Where the fuck am I? The brunette stretched her arms above her head, exhaling as she heard the familiar pop of her spine cracking. She glanced around miserably, taking in her surroundings: popcorn ceiling, an ancient television secured to the cheap looking dresser, an ugly stained floral print bedspread. Another cheap motel. Figures. Her head felt woozy, but that was hardly uncommon at this point. She couldn't remembered the last time her mind had felt clear. She inhaled, taking note that her right nostril was clogged. "The coke must've been cut with a lot of talc," she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

She blinked several times, acutely aware of the bright sun peeking in from between the heavy curtains covering the windows. She staggered to her feet, barely making it into the adjoined bathroom before a wave of nausea hit her, bringing her to her knees before the toilet. She gasped for breath as she choked up bitter mouthfuls of stomach acid and whatever cheap booze she'd drank the night before. "The fuck have you gotten yourself into now, Bella?" she mumbled to herself, resting her head on the rim of the porcelain for a moment.

"Time to hit the road, babe," an unfamiliar male voice called out.

Bellatrix froze, struggling to recount the events from the night prior. She bit her lip, feeling the urge to vomit once more. She didn't mind it at the time, sleeping with strange men for money. Or drugs, she corrected herself, sighing. However, the mornings after were usually filled with feelings of remorse.

"You alright in there?" the voice rang out again, catching her attention.

"Y-yeah, just a sec," she called out, rising shakily to her feet.

She returned to the bedroom, where a scruffy but not entirely terrible looking man stood, eyeing her up warily. Bella returned his stare, arms stiffly crossed against her chest. Fuck, she needed a drink. Or a few lines. That would straighten her out. "Do you have any more?" she asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

Fuck him, she shrugged, tuning out the man's voice as he offered an apologetic no to her question. He couldn't give her what she wanted, therefore he was no longer of any use to her. "Alright well… I'm gonna go then," she heard herself saying aloud, as she began picking up articles of clothing off the ground and dressing herself.

Not bothering to say another word to the man, she grabbed her bag off the floor by the door, shoving her way past the man and down the hall. With her head held high, she stalked past the front desk staff, ignoring the pointed looks shot in her direction. Fuck them, she frowned, rolling her eyes. So what if she was checking out of a pay by the hour motel in god knows where? So what if she had just slept with some random John for an eight-ball of semi-decent blow? So what if she, a posh girl from a well to do London family, had run away to America, where she'd proceeded to whore herself out to support herself? So what if her family and friends hadn't spoken to her in months? So fucking what?

She winced from the bright sunlight as she exited the motel, reaching into her bag for her sunglasses. She shoved them on her face, sighing in relief as the dark lenses shielded her eyes from the merciless sun. It's so fucking bright here, she lamented, upper lip curled in disgust. She was used to London, gray dreary London, where it rained 95% of the time. Not like here, in whatever fucking state she was in. At first, she'd attempted to keep track, reveling in the novelty of crossing the massive country that was the United States. That had lost its allure quickly, though. She barely took note of the state lines she crossed as she made her way to wherever. She didn't much care where she was going; as long as there was more coke in her future, she couldn't care less. She shuffled across the parking lot, digging through her bag in search of her phone. It pinged, indicating a new message.

Probably fucking Cissy, she noted bitterly, tossing the phone back in her bag. Of all her family, her youngest sister had been the most persistent in attempting to reach out to her. At least three times a week, she received texts from her, begging her to come home. She knew Narcissa hated the choices she had made, hated her lifestyle. Well fuck her, she thought, gritting her teeth. She liked the life she was living. It may not be perfect, but at least it's hers.

Another night, another cheap motel room. Bellatrix cracked her neck, staring impatiently at the shaggy blond man beside her as he inhaled line after line of coke. Cheap coke, she noted to herself, nose wrinkling in disgust. There was no question that the shit this guy had was probably cut with baby aspirin and would definitely be clogging up her nostrils the next morning. Beggars can't be choosers, she reminded herself. After what felt like forever, the blond handed her a rolled up five, a smarmy grin plastered to his face.

Bellatrix shot him an icy glare, pulling the magazine they were snorting off of closer to her. In rapid succession, she inhaled three lines, shutting her eyes blissfully as the familiar acid battery drip trickled down her throat. Perfect. Once the drugs were gone, the magazine sporting several tears from overzealous scraping with a razor blade (there has to be some left, dear god there has to be some more left), the blond tossed it aside, placing a strong hand on Bella's thigh. Bella suppressed a groan, craning her neck back to allow the man access to her milky white neck. A price for everything, she thought, lips twitching slightly in disgust.

"What's the matter, baby?" the guy muttered, his breath hot and wet on Bella's ear.

Nothing. Everything. Bella forced a smile, fumbling with the buttons of her blouse to reveal her ample cleavage. "Want you to fuck me," she cooed, barely able to keep from rolling her eyes.

The blond grinned, leaning forward to press a kiss to her lips. "Good girl," he praised her, nimble fingers unbuttoning her blouse the rest of the way.

Taking a deep breath, Bella threw herself toward him, ripping at his clothes in a wild frenzy. "Want you," she panted, arching her back as the man shoved his hand between her thighs. Let's get this the fuck over with.

She let him do most of the work, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling, moaning when appropriate as the blond pounded into her, his hands gripped too tightly on her hip, against her throat. "Fuck," she gasped, silently praying that he would finish up quickly. Don't go limp on me with fucking coke dick you cocksucker. She winced as she felt cold sweat drip onto her face, her chest, as the man continued thrusting, completely indifferent to her comfort.

Once it was over, the pair laid in bed in silence, save for the rustle of wind from the window. "So where you from, sweetheart?" the man asked her, slipping a hand onto her thigh.

"Does it matter?" she retorted dryly, rolling her eyes.

Bella blinked, staring ahead at the television. The local news channel for wherever she was was on. "Where the fuck are we, anyway?"

"St. Louis."

Bella shrugged, sitting up a bit to stretch her back. "That means nothing to me. Are we on the east coast? West coast?"

"You're not from around here, are ya doll?"

"The accent didn't give it away?"

The guy shrugged. "Lotta girls like you fake an accent to seem exotic or whatever."

"Girls like me?" she scoffed.

"Coke whores," he retorted, shrugging.

"I'm not a-"

"Let's call a spade a spade, sweetheart. You let me fuck you in exchange for an eight ball. That makes you a coke whore," the guy interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"Fuck you," Bella snapped, jumping to her feet.

She recoiled as she felt a sharp pain radiating across her face.

He slapped me. The motherfucker slapped me.

"Why don't you suck my dick and I'll think about having my guy bring us some more blow?" the blond asked, his tone making it apparent that this was a command, not a question.

She stared at him a moment, weighing her options. It's already two am. He paid for the room for the night. If you leave, you're out a place to crash and possibly more coke. Swallowing her pride, she dropped to her knees, lowering her head.

"Good girl," the man laughed cruelly, pulling her by the hair closer to him. "Show me what a good little coke-head slut you are."

"Fuck," Bellatrix hissed, biting down on the inside of her cheek as she poured peroxide onto her latest wounds.

It had been a rough night; a rough month, if she were to be completely honest with herself. After shuttling back and forth across the country, she'd settled in New York for the winter, less than keen on spending any more time on the west coast. It was cold here, though not nearly as cold as in London, for which she was grateful. After an initial three days of slumming it on the streets of Manhattan, she'd relented and called her father, begging for money. After an expletive-filled conversation, he'd agreed to release a small sum of funds to her, albeit only enough to cover the rent for her shitty one bedroom efficiency apartment in some hellish part of the village. Her father had refused to give her the money directly, of course. No, he had agreed to pay for her lodging only under the agreement that he would pay the landlord directly. Once her housing arrangements had been made, she'd gotten herself a job at a strip club, a step up from working the streets. Or so she told herself.

Her place of employment was hardly a reputable business; the owner encouraged the girls to offer their clientele any services they desired. For a fee, of course. One of the patrons had gotten a bit too rough with her in the champagne room the night before. The gentleman had apparently been into knife play, and had decided to put several gashes across Bella's torso and thighs. She took a deep breath, pressing a peroxide-soaked rag to a particularly nasty gash across her stomach. "Fuck!" she screeched, tears pouring down her face.

Shakily, she lowered herself to the floor, pulling her knees tight against her chest. Hot salty tears dripped down her cheeks as she sobbed, the moisture dampening her dark curtain of hair. Her phone buzzed on the chipped porcelain of the bathroom sink. Eyes squeezed shut in pain, she rose to her feet, reaching for her phone. Blinking away tears, she stared down at the screen, reading the message sent by her estranged sister, Andromeda.

Cissy says you're refusing to take her calls. I know father froze your trust fund, so gods knows what you're doing for money. Come home. We're worried about you. What are you even doing with yourself, flitting back and forth across the states? What are you running from, Bella?

Limply, she placed the phone back on the sink ledge, gripping the sink to keep her standing. "Fuck if I know, Dromeda," she whispered, shaking her head.

She glanced down at her phone again, taking note of the time. Fuck, time to get ready for work. She probably should take the night off, given her wounds, but she had to get money somewhere. She turned on the shower head, turning the water as hot as it would go. Quickly and efficiently, she scrubbed herself, washing her hair and rinsing it clean. Once freshly showered, she dried her hair, letting her unruly curls hang loosely down her shoulders. She applied her makeup, preferring to do so in the semi-decent lighting of her apartment as opposed to the harsh neon lights of the club. She lined her eyes thickly with kohl, pausing to do a few lines before applying her lipstick. Sniffling, she carefully painted her lips dark red, the color a harsh contrast against her pale complexion. Satisfied with her appearance, she threw on her street clothes, grabbing her work bag and rushing out into the night.

Bellatrix blinked, the harsh white lighting blinding her vision. "Where am I?" she murmured, her throat like sandpaper as she struggled to string together words.

She blinked several times, nearly gagging from the strong smell of antiseptic. She glanced down, noticing the IV in her arm. "Where the fuck am I?" she yelled, coughing.

A woman in navy scrubs smiled at her, observing her from the foot of her bed. "You are in New York- Presbyterian Hospital. You were brought here after you collapsed while at work," the woman replied, carefully putting on gloves.

Bella nodded, taking in her words. Nice of her to say at work. Not 'you collapsed at the strip club.'

"I need to draw some blood, okay?" the nurse asked, procuring a cart from the corner of the room and wheeling it toward her.

Bella stuck out the arm with the IV, turning her head away.

"I need the other arm, dear. You're hooked up to a bag of fluids with that one," the nurse told her, carefully taking her right arm and tying a tourniquet tight around her bicep.

"Oh," Bella replied dumbly, lowering her head.

"The doctor wants to check for infection," the nurse explained, expertly drawing two vials of blood.

"Infection?"

"The doctor will want to see you now that you're awake. She'll explain everything to you," the nurse noted, removing the needle from Bella's arm and promptly taping a wad of cotton down at the site of insertion.

Mutely, she nodded, running her hand nervously through her messy curls.

She stared hopelessly down at her lap, thoughts racing. Guess I'm probably out of a job. She sighed, shaking her head. Worse still, someone probably stole my purse. And my coke.

Bella heard the swift rap of two knocks on the door to her room before a flash of white blonde hair in light blue scrubs and a lab coat entered the room. Bellatrix stared, shocked. What the hell is she…

"Hello, I'm Doctor-"

"Evelyn," Bellatrix interrupted, mouth ajar. "The bloody hell are you doing here?"

The blonde smirked, brushing imaginary dust off of her white lab coat. "I'm completing my residency here," she offered, eyeing Bella with a mixture of concern and disdain.

"So you're a doctor, now. Like for real?" Bella asked, genuinely curious.

"Yes, Bella. I'm a real doctor," Evelyn replied, nodding. "So why don't you tell me what happened?"

Bellatrix glared, eyes clouded with mistrust. "What do you think happened?" she asked darkly.

"I'm not playing this game with you, Bella. So let's lay out the facts, shall we?" Evelyn retorted, her voice clipped.

"By all means."

"Patient arrived unconscious, experiencing ventricular tachycardia. Patient had open wounds across their abdomen, one 9mm deep, 22mm long and requiring stitches. Patient also displayed open wounds on both thighs, also requiring stitches," Evelyn recited, arms folded against her chest.

"Go ahead and say it," Bella said lowly, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

She stared down at the red stain across her pale skin, silently willing tears to keep from falling.

"You need help," the blonde replied, brow furrowed with concern.

"You called them, I suppose," Bella huffed, rolling her eyes.

"No," the blonde retorted, sighing.

"Why not?"

"Bellatrix Druella Black," Evelyn hissed, ice blue eyes bright with anger. "I am not here in the capacity of your ex girlfriend. I am a doctor. A medical professional. I had no idea that you were going to be brought into the ER while I was on duty this evening. My sole purpose is to treat you as I would any other patient who comes into my ER."

"Is that so?" Bella whispered, biting her lower lip.

"It's not my place to inform your family of your current situation. But you probably should."

Bellatrix snorted, rolling her eyes. "Whatever."

Evelyn sighed, shaking her head. "You have a problem, you know that right?" she asked, her tone gentler this time.

Bellatrix scoffed, shaking her head.

"Narcissa said you were bad off," Evelyn said lowly, striding across the room and grabbing Bella's chart.

"You still talk to her?"

"You're the one who broke up with me, Bellatrix."

"Keeping tabs on me, eh?"

"I asked you to come with me. You knew I wanted to go to med school abroad."

"So I was supposed to just drop everything so you could come study-"

"Oh, because you were so busy with important work," Evelyn hissed, slamming the chart down harder than necessary.

"Fuck you."

"Cut the crap, Bella. You were blowing your inheritance on coke. You and I both know it."

Bella scowled.

"You're killing yourself, you know that right?"

"I'm fine-"

"You're not fine. Your going to go into fucking cardiac arrest if you don't cut it out, Bella. You're sick. Don't you see that?" Evelyn interrupted, eyes moist.

"I was born sick," Bella muttered darkly.

Evelyn inhaled deeply through her nose, shaking her head. "Yeah," she noted sadly. "Yeah, you were."