said. "A period marked by upheaval and devastation. The Tower reveals the collapse of old structures and the chaos that follows."
I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the card's meaning resonate with my own memories of loss and confusion.
Next, she revealed the second card: The Page of Swords. This card, featuring a young figure holding a sword and gazing intently into the distance. Madame Zaria's gaze lingered on me. "This card represents your present," she said. "You are currently in a state of uncertainty, grappling with conflicting thoughts and emotions. The Page of Swords suggests a restless curiosity and a search for clarity amidst the chaos."
I nodded, the card's depiction mirroring the confusion I felt as I navigated my current situation.
Finally, Madame Zaria turned over the last card: The Death card. Its stark imagery of a skeletal figure on horseback, riding through a desolate landscape. Madame Zaria's expression grew serious. "And this is your future," she said, her voice dropping to a somber tone. "The Death card often signifies an impending significant change or danger. It doesn't always mean literal death but represents the end of a major phase or situation, leading to potential peril."
The room seemed to grow colder as the meaning of the card sank in. I looked at Madame Zaria, feeling a chill run down my spine.
Farrah, observing from her spot, shifted uncomfortably.
Madame Zaria's gaze remained steady; her voice now softer but still filled with warning. "Trust in your instincts, for they will guide you through the trials that lie ahead."
Farrah's concern was apparent as she noticed my rising panic from the Nebula's effects. Her gaze shifted to Madame Zaria, and with a sense of urgency, she spoke up.
"Madame Zaria, pull one more card for her," Farrah implored.
Madame Zaria's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as she shuffled the deck once more. "Ah, seeking more answers, are we?" she said cryptically, her voice laced with a touch of theatricality. "Very well, let us see what the cards reveal for your overall future outcome."
With a dramatic flourish, she pulled the final card and turned it over. The card depicted The Wheel of Fortune, an intricate illustration of a spinning wheel. Madame Zaria leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied the card.
"This is The Wheel of Fortune," she said, her voice low and measured. "It signifies the cycles of destiny, constant change, and forces beyond our control. Life moves in phases, up and down, like the spinning of this wheel. What you have now can easily be lost tomorrow, and what you fear may turn into an unexpected blessing."
She traced her finger around the edge of the card, emphasizing its meaning. "This card represents the inevitability of change, both good and bad. It reminds us that fate is unpredictable, but it also suggests that how you respond to these changes will define your future. The wheel is turning and it's up to you to decide if you'll embrace the change or resist it."
Madame Zaria's gaze lifted to meet mine, her eyes seeming to penetrate the Nebula's haze clouding my mind. "But remember," she added softly, "once the wheel starts spinning, it never stops."
Madame Zaria closed her eyes and seemed to enter a trance-like state. Her voice took on an eerie, solemn tone. "The elders are speaking to me," she intoned. "They warn you of a snake in the grass. An adversary who will reveal themselves in the heat of conflict. Be wary, for this person will strike when you are most vulnerable."
Farrah's face flushed with frustration. "Stop scaring her, Madame Zaria! Can't you give her something reassuring?"
Madame Zaria's gaze remained steady; her expression unyielding. "My dear, fortunes are what they are," she replied calmly. "I cannot control what the cards reveal to me. I merely interpret their message."
Farrah huffed, clearly irritated but unable to argue with the fortune teller's unwavering stance. "Well, thanks for that," she muttered, her tone edged with frustration.
As Madame Zaria's words echoed in my mind, I felt a knot of anxiety tighten in my chest. The prospect of a threat lurking in my future added another layer to my already tangled emotions. Despite Farrah's attempt to soothe me, the fortune teller's cryptic warnings left me with more questions than answers, and the haze of the drug only intensified my sense of foreboding.
The words snake in the grass echoed in my mind. I immediately thought of Aspen and Marge. Both of them had their secrets, their subtle manipulations—Aspen with her cold arrogance, and Marge with her seemingly kind but calculating ways.
My thoughts spiraled. The idea that I couldn't even recognize the danger was suffocating. I had no idea who to trust or when the betrayal would happen. Was the snake already close, watching, waiting for the right moment? Or was it still lurking in the shadows, unseen and unnoticed?
Farrah nudged me, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. "C'mon," she said, her voice light but firm. "Let's get out of here. Madame Zaria's creeping me out, and we need to find something more fun to do."
I blinked, still trying to wrap my head around the fortune, but Farrah was already on her feet, urging me along with that infectious energy of hers. I wasn't sure if it was the Nebula, the fortune, or just the chaos of the Vault itself, but I suddenly felt the need to escape the suffocating tension that had been building.
"Yeah," I muttered, standing up slowly.
Farrah grinned and grabbed my arm, pulling me away from Madame Zaria's stall before I had time to think twice. The heavy weight of the fortune clung to me, but Farrah's insistence was a welcome distraction.
She led me down another winding corridor, her steps quick and purposeful as if she knew exactly where to go. We turned a corner, and the faint sound of laughter echoed from further down the alley. As we approached, I saw a small crowd gathered around a performer. He stood on a makeshift stage, controlling a marionette that danced with jerky but oddly graceful movements. The puppet's arms flailed as it wobbled across the platform, making exaggerated gestures that had the crowd chuckling.
The marionette wasn't just dancing—it was talking too. The performer's voice was sharp and witty, throwing out silly insults at the passersby. "Hey, you with the weird hat! Is that your head or did you steal it from a garden gnome?" The crowd roared with laughter, and the man in the hat just shook his head, grinning.
The performer's tip jar sat at the front of the stage, but it wasn't filled with just coins or cash. Inside were a hodgepodge of random objects—trinkets, small tools, bits of scrap metal, and other things that passed as currency in the Vault. The marionette pointed a tiny wooden finger at the jar and quipped, "Look at this treasure! We've got enough junk here to start a museum!"
Farrah leaned in close to me, her breath warm against my ear as she whispered, "See? This is what you need. Something light, something fun." She nudged me again, and I couldn't help but smile, letting the silly humor and chaotic energy of the scene wash over me.
Farrah and I sat down, leaning against the cool, uneven wall, watching the marionette performer continue his act. The puppet's clumsy movements and playful insults flowed effortlessly, but as I sat there, the sounds began to fade. The crowd's laughter, the creaking of the wooden marionette, even Farrah's occasional giggle—all of it dulled as the Nebula took hold, relaxing me further into its warm embrace.
My mind wandered, untethered. Instead of the usual rush of painful memories or the grit of survival, something softer came to the surface. I thought about my life on the streets, but it wasn't the struggle that filled my mind. Instead, I remembered the quiet, golden moments.
I could see myself perched on a rooftop at dawn, watching the sun break over the city skyline, painting everything in soft shades of pink and gold. The smell of rain from a summer storm rose in my thoughts, fresh and earthy. I closed my eyes and could almost feel the spring breeze against my skin, gentle and full of promise, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and the warmth of a day just beginning.
For the first time in what felt like forever, those memories didn't hurt. They were peaceful, almost beautiful. I let myself drift further, feeling the rare comfort they brought. The Vault and all its chaos slipped away, and for just a moment, I felt like I was somewhere else—somewhere simpler, somewhere good.