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My heart hammers so hard in my chest it feels as though it's going to burst straight through my rib bones. My skin itches, fingers tightening on the sides of the basin and I sway, black spots blurring beneath my closed eyelids. I feel light headed and overwhelmed and I just need tonot.
I think of the little white pills, the ones that make me better, make me happier, more likeable, fun. I've never been called rude, stuck up or boring when I take drugs. And the bloom of warmth they force through my chest cavity makes my head feel light and my worries disappear, even if it's only for a short while.
I reach into the cup of my bra, pull out the little bag. I tear the plastic open, tip one of the little white pills out into the palm of my clammy hand and just as I'm about to toss it back, a warm hand clamps gently over my shoulder and I flinch so hard Ibash my hips into the countertop in my panicked thrust forward, my pill dropping into the sink, clattering before it disappears down the plughole. A groan leaves my lips, face scrunching up, eyes squeezing. I whip around with a hand to my heart, quickly tucking the bag of remaining pills back into my bra.
Lynx holds his hands up in surrender, his back to the door as my entire body shakes, a cold, sticky sweat breaking out across my skin, goosebumps erupting over my flesh.
“It's okay,” Lynx coos, and it feels sincere, but it can't be, can it?
Not when this doesn't mean anything.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight, the backs of them burning.
Shame.
At being caught, at beingdesperate.
“I'm right here, Treasure.”
But no one's ever beenright here. Not for me. I don't even know what the fuck that really means. And all of these nicknames,endearments,they're not really meant for me.
My body sways, head bowing forward, it feels like my skull is full of sloshing water. I feel Lynx approach and my hands fly out in front of me, warning him away. I've already fucked up, I should be the one ending this shit now, I have no idea what it is I'm doing.
“Poppy, I know what it feels like.”
“No!No!You don't!” I yell back, biting off my groan, fisting my hands in my hair, I straighten, taking a breath, arms dropping by my sides. “I'm not- This isn't-” I want to scream in frustration that I've let myself grow close to people who won't want me past the weekend and I just, “I need to go.”
I push off of the sink, marching past Lynx, not looking at him even though I want to throw myself in his arms, beg him to never walk away from me.
Don’t leave me.
It's been less than a fucking week, and this is how weak I am.
Desperate.
I wrench the door open, but it slams back closed as Lynx slaps a hand above my head, and shoves himself into my back, slamming me against the wood.
My lungs seize, palms flattened, elbows bent, my entire front is plastered to the surface of the door, Lynx flush with my back. Cheek squished against the wood and I squeeze my eyes shut tight until I see stars shoot across my closed eyelids.
Lynx's breath ghosts down my neck, his berry-cedar scent filling my nostrils, his heat flooding through our clothes, warming my spine, the backs of my bare thighs.
He drops his lips to my ear, “Where'd you think you're going?” his tongue flicks my skin with every pronounced word. “You think you can get away from me, Treasure?” his thick southern accent vibrates down the column of my neck, the heavy drawl like spiders creeping over every boned disk in my spine. “You think because I've been treating you so nice, you can do whatever you want?” I shiver, his hands flat against the door on either side of my head. “You think I'm ever gonna make walking away from me that fucking easy?”
I bite down on my tongue, saying nothing.
Lynx's hand squeaks as he slips it down the door, his fingers coming to my chin, he wrenches my head further back towards him, twisting my neck, my temple smacking the wood. He slants his mouth over mine, and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and tighter as my spine crunches at the base of my neck.
“You're mine now,” his breath hot on my parted lips. “Ours,” he emphasises with a nip to my bottom one. “I get to decide when you walk the fuck away from me, and it's not until I'm done with you,” he hisses, licking over my mouth. “And guess what, Treasure? I'm not fucking done with you yet.”
Yet.
My heart slams in my chest at that,not until I'm done with you.
Because they will be. Done with me, and I already know it's going to ruin me, but with his weight against my back and his breath across my mouth, I can play pretend for just a little while longer.
“I don't know what you've done to me, Poppy,” he groans it, the words coiling around my heart as I taste them on my tongue. “It's like you've bewitched me,” he half-laughs, but there's no humour in it, his huff of warm breath heating my chin. “You taste just like I've traded one addiction for another.”
Toxic.
