Hey, guys! I've been reading a whole lot of songfics lately, and I've also been listening to some songs by Eminem that involve drug use. (You can probably tell that if you've been reading two of my other stories, This Is Prim and A Deadly Spark.) Besides, I've always thought that the morphlings from District Six deserve some recognition. So this is the result. Also, I made up the 'morphling pills' for one of my stories, This Is Prim. Like it says in the summary, this is not a songfic. I'm just saying what this was inspired from. Also, I don't own the song excerpt from "Drug Ballad" by Eminem that I'm using for an introduction. Enjoy! Tell me what you think! :)

'Cause every time I try to go to leave

Someone keeps pullin' on my sleeve

I don't wanna but I gotta stay

These drugs really got a hold of me

- "Drug Ballad" by Eminem

Addicting Victory

It's been a while since I got back to District Six after my Games. Somewhere after the district's victory celebrations have died down, and somewhere before my Victory Tour. I don't exactly keep track of how much time is going past. It's days, though. Weeks. Really, I don't fucking care. I don't give a fuck. I'm just sick of waking up every damn night to nightmares about the arena. I'm so sick of seeing the faces of the dead tributes every night. So now I'm barely sleeping at all. Now I stay up.

Hunter, my mentor, taught me the supposedly 'complex' art of getting high. He lives next door to me. I remember the Games, when he teased me all the time. Like I could help it. But now, he's more sympathetic to my pain. He's the one who introduced me to the drug-dealing operation of the district. And man, it's like I'm very slowly setting fire to my piles of victory money. The stuff I'm getting is fucking strong. Okay, so it's only prescription drugs stolen from the Capitol and the local doctors, but oh, well. It's enough for me when I get the good stuff. Morphling. Hunter kept blabbering on about how good it was, so I decided to try some, too. In the Capitol and the fancy places, they've got it in the form that it can be drank or taken like a normal shot, but here in the districts, we stick to the slightly cheaper pills.

I stare up at the ceiling of my bedroom hazily, lying on my bed. I barely have any desire to get up, but then I remember. I'm out of morphling... shit! I leap out of bed as best as I can in my blurry state, scrambling down the stairs, tripping. Good thing I got my two hours of sleep in my clothes. I pull a rain jacket on over my shirt, zipping it up the front and pulling up the hood. I try to pass the kitchen without my father hearing me. I'm suddenly glad that my mother left him. One less person to worry about.

Shit, my father sees me walking out the door. "Alexia!" he says. There's a really good smell coming from the kitchen. "I made breakfast, sweetie, want any?" I sniff. Mm, smells like he made muffins or something. After all, his grandmother was the best baker in District Six before she died.

"No," I say, shoving a handful of money in my rain jacket pocket. "I'm going to go to the market with Hunter. You trust him, right?" Okay, I know that Dad doesn't trust Hunter at all. Hunter's a drug addict, and his guiding and my victory are pushing me along the same path that he took.

Wrong question. "No, actually, Alexia, I don't!" he says forcefully. "You're my daughter, and I don't want you turning into a drug addict like him. Look at you." He washes his hands in the sink. "Lexi, honey, look at you. You're already hooked on that morphling stuff. You look awful. It's killing you, you know that? And you're addicted. You spend so much time with Hunter... are you sleeping with him?" he asks out of the blue.

"Dad!" I yell. That's disgusting. My drug-addict mentor. "He's twenty-nine years old, and I'm seventeen! That's perverted! You're confusing rapist and victor." I open the door again, rain pounding the sidewalk. "I'm going. You can't stop me."

My father's face hardens. "Fine," he says indifferently. It's like a stab in my heart to hear him say it like that. "Fine. Go off and get high on prescription drugs and black-market morphling. Have a good time killing yourself." I stand there for a second, staring blankly at him. "What are you waiting for?" he says coldly. "Go. I don't know what's getting into you, but I know that the daughter I used to have would never act like this."

I nod numbly and run out the door into the rain, slipping on the steps. I run next door and bang on Hunter's door until he answers. His eyes are crossed a little, and he doesn't look like he's got much motor control. Yeah, I'll bet he's already high. But he's the only person who understands me now. His face is unshaven, with prickly brown stubble, and his eyes have heavy dark circles underneath. He probably hasn't slept in days. "Hey," I say. "Want to go to the market and get some more morphling? I'm out."

He laughs, giving me a big hug. It's clear that he hasn't washed in a while, since he stinks like sweat. "You burn right through those pills," he says with a laugh. "All right, I'll get a jacket on." He grabs a dirty jacket and pulls it on. "C'mon, sexy Lexi," he says with a smirk. I punch him in the shoulder playfully with a grin. "Race you, Alex!" he says, and we race down the rainy streets, splashing in the puddles like excited little kids.

Except kids don't usually get so excited about getting high like we are.

When we get to the alleys, we slow down. Hunter's slower than me by a lot, since he's been an addict ever since he was a fifteen-year-old victor, but I slow down for him. We get out our money, and Hunter and I wait for the dealers to come. Sure, District Six doesn't exactly have a spotless operation, but it's good enough for me. I hope I can carry all the bottles of morphling pills.

One of the dealers comes out of the shadows. "Hey, victors," he greets. He's lugging some cases of pill bottles. "You want some morphling pills?" We both nod. Hunter only gets three bottles, since he's got a stash at home, but I get ten. Sure, it costs me so much that all I've got is some loose change in my pocket, but I don't care. I stuff the bottles into my pockets, and we walk back to our homes without a single word passing between us.

I don't pay attention to my dad when I walk inside. I run up to my room, dumping the bottles of morphling pills on the bed as I pull off my jacket and throw it on the floor, letting the rain drip on my carpet. I pull the grate off of the air conditioner and stick all but one of my pill bottles into a little stashing place that I made. Dad still hasn't found it. I grin.

Then I go into the bathroom and slam the door shut. I run the hot water in my bathtub and open the pill bottle. I take pill after pill, until I feel sick to my stomach and my head's blurry and spinning. Somehow, I end up soaking in the burning hot water of my bathtub, collapsed in the tub and taking more morphling. I've still got all my clothes on, and they stick to my skin. I wait patiently as the pain and the nightmares burn away into nothing and fog and haze that prevents me from seeing the bad stuff.

Later, sometime in the afternoon, I'm still there. And my father opens the door to see me half-asleep and high, almost drowning in my bathtub, all of my clothes on. And the last thing I hear is this -or maybe I'm imagining it, maybe I'm just high...

"They're going to know you as the drug addict victor from District Six forever."