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Rush	By : Kiniaq Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Depeche Mode Views: 1670 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Depeche Mode. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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2.

Someone knocked at the door.

The magic was gone. In a flash Dave completely forgot about his affections, his fantasies and his fresh discovered desires. All of that could wait. Martin could wait. The drugs couldn't. “This won't take long,” he said, jumping off of the bed and trying not to look into his friend's eyes. “I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere.”

Before he got to the door the knocking was repeated, this time it seemed little quicker and more impatient. He pulled the door open to see two men in black, leather jackets. “Hi, you must be Dave,” the smaller one, who looked like a lawful citizen with his decent haircut and almost sincere smile, greeted him in a nice, smooth voice.

“Yeah, and you're late,” Dave barked at him, his craving even more persistent now, that the drug was almost within his grasp. “Come in.”

He turned and went to get the money, not even waiting for the men to come in. His hands were shaking badly and he felt a light sheen of sweat over his back and down chest, but he didn't care. He knew everything would end soon and again he would feel so fucking wonderful, and the sex would be incredible. Oh, he would show Martin what it's like to be fucked by the rock god! But before that...

“Right,” he turned to see both dealers standing in the middle of the room, looking around with mild curiosity. What the fuck is this? A high school trip to the Dave Gahan museum?! “Got the stuff?” he asked, coming to them and trying desperately to hide his eagerness behind an arrogant attitude. “Easy there, man,” the other one, a broad shouldered Latino type with a raven ponytail, smiled at him reassuringly. “We're not trying to screw you, we're too honest of businessmen for such tricks.”

“Here,” 'Lawful' produced a small package from his inner pocket. “The best shit in this city. All for you.”

“Good,” Dave handed him the money and grabbed the package with greedy hands. He moved to get his 'toiletry bag' with all the needed things, then he stopped in the middle of his step. He couldn't do it in front of those guys, he couldn't go to the bedroom either. Martin was still there and making his friend watch him taking a shot was the last thing he wanted right now. So, the only place left was bathroom. He hated to hide in there with the fix, it was such a cliché – junkie tying off his vain while slumped under the sink! It wasn't his style, *he* wasn't a junkie! But right now he didn't have any other choice.

“Hey, Dave, we had a hard night,” 'Latino' smiled at him again. “Do you mind if we have a drink or something before we go?”

“Not at all,” Dave answered distractedly, gathering his stuff. “Take whatever you want. I've got something special in the bedroom, feel free to use it. Be right back.”

He slammed the bathroom door behind him and sighed with relief. Alone at last! Half consciously he started to prepare the fix, all the moves so familiar to his body that he didn't even have to pay attention to them any more. It had all become a kind of ritual for him, so reassuring and soothing with its repetitiveness that he instantly started to relax and by the time he had the syringe filled, his hands weren't shaking at all.

He always took extra time with the needle, choosing the place carefully, making sure he would get it into the vain without causing any bruises that could be recognized. He hated the sign of bruised inner arms, it made him think of that dreaded word – junkie. No, he couldn't be seen as junkie by anyone. He was a rock star, and rock stars weren't junkies, period.

The small prick as the needle entered his vein made him shiver a little with excitement and anticipation. With one smooth move he pushed the liquid happiness into his body, then he threw the empty syringe away and closed his eyes, waiting for the drug to kick into his system.

It came faster than he expected – the hot wave, the overwhelming rush of the purest happiness swirled inside of his body, filling him so much he was sure he'd burst any second now. Oh yesss, that shit was strong! So deliciously strong! The wonderful power grabbed him and spun him, turning the world upside down. He threw his head backwards, laughing without a sound, tasting the air like the finest wine, rushing up into the bright blue sky, flying so fast and so high, bodiless but full of senses; spinning in the endless whirls, faster and faster, until he couldn't tell up from down, now from then and here from there. What great stuff! What a great feeling!

He was still grinning as he slowly slid to the floor, losing consciousness at last.

***

Martin was sitting on the bed, unsure what he should do. Once again tonight he was fighting the urge to run away, and this time he'd probably succumb to his desire, but those two thugs were blocking his exit. He didn't like the fact that they were still there, wandering around the suite, talking quietly and laughing every few seconds. They had a really nasty laugh. And nasty faces. Martin could see them every now and then as they passed by the bedroom's door, looking at him with some sort of disturbing curiosity.

He tried to stay calm, but the truth was they scared him. He always tried to avoid any contact with Dave's dealers, knowing from his own experience that the harder the drug was, the more vicious were the dealers. Usually Dave tried to keep his addiction to himself, so the rest of the band saw his suppliers only occasionally. But this wasn't the usual situation, and Martin hated the fact that he felt so vulnerable and exposed under their penetrating gaze.

He moved to the side of the bed and swung his legs back on the floor. They couldn't see him now, but it didn't help much. They were still there and Dave was still in the bathroom. Was he all right? Surely, a single shot shouldn't take him *that* long!

Martin started to bite his thumbnail, shooting worried glances towards the door, almost sure now there was something terribly wrong with this whole situation. Maybe he should go and check on Dave? But he knew how uneasy his friend felt about being seen with the needle. He didn't want to upset him, because that would mean all his plans for tonight would be ruined.

“See? It is something special,” the voice that came from the door caught him by surprise. He turned his head to see both of the guys standing there and grinning at him. “What do you want?” he asked as they came inside.

“Dave said we could use whatever we want,” said the smaller of the two, as he sat casually next to Martin, making him back away almost instantly. He disliked them even more when they were that close. He could see the bloodshot eyes, the slightly running noses, and the quick movements. He could recognize all those symptoms. He had seen it before, hell, he'd been there himself. And the place was called 'cocaine'.

Oh shit.

“Dave also said he's got something special in here,” the other one circled the bed and picked up the glass Dave had left on the bed side table. “I thought he was talking 'bout the booze, but now I'm not so sure...”

“I think you should leave,” Martin tried to calm his voice, so they didn't know he was already on the edge of panic. “Dave will be back soon and--”

“I wouldn't count on that, sweetheart,” the guy next to him smiled mockingly. “He's probably too stoned now to even move his sorry ass from the toilet seat.”

“Yeah, I bet he's already out cold,” the bigger one crawled on the bed behind Mart's back. “We sell pretty heavy shit, y'know? The kind that can knock your shoes off.”

Sudden visions of Dave lying unconscious on cold bathroom floor made Martin jump to his feet. He wanted to, no – he had to, just had to go and check on his friend, help him and...

“And where do you think you're going?” the guy grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down. Mart was too surprised to react quickly enough, so he lost his balance and landed back on the bed. “He won't be much of a use for another couple of hours, so how about having your fun with us, sweetheart?”

“Let me go!” Martin pulled his hand away from the guy's grasp. “And get the hell out of here!”

“What a feisty li’l kitten,” Mart heard a low voice and he felt someone's arms encircling him from behind. He didn't even have to think, he acted out of reflex as he jabbed both of his elbows sharply into the other's ribs. It worked; he heard a surprised grunt and the hands were gone. So again he tried to get up and get away. But just then he saw swift movement in front of his face and suddenly his cheek stung as his head whipped around.

“You biting, bitch?!” the smaller one stood above him, his hand still raised. Martin blinked at him, too shocked to react in any way. The other guy used this moment to grab a fistful of Martin's hair in a tight grip. “Guess someone here needs a lesson.”

That's when it came to him. That's when he understood why he hadn't liked those stares, those laughs, those guys. He finally understood what they wanted from him.

“Let me go!” he yelled, panic surfacing rapidly, making him struggle for freedom, making him ignore the pain on his scalp. “Shut the fuck up!” the guy slapped him again, and then punched him, but Martin didn't care. He was kicking and punching blindly, and he even managed to hit them few times, before the heavy blow right into his stomach knocked all of the wind out of him. He doubled over, fighting for air when someone pulled his hair again, lifting his head up.

“See that, bitch?” an angry voice breathed into his ear. “If you don't behave, we will have to ruin that pretty face of yours.” Martin's clouded mind slowly recognized the thing shining before his eyes. The knife. His body went still, his breath became shallow as the panic finally gripped its claws into him. They'll kill me, he thought, they will kill me!

“Now, that's better,” the voice crooned, hot lips touching Martin's skin. “I always say good argument can help to make one willing. ‘Cause you see, I hate rapes. But you can't rape a willing person, can you?”

The hands started to roam all over his rigid body, squeezing and probing and tugging at his clothes. The hands turned him around and threw him back on the bed, while some more hands ripped his shirt and his trousers off. He tried to get away, to hide somewhere deep inside his own head, but he couldn't. The hands were calling him back. And there were the voices, sleazy voices, spitting obscenities, laughing in that nasty way and telling him he should like what they would do to him.

When he felt those cold, sticky fingers gripping his ass, trying to get further, once again the panic took control. He started to struggle again, and he started to scream, for help, for Dave to come and to rescue him. But there was no help, there was no Dave. There were only those hands, hitting him everywhere until his screams and pleas and all his will to fight were drowning in his own blood.

You're a pretty li’l thing, the voices were saying. And things are to be used. So we will use you. We'll use every inch of your sweet body for our fun. We will explore every part of it, we'll tear it apart and leave our marks as many times as we want to. You're a thing, a hot piece, that's what your boyfriend said. He lent you to us and we gladly accepted. So open your pretty mouth bitch and suck it, open your pretty legs and let us fuck you raw, till the blood flows; oh yeah, that's right, you're so good, so tight, let's do it one more time, and then again; say you like it, bitch, say you like it!

Finally his body had enough, so it slowly shut down, taking his mind along. His mind that was filled with just a few simple words, playing over and over again, like a broken record.

Where are you, Dave?

Why did you leave me?
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Rush