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I made it down the stairs, picking my way as quietly as I could. I got the feeling these people, whoever they were, weren’t going to like the idea of me going out to score, but it was none of their fucking business what I did to my body. I felt some stupid sense of defiance to them, even though I was pretty sure they were trying to help. I had gotten myself into this mess, why did I deserve the kind of help that might make it better?
I could still remember the first time I had taken a line of that shit, when Stefano had offered it to me after a particularly long day at the club. He’d started coming in as a client, buying dance after dance from me and then pushing me to provide extras, trying to work out how much he could get me to do once he dragged me into his own employment.
"It’ll make you feel better, baby, I promise," he told me as he cut up a thin line on the glass table in front of us. I hesitated, staring down at it. Up until that point, I had only been drinking to handle my days at work. I had just turned twenty, and the bartenders were willing to look the other way to get me a few shots to handle the handsier clients, knowing the clientele I brought into the club. I was still sending money back to my family under my own name then, though I had cut off contact with them a long time ago, once they’d found out what I did for a living when one of my father’s old co-workers had come into the club. Turned out that guys could go to strip clubs as much as they wanted without getting judged, but as soon as a girl dared work there, she was a pathetic whore who deserved no respect any longer.
I could still remember that feeling of fuck it as I leaned down and clumsily took the line, nearly coughing it all up as it dripped down the back of my throat and into my system—it stung and burned at the delicate membranes of my throat, and I promised myself in that instant I would never touch it again.
But of course, I had. It was how Stefano got his girls to keep working for him, hooking them on the shit that they only knew how to get from him. No matter how much I tried to stop myself, I found myself sneaking off to take lines in the bathroom, needing anything to give me the boost of energy to get through the rest of the night with a smile on my face.
And by the time I had started working at the brothel, I was well and truly hooked. And now? Now, I needed a hit, or I was going to lose my mind. I hurried down towards the front door—it was early enough in the day that I was pretty sure the guards who usually stood watch over the entrance of this place would be off-duty, and all I needed was to sweet-talk them into letting me out if they were actually there. I got my hand on the doorknob, and I was about to push it open, when a voice that was becoming all too familiar rang out from behind me.
"Hey, Selina. What are you doing?"
I spun around on the spot.
"What are you doing up this early?" I demanded.
"I was at the gym," he replied calmly. Now I got a proper look at him, it was obvious what he had been up to. He was wearing a gray tee that matched his eyes and clung to the shape of his strong arms. I felt a heat rise in my cheeks, knowing I had been caught in the act, and hating that I was likely making it obvious.
"Good to see you up and about," he continued calmly, running a hand through his hair. "Where are you going?"
I parted my lips, trying to come up with an excuse, but I hadn’t thought to plan anything to throw out there if I had been caught. I fell silent, and he cocked an eyebrow at me.
"Were you going to score?" he asked me softly. There was a kindness to his voice, no judgement, but for some reason, it just made me bristle with even more anger.
"What fucking business of yours is it what I put into my body?" I demanded. He sighed heavily, the creases around his eyes deepening as he frowned at me.
"You don’t need that shit," he told me, shaking his head.
"Like you have any idea what I need," I shot back, snorting with mirthless laughter.
"You think I don’t know what it’s like to be hooked on something?" he replied sharply. That stopped me dead in my tracks, cut through some of the blur in my mind.
"What do you mean?" I muttered back, stuffing my hands deep into my pockets like I could hide out from him in there.
"I mean, I know what it’s like when you first have to face the world without whatever shit you’ve been relying on," he told me, his voice dropping slightly, as though he was ashamed to say it out loud. It was the first time I had seen his veneer crack, even for an instant. I leaned back against the door, already starting to feel weak; the lack of food matched with the lack of stimulants I usually used to keep myself going was starting to get to me. He wasn’t responding to my harsh words the way most people would have, as though he had expected it in some way, and it was making me start to relax—slowly, slightly.
"So, what, you’re going to keep me locked up in here to make sure I can’t score?" I demanded. He shook his head.
"I’m not keeping you prisoner here," he assured me. "If you really want to go out and get your shit, you can do it. I’m not going to lock your door and make it so you can’t get out."
I froze. So, he wasn’t going to stop me? I reached for the door once more, not sure what exactly was going on here—not exactly sure what to make of this.
"But I want you to think about it before you do," he added, taking a step towards me. I turned back to him, biting my lip.
"I know how tempting it is to just go out there and get what you want, because you know it’s going to make you feel better in the short term," he continued. His eyes were fixed on mine, steady, calm, like a lifeboat in a sea under storm.
"But … just give yourself a few more days," he added. "A few more days to see how you feel when you’re not on it. Can you do that for me?"
I met his gaze as steadily as I could. And, standing there, there was nothing I wanted to do more than tell him no—tell him to leave me the hell alone, let me go and get what I needed to get, let me end this torment of being stuck in withdrawals with nothing to get me out of it.
"It’ll be out of your system in ten days," he continued. "See how you feel then. You might surprise yourself."
Before I could stop myself, I found myself nodding in agreement, catching myself completely off guard in the process. A few minutes ago, I had been determined to do nothing more than get out of here and find myself something to take the edge off the mess of pain and suffering my body and mind were in right now.
But maybe … maybe he had a point. I could try, at least, right? I already had the first few days behind me, the first few days of withdrawal under my belt. This might be the best chance I had to leave this whole thing behind me.
"Fine," I muttered, gazing down at the floor. I couldn’t believe I was even considering this, but … but there was a part of me that wanted to see how this went, no matter how tough it was, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much there was still a part of me screaming to walk out that door and find the stuff I needed to make me feel better.
