Injected

BY : No_Future_No_Feelings
Category: Reality TV > Viva la Bam
Dragon prints: 932
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrity I am writing about. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter One - Innocent

It all started out with one 'innocent' little hit.

Ever since they were kids, Bam was somehow able to convince an obliging Wednesday to do anything. No matter how stupid or dangerous she knew it was, if Bam told her to do it, and the cameras were rolling – she agreed without hesitation..

She should have known better, of course – even she realized this. She should have stopped listening to him when she was twelve. When she was twelve, a horrific, tiny version of the Bam she knew now, had somehow convinced her to jump off the roof of his house and into his older brother Jesse's arms; the series of events which would lead to her cracking several bones in her wrist, leaving her with the half moon scar that she still had to this day.

Right now they were both eighteen, a mere six years from the events mentioned above, and he was once again attempting to convince Wednesday to do something stupid.

Bam and her were sitting on his plushy couch in the basement, the lights dimmed and the radio blasting with the sounds of Metallica's Black Album. Bam had persuaded her to come downstairs. To do what, she didn't know. It was probably to film, she told herself. Bam was always filming.

Normally he'd call upon her when he needed someone to follow behind him with a skateboard and tape, or capture him on the mini ramp now built in his basement. He was passionate about skating, and had already gained enough fame and money to buy his own house, regardless of the fact that he were still a youth and chose to live with his parents, Phil and April.

This time, instead of handing her a camera, he simply plopped himself down on the couch, patting the spot next to him with an open and eager hand. “Sit!” He demanded, and she obliged, naturally – She'd do anything for Bam, anything in the world.

“Look what I got!” He exclaimed, bouncing up and down a bit as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny plastic bag filled with nuggets of green and slight purple. He was facing her, sitting Indian style with a smile so big it almost beamed. Wednesday merely stared at him, letting her eyes glance from his face to the product in his hand.

“It's weed!” He said, trying desperately to tug apart the seams of the casing which, upon closer look appeared to be the bottom plastic of a cigarette package; the top rolled over and melted closed with the flame of a lighter.

“I'm not an idiot,” She replied hastily, rolling her eyes at him. “I know what it is. My mother used to smoke it all the time.” Bam stopped and looked at her, adverting his attention from the wrapper he was still fumbling with.

“I'm sorry,” He apologized, running a hand with open fingers across the back of his head and scratching the hair that lie there. “I'd forgotten all about her. You're like my family now... except, well, not... ya know?” He was trying to make the situation better, regardless of the fact that he sounded like a complete and utter idiot.

Her head tilted to the side involuntarily, and the glistening blue that mimicked her own sat surrounded by a sea of long, curly locks, begging for her forgiveness. “If you don't want to do it, I understand.” Bam smiled, looking dopey with his lower lip cascading a bit. “I just thought it would be fun, ya know. We hardly ever do shit like this.”

“No,” She shook her head, curling the side of her mouth upward, she grinned back, unable to stay mad at him for more than five minutes. “It's fine, really. If you want me to do it with you, then I'll do it.”

Wednesday scooted closer to him, putting her toe sock covered feet up and onto the couch, hugging her knees as she rested her head on his shoulder and watched him break apart the nuggets, separating it from a group of tiny seeds.

“Where did you get this from, anyways?” She asked, holding the CD case where the pot now sat in tiny flakes so that Bam could reach into his pocket and grab a packet of rolling papers. The package was multi-colored, and when he pulled one out to begin rolling she found that they were each decorated with the gay pride flag.

“Brandon Novak, this kid who hangs around Fairman's all the time.”
“Nudie?” She questioned, taking the package of papers from Bam, she read the sides and discovered that they would make the weed smell and taste like strawberry's.

“Yeah, Nudie Novak Remember him?” Bam asked, all of the herb successfully hidden inside the pocket that the rainbow rolling papers had formed. “He even showed me how to roll a joint real good.”

“We went to high school with him, didn't we?” Wednesday placed the papers back into the cargo pocket of his jeans. “He slept almost every class. How did he pass?”

“He didn't,” Bam replied, placing his tongue along the paper that still stuck out, he closed it off, starting from the middle and then finishing the edges. “All he ever did was get high, so he flunked out and became a drug dealer.”

“And he gets idiots like you to buy from him, which is how he makes money, right?” She asked, a bit of remorse and anger rising in her voice.

“It's just a little weed, Wednesday, what can it hurt?” Bam replied, pulling a scratched, silver Zippo lighter with a Pink Floyd logo gracing the front, out of the same pocket she had placed the papers back into.

“But I heard he can get other stuff.” Bam continued, running the cap of his lighter against his pant leg and turning on the flame, bringing one end of the joint to his lips, and the fire to the other.

Wednesday watched him closely, watched him as he inhaled and the bright orange grew more vibrant in the dank light of the basement.

“Like what?” She questioned, although she had no idea why. She really had no interest in knowing what kind of drugs Nudie could get, but was intrigued none the less.

Bam pulled the joint away from his mouth with a smug face, like it hurt to keep the smoke in his lungs for to long. He passed her the weed and watched as she put the smoke to her lips just as he had done, then took a big hit.

“He can get all sorts of shit,” Bam finally began to finish his sentence. His voice was low now, and his eyes were wide as he gazed upon the burning cigarette in his hand. “Everything you can imagine. Weed, speed, shrooms, coke, crack, you name it; Nudie can get it.”

The joint stayed in Bam's hands as he finished off half of it with Wednesday eying it hungrily. He passed it once it was decided that he were done, and would let her have the rest of it.

“Sounds like someone we should avoid.” She said, puffing off of the weed until it were merely a roach and she couldn't smoke it without burning her lips or fingers.

Bam's eyes were wildly and glazed. Red veins began creeping inward from the corners, taking away the glistening and replacing it with a dull haze. He was no longer as pretty as she remembered him, not with the toxins overtaking him.

Now he were merely a shell, the same as she began to feel. Bam was gone, off in some far away land that kept his brain and imagination safe; while the rest of him, his cocoon, stayed put on that couch, staring at Wednesday with wide eyes and a gaping mouth before saying, “Sounds like someone we should keep around.”



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