To my readers and fans of 'Quirk Interrupted,' thank you for your ongoing support. I know you are wondering when the sequels of the other series are being released. The truth is, this anthology are stories that I am still working on. Ideas in which I can't find the proper place. And once it gets the proper place, then I will have better use to it. Please believe that I will plan to continue on this as soon as ideas come. And ideas can be harder than I have thought.
This particular story is a bittersweet drama. It started from a documentary my girlfriend and I watched about drug addicts. I have never seen other MHA/BNHA fanfics do this, so this is a first.
Once again, this is not bashing any of the characters. I just want to develop perspective. Not many people discuss issues like drug addiction and homelessness. It is still taboo in some areas. So, if you don't like my story, then feel free to check out the other MHA/BNHA stories. For those who like, please comment, favorite, follow.
As a reminder, I don't support, endorse, and/or condone drug use, substance abuse, or anything portrayed in this story. This is a work of fiction. Anyone who can deviate fantasy from reality, please continue to read.
Warning: this story involves the use of drugs, substance abuse, and among other things with our characters. Discretion is STRONGLY advised! "I write what's in my heart. Could no longer if you are no longer rocking with it."
His crystal green eyes marked the shape of the poster on the wall of the bathroom stall. He had recognized it, or at least his brain recognized it. Like something of a trigger. A snap that can remind someone of a not too distant past. He overlooked the scrawlings of graffiti. He passed the inklings of good time phone numbers, mushroom towers, and racial epithets. He saw through that. It took him back a few years. Back when his days as a young sun god. His mother called him her little emerald boy. She often called him Icchan for short. No one but his mother would call him by that nickname. It was a title, better yet a birthright. Anyone who called him Icchan was ignored or overlooked. The name was permitted by his mother and only his mother.
Being a single parent wasn't easy for her. She worked two jobs to make ends meet for the young emerald child. Days as an office worker and evening waitress at the snack bar were overwhelming. In the morning, she was suitable. Her dress uniform, neat and pressed. As early as ten years old, Izuku was accustomed to iron his mother's uniform. He practiced one afternoon after getting into a small scuffle at the local dry cleaner. The owner of the store kept the young boy close. That one day there gave him the skills of being part of the chore wheel to keep the house functioning. Back to his mother, she was neat and pressed for the day. Izuku always double checked if his mother passed the test to look professional. With his two thumbs in the air, she passed. She bid him farewell with a peck on the cheek and was off for the day.
Izuku attended school as much as possible. School wasn't an important thing to him. Even if he did attend, he was the subject of ridicule and harassment from his classmates. He was met with sneering, jeering, and of course, verbal and physical assaults. Not a day went by when he was met with altercations from a classmate. Like the situation with his mother, he looked at it as a business. His mother gave him a philosophy that stuck to him like glue. "In order to get through, we have to go through. Heaven isn't heaven unless we have gone to hell."
He lived by that code as if he had stolen her advice and took it as his own. He overlooked the bullying from his classmates. It didn't matter that he wore the same two pair of corduroy jeans. He didn't care that he only had a few shirts in his closet. He overlooked that his shoes were either from the grocery store or at a discount store. The biggest obstacle was overlooking that he was an only child in a single parent household.
Where's your father? Did your father abandon you? You are a bastard, you are a bastard! I hear that your mother is a whore. Your whore mother works at a drink bar. Are you a future whore, Midoriya?
Those remarks alone were returned with a blind fury of a fist. So, there were some things he couldn't overlook. The one landmine that anybody doesn't want to step on was on talking about his mother. No man or beast or even the gods were going to disrespect his mother.
When school was finished, the young emerald boy tended to his afternoon duties according to school rules. He was expedient and organized as possible so he was able to return home at a decent time. His neighborhood wasn't the safest in the city. The way back wasn't as safe. He learned to take routes to avoid the bully, the shysters, the hustlers, the pimps, the prostitutes, and the like. His mother always told him to be careful. So much so, she invested in giving him a knife and a can of pepper spray.
I rather see you be judged by twelve than being carried by six.
He hid the items in a small tote bag behind the dumpster at his school. When his duties were finished, he hurriedly went to his spot to retrieve his stash. He knew the Student Council members wouldn't check anything off-campus. And without fail, everything was safe. With his weapons in place, he took the twenty-minute journey from his school to his residence. He kept a silent prayer as he passed through the very people that detriment, corrupted, and polluted the very neighborhood that they themselves were raised. Poisoning their own people made Izuku sick to his young, brittle bones. He spoke that figuratively for he had dreams of one day leaving this place.
As instructed, the young emerald boy returned home. He locked the doors with the two locks that his mother had installed. He went and turned on the television. His mother told him to look at one hour of television programming before doing homework. Once homework was finished, leave it on the table for her to inspect. He had to eat dinner. He had to read a book, take a shower, and then retreat to bed. His mother tended to be home around an hour or two after he had gone to sleep.
His mother never returned home for her second job. She usually carried her outfit in her tote bag or kept it in her locker at the snack bar. Izuku didn't want to hear the tormented tales that his classmates heard from their fathers that frequented that snack bar.
No, his mother wasn't a streetwalker, prostitute, or any demeaning word one says to a woman.
She did drink, she did flirt, and occasionally, she did serve her clients on some "outcall" work. Those were the nights when she phoned the owner of the dry cleaner and asked if she could watch her son overnight. Before the sun would rise, she was there to pick up her son. Nevertheless, it was something the young emerald child didn't like.
When all things were completed for the day, he put on the only pair of pajamas that he owned and he went to bed. Before he nestled within his thin quilts, he got on his knees and said a prayer.
Now I lay me, down to sleep
I pray to my gods, my soul to keep
If I should die before I wake
I pray to my gods, my soul to take
Bless my mother, bless myself! Amen
That sing-song was very meaningful for his mother had planted into his brain when he was a tiny child. Izuku swelled with tears as he was alone in his bedroom. The sounds of arguing from his neighbors; babies wailing; a drug deal going on; and inevitably, the sounds of screams as someone has been stabbed. He covered his ears with his pillow and recited that prayer until he fell asleep.
Every now, the door would open. The thin light brightened his eyelids. He couldn't see, but he could smell the brewery that entered the room. His mother, drenched in cologne of many strangers, staggering to her only son to give him a goodnight kiss. He felt her warm, tender lips on his forehead. He didn't care if she reeked of cigarettes. He just knew that his mother was home and that kiss only made his dreams sweeter.
He turned the poster away from his sight as if it was hazardous to his health. He didn't want any reminders of his past. All things were past away as he sat on the toilet stall. He reached into his pocket to retrieve something he had never thought in a million years he would do. Back during the days of After School specials and Saturday mini-series on the issues of teenagers. He used to laugh at those characters. During those Saturday afternoons when he started junior high. He could still imagine the bowl of katsudon on his lap and a bottle of soda next to his thigh. He flipped the channels rapidly to watch those specials. Around that time, he wasn't alone. When his mother worked the weekends at the snack bar, he had a friend that came and visit.
A friend who he kept close to this very day. A friend who adored him from the far since he was a young boy. A friend that would go to the ends of the Earth for him. If he went to hell, that friend would go with him. Through the wire and back was how much dedicated his friend was.
That very thing that is killing Izuku within is killing his friend as well. It didn't matter for her for she would do anything to keep Izuku close. These two have a history and she didn't want to lose him. Even if meant joining the emerald child.
She, too, has a past of her own.
And that is something to be shared in another time.
Izuku licked his lips as he pulled bottled water from his backpack. He opened his mouth to parched his dry throat. The sensation of the water soothed him. He emptied the bottle until he felt the same way the bottle was going to be: empty.
He kept the cap, placing the bottle on the floor. He had to scan his surroundings. He didn't want to attract any attention that could put him in the worst predicament.
He still kept his weapons but didn't want it to be necessary. The last thing he wanted to see was the flashing badge of an undercover or a cop or any law enforcement period.
He retrieved his lighter. He put it on his lap. He had to think where did he put his latest stash he just bought earlier on the way to the restroom. He realized that he put it in his sock drawer. No longer did the now older emerald teen kept anything that required any searching in his pockets. It was too risky. He wasn't going to risk any jail time, especially if what he was doing was going to be on his record. He thought of his mother, of her philosophies. What was she thinking right now if she learned that her little Icchan was doing things that contradict the things that she taught him?
He blinded himself of that thought. Not wanting the fear of the emerald-haired woman entering the restroom stall and stepping inside to see that her son was doing things she taught him not to do. Would she weep? Would she snatch it away? Would she hit him?
Honestly, he wished that it would happen.
She wasn't there. It was just him, free to do his act.
The small wrapped cookie sheet contained the brown powder that reminded him of tar. He made him think back when he was in cooking class and his teacher handed him a small patch of brown powder that was cinnamon. He used to make the sweetest treats that he always prepared for his mother whenever he came home.
Well, this concoction was not cinnamon. It wasn't a chief ingredient for his precious treats for his mother. However, this concoction is an ingredient that gives him such a rush that the emerald teen may feel invincible.
But just for a minute, just for a minute. Subjective to the moment where he couldn't be anything. Relishing in the sea of regret. Negate any of the hopes and dreams that his mother put herself through so that Izuku can have a decent way of living that she didn't.
Now, he was in the very thing that he was amongst those who knew of his demise. Just another crab in the bucket. No matter how much he wanted to climb, he would get pulled down.
He poured the powder into the cap. He used the leftover water to dilute it, making it a mix. With the needle, he stirred the concoction until it was liquefied. He used the lighter to heat the substance, making sure it is at his right temperature, its boiling point in which the needle can take it.
He went into his backpack and got his phone charger. He didn't have time to go to the store to purchase any latex gloves or tourniquets, but the charger would suffice. He was going to need it later when he needed his phone to boost. Phone calls were among him. Who was going to call?
It didn't matter at this time. Izuku needed his fix. The brown powder was now liquid. He inserted the needle and injected the contents to the very needle that was familiar with such substance. It was routine for everyone and everything. The liquid was in the needle. He placed down the cap, securing it tightly on the bottle. In his many years of doing this. He paused, lamenting on that very word, years. Not months, days, weeks, years.
He secured it tightly so he wouldn't leave evidence. Drugs were frowned upon in the city. Drugs were coming into the city. It's one thing of the presence. It's worse when one gets caught. It was shameful regardless of which one, but the latter was worst. The city newspaper didn't have any problem posting, better yet, bombard the citizens of their latest drug arrest and bust. Using the picture, detailing the charges. They dig into one's background and use their life against them.
He was grateful to have never been caught. But he knew there was too many time grace can spare him.
His upper arms were his place of choice. He never liked using areas where it can be exposed for people to see. He wrapped the charger around his arm. Using his teeth, he secured the arm tightly so a vein could be found. He made taps, making his veins become alive. Like clockwork, the veins were ready to expose itself to another batch of that brown powder it became accustomed to. Of course, there were other veins that struggled, thirsting, yearning, and craving for that brown substance. And there were veins that just simply had enough.
Once he found a suitable vein, he held on to his charger with his teeth. With his free hand, he winced as the needle enter his vein. He let out a small yelp as he wasn't used to the pain each time he felt the needle enter his arm. Although familiar, it doesn't mean he was used to it. He allowed the needle to empty all of the contents inside of his arm.
It was done.
He released the charger. He sat back against the wall. In a moment, any of his worries were fading away. His past didn't matter. His present, his future didn't matter. The possible line that could be waiting for him to leave didn't matter. Having the last name of Midoriya didn't matter. That brown substance reminded him to alleviate any pain of real life.
He felt good, that mellow feeling. He was riding the clouds that would ascend him to the heavens. Damned the going-through process of hell where he had a shortcut that could take him there.
When he was done, he prepared for the cleanup. He put his water bottle back into his backpack. He returned his charger as well. He stood up to get on his knees. He put the needle into the toilet water. He was short of money on purchasing more needles, so he cleaned it out with the water. He did it a few times before returning the needle in his backpack. He tossed the small cookie sheet in the toilet and flushed.
He exited the stall. He went to the mirror where he checked himself. That was the norm these days. That torment, that disgusted look he gave himself. That one final look of how his life was turning. It made him looked back when he had his one and only visit with his father when he was eleven years old.
The police were coming. He had hit his mother again. She was wailing as she called for Izuku. His father took his time leaving the residence. Izuku was sitting on the front porch. His father paused, staring at his progeny, the very seed he produced. His father spat on the ground, dusted himself off, and kneeled before the young emerald boy.
This world isn't going to give you anything. So why bother. You are like me, a dreamer. And you see where it got me. Do yourself a favor and just give up anything you want to do in life. Because it will spit in your face. My final words: expect the worse. That way you will be pleasantly surprised.
Upon hearing those frightening, prophetic words, he, too, faced the wrath of his father.
Izuku still wore the scar that his father gave him those many years ago. Those scars were added among other things in his life.
He spat on the mirror, no longer did he want to see the man he was currently was in this particular juncture. He stepped out of the bathroom and returned to reality.
He excused himself from an elderly woman. It looked as though she was bagging some rutabagas. It gave him such a hunger to his empty stomach. He had already spent the last of his funds on his brown concoction. He just hoped that his friend was able to get some coins.
He shook his head. He knew she wasn't just a friend. They were more than friends. He used the term because he guiltily involved her as well. She admired, better yet, adored him. He remembered the day when she discovered that he was using drugs. He went into shock when she took the needle from his hand and inserted it to her own veins. He was angry, questioning why would she do such a thing. She put her finger to his lips, releasing such a haughty smile.
My love for you extends beyond the ends of the hurt. If you bleed, I bleed. If you hate, I hate.
She finished the injection quickly as she inserted it.
If you suffer, I suffer. And if you are going to use, then I will use to. I love you, Izuku. No matter what you do.
Anybody with a conscience would have thought that moment should have been enough to end it. However, it aroused Izuku's curiosity. Ochako Uraraka was the girl-next-door. She was the daughter of a prominent businessman, with connections to strong political figures in the city. Of all the people in the city of Musutafu, why Izuku Midoriya? Why him? He was the common street urchin. He was born as it were on the wrong side of the tracks. Her personality, let alone, her beauty can pick any desirable being in this city, in this country, in this world.
So, why did she throw it all away for him?
To this very day, it rattles his mind like the high he was currently in. He suddenly realized he was still staring at the women with the rutabagas. He bowed apologetically as he went to search for Ochako.
The woman in question was standing in line at the courtesy desk. She was fidgeting, scratching her palms frantically. If she believed in any superstition, then money was on the way. And technically, it was. It wasn't coming from any other source, but her father. Ochako gave another sob story to her father. She was struggling, she was hungry. She wanted cash to find a place to stay warm for the time being. The same ways to reach her father's heart to retrieve his wallet and give his only daughter some money. As always, she was eternally grateful. Grateful that her father somewhat cared about her. Even if she was no longer the girl next door.
Ochako had so much potential; that's what she told herself as she stood in line. She was on the route of being the heir of the Uraraka fortune.
She was next in line. She put those thoughts aside as she asked the clerk for a money order.
Izuku was feet away from her. His presence gave her a smile. As if she was a child entering a candy store. Izuku reached into his pocket for a cigarette. He waited patiently as Ochako was getting their "boost" to begin their day.
"Hey, Izuku." Her cheerful demeanor remained, always welcoming her man.
"Hey, sweetheart," answered Izuku. "Did your father approved?"
"He sure did," answered Ochako excitedly. She turned to him. "Are you coming down?"
"I am, I am," he answered while sticking his tongue out. "Plus, we need to get ready for today,"
"What's happening today," questioned Ochako as she placed in her request in the slot.
"Going to see Okaa-san today, sweetie," answered Izuku while putting the cigarette behind his ear.
She snapped her fingers. "Oh yeah. You did mention that." She returned her sights on the clerk as she received the funding from her father. Her eyes lit like a Christmas tree whenever she saw the amount of love that was given to her (rather them).
She jumped on her feet while clicking her heels together. It reminded Izuku of their high school days when she was a cheerleader. A silent beauty she was back then.
They were holding hands as they exited the grocery store. They walked down the street in search of a taxi to take them to their next destination.
"$500," she yelped as she knew she had enough money to hold them down for a couple of days. "This should manage us with our drugs and a place to stay for a minute."
"Yeah, it does! Jeeves, my bags," replied Izuku excitedly while snapping his fingers. "Because I have already texted the dope dealer and I had already phoned the crack dealer." He stopped and paused, turning to his girlfriend. "But it won't be until after I see my mother, okay?"
She smiled, displaying the yellowish glow of her dull eyes. She walked forward, pressing her body to Izuku. "Of course, sweetheart."
"After we go see okaa-san, we can get high as much as we want. Get lit, get drunk, get to fucking," said Izuku in a sing-song.
"Get a hotel room," interjected Ochako with a smirk. She glided her hands on Izuku's hips, squeezing tightly.
"Somebody's a little frisky," Izuku purred, grabbing Ochako's ass.
"Do it again," she begged.
Izuku did it once more, attracting the attention of those around them. They were met with disapproval. Despite living in modern times, their public display of affection was considered forbidden in their city. The pair grin as they returned to holding hands as they look for a taxi to go see Izuku's mother.
To be continued...I hope….