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I was his last resort he was hoping to satisfy his buyer with.
“You’re just lying, trying to throw me,” he screamed, his chest heaving and eyes flicking around the room like he thought every breeze or sound was someone coming after them.
He was losing it quickly—a trait I noticed he struggled with during our last interaction. Once one toy was out of the cot, it wasn’t long before the rest joined them.
Exactly what I wanted.
“I hope yo… ou take that ch… chance,” I mumbled, letting my eyes fall closed and allowing my breathing to slow. I’d seen so many people fall into this state before, their bodies giving in to drugs or injuries and slowly slip away.
“No.” He hurried over, and I felt the bed dip. He grabbed my face, shaking it, slapping at my cheek. When I managed to stay limp through each jostle and jerk, I decided to go all in.
I held my breath.
He shook me again, shoving and pulling at my body frantically before finally holding a hand over my mouth, trying to feel if I was breathing. I wasn’t.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck!” He leaped off the bed, and while I couldn’t see him, his panicked footsteps shook the floor as he paced by my feet. “He’s going to kill me. I need to… I need to get out. I need to get away. I can’t… he’ll have my head if he sees this. Fuck. Fuck.”
Yes. The rambling. The terror.
It was music to my ears, and I wished I could watch it, but I stayed completely still, trying to focus on the breath I was holding and making sure it lasted, though I was already beginning to struggle.
If I were going to make it through this, I needed him gone.
I needed him to run.
“I’ll avoid the elevator and take the stairs,” Vince mumbled to himself. He was farther away. “I’ll get the car and find Marco. He’ll know what to do.”
Like the switch had flicked back, he was suddenly calmer, piecing things together more logically, making a plan. It was like a damn seesaw—this man’s emotions, thoughts, and actions never balanced in the middle. Always either calculated or chaotic.
The click of the door handle had me almost losing it and breaking too early, the pounding in my head and the way my stomach twisted and churned already sending me close to the edge of giving in. He yanked it open, and I dared a peek. The room was distorted and hazy, my eyes refusing to focus, but I caught the blur of his body duck out into the hall and listened as the door slowly scraped the carpet and eased closed behind him.
I gave it a moment.
Just one.
I waited for that final click before I launched myself to the edge of the bed and shoved my fingers down my throat.
Get them out.
I needed to get them out.
My head was spinning, and I felt that tingle in my muscles that sixteen-year-old Shay would have killed for, but present Shay knew was only the beginning. The high would come, but it would be gone in the blink of an eye. Then the crash would take over.
And if I didn’t get some of these chemicals out of my body, that crash was going to hurt like hell, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t survive it.
I was weak and exhausted. My body hurt. My head felt like it was going to explode.
But I wasn’t ready to give in just yet.
I pressed two fingers to the back of my throat, over and over, until I gagged and spilled my stomach contents all across the hotel floor. It tasted just as vile coming up as it had going down.
It was disgusting and degrading, but I did it again.
And again.
Forcing everything out that I could until nothing but bile hit the back of my tongue, and I finally collapsed face down against the blankets. Each breath had become a struggle, and sweat was building at the base of my neck, a cold chill settling within my skin.
I guess we were skipping the high and going straight to the hell.
