My apartment smells like stale beer and regret, the kind that clings to the walls and makes you wonder how you ended up here. The coffee table’s a war zone—empty vodka bottles, a baggie of coke dusted with white, a couple of Adderall pills I stole from some tech bro last week. My nose stings from the last line, my heart’s doing a shitty techno beat, and I’m pacing because sitting still feels like admitting defeat. Rent’s due. Again. Like that’s my fault. Landlords should know better than to expect miracles from someone like me.

  “Pay with my winning smile,” I mutter, snorting a laugh that sounds more like a cough. The mirror above the couch catches my eye, and I avoid it. I know what I’ll see: Ava, twenty-seven, looking like she’s auditioning for a zombie flick. Hollow cheeks, eyes like piss-holes in the snow, hair a greasy black tangle. Not exactly the girl who had college brochures stuffed in her backpack a decade ago.

  My phone buzzes on the counter, screen cracked from when I threw it last month. I squint—Eddie, my dealer. Great. He’s probably pissed I dodged him yesterday. I swipe to answer, already bracing.

  “Ava, you ghostin’ me?” Eddie’s voice is all gravel and bad decisions. “You owe me three hundred. I ain’t a charity.”

  “Eddie, relax,” I say, leaning against the counter, my free hand fishing for the coke baggie. “I’m good for it. Just... give me a week.”

  “A week?” He laughs, the kind that makes my skin crawl. “You said that last month. I’m at your door in ten. Better have somethin’.”

  The line goes dead. My stomach lurches, and not just from the Adderall I popped an hour ago to keep the crash at bay. I glance at the baggie—barely enough for another line. No cash, no job since I got fired from the bar for “sampling” the liquor. I could pawn something, but the TV’s already gone, and my laptop’s held together by duct tape and spite.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, rubbing my temples. My pulse is a jackhammer, and the room’s starting to tilt like a bad carnival ride. I need to focus. I grab the baggie, tap out a line on the counter, and snort it fast, the burn snapping me awake. For a second, the world’s sharp—colors too bright, my thoughts a runaway train. Then it’s just me, wired and empty, staring at a sink full of dishes I haven’t touched in weeks.

  I catch a glimpse of a photo stuck to the fridge, half-buried under a pizza flyer. Me and Casey, seventeen, grinning like idiots at a concert, our arms slung around each other. Her blonde curls, my dark bangs, both of us high on life, not the shit I’m chasing now. My chest tightens, and I look away. Casey’s gone from my life, has been for two years, ever since she kicked me out of our apartment. Couldn’t pay my half, kept lying about it. She begged me to get help, her voice all soft and desperate, like she still believed in the girl I used to be. I told her to fuck off. Last time I saw her.

  I shake my head, hard, like I can dislodge the memory. No time for that. Eddie’s coming, and I’ve got nothing but excuses. I pop another Adderall, the bitter chalk taste grounding me. My hands shake as I rummage through drawers—maybe I stashed cash somewhere, a twenty I forgot. All I find is a dog collar, Percy’s, his name etched in faded leather. My throat closes up. Percy, my brindle Pitt/lab mutt, gone four years now. Hit by a truck, limped through his last days with a busted leg and those big, trusting eyes. Only thing I ever took care of, and I couldn’t even save him.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The room spins, and I grip the counter, breathing fast. The coke’s wearing off, or maybe it’s the Adderall piling on, making my heart feel like it’s clawing out of my chest. I need air. I stumble to the window, crack it open, but the city’s just noise—horns, sirens, life I’m not part of. I lean my forehead against the glass, and for a second, I’m somewhere else. A back road in upstate New York, snow falling, my voice sharp, yelling something I can’t quite hear. My parents’ faces, my brother’s small hands clutching a toy. Then it’s gone, a black hole in my head, the kind I’ve learned not to chase.

  A knock—more like a fist pounding—snaps me back. Eddie. Shit. I glance at the door, then the baggie. One line left. I snort it quick, the burn my only friend. My heart’s a fucking freight train now, but I’m sharp, ready to talk my way out of this. I open the door, and there’s Eddie, all tattoos and bad breath, his eyes narrowed like he’s already done with me.

  “Ava,” he says, stepping in, crowding the space. “Where’s my money?”

  I force a grin, all teeth. “Eddie, c’mon, we’re friends. I’ll have it Monday, swear.”

  He doesn’t smile back. “You think I’m playin’? You’re done jerkin’ me around.” He grabs my wrist, hard, and I yank back, stumbling into the counter. The room’s too bright, too loud, and my chest feels like it’s caving in.

  “Back off,” I snap, but my voice shakes. My vision blurs, and I’m not sure if it’s fear or the drugs. Eddie’s saying something, but it’s drowned out by the blood roaring in my ears. I shove past him, or try to, but my legs give out. The floor rushes up, cold and unforgiving, and I’m down, gasping, my heart stuttering like a broken engine.

  Flashbacks hit, uninvited. Casey’s voice, two years ago, outside our old apartment: “Ava, you’re killing yourself. Let me help.” Me laughing, cruel, because I didn’t know how to stop. Another flash—snow, a car, my own scream, but it’s gone before I can grab it. My hands claw at the floor, but there’s nothing to hold onto. The world narrows to a pinprick, Eddie’s boots in my vision, then black.

  I’m not dead. That’s the first surprise. The second is the ground under me, soft and wrong, like it’s breathing. I open my eyes, and the world’s a smudged photograph—black-and-white, edges bleeding, like someone spilled ink over reality. The air’s heavy, tasting of ash and something sour I can’t name. My head throbs, but my heart’s steady, no longer trying to punch through my ribs. I’m lying on my back, staring at a sky that’s not a sky, just a gray void, no stars, no nothing.

  I sit up, slow, expecting pain, but there’s none. Just this place, this nowhere. The ground shifts under my hands, unsteady, like I’m on a raft in a storm. I’m still in my clothes—ripped jeans, stained hoodie—but they feel heavier, like they’re soaked in guilt. I laugh, a brittle sound. “Perfect. Wonderland, but shittier.”

  A soft whine cuts through the silence. I freeze, then turn. There he is, sitting a few feet away, brindle coat dull in this colorless world, one rear leg bent wrong from the old injury. Percy. My Percy, dead four years, looking at me with those big, brown eyes that always saw too much. He’s not real, can’t be, but my chest aches like he is.

  “Buddy?” My voice cracks. He tilts his head, tail giving a slow wag, but he doesn’t come closer, doesn’t speak—not that I expect him to. I reach out, then stop. If he’s a hallucination, I don’t want to know. Not yet.

  I stand, wobbly, the ground rippling under my sneakers. There’s nothing here—no buildings, no people, just this endless, blurry plain, like a dream I can’t wake from. My hands shake, but not from withdrawal. This isn’t a high, isn’t a crash. It’s something else, something that makes my skin prickle and my sarcasm feel like a flimsy shield.

  “Where the hell am I?” I ask Percy, half-expecting an answer. He just looks at me, steady, like he’s waiting for me to figure it out. I take a step, then another, the ground lurching but holding. Whatever this place is, it’s not letting me go.