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“That’s Dom,” the girl said, pointing to a dark haired guy unrolling a ball of foil. She cast me a knowing smirk then glanced down to my arms. I folded them around my chest, instinctively protecting my scars from her knowing gaze. “He’ll hook you up with whatever you want.” She clucked her tongue. “My guess is
that you like to chase the dragon.”
I didn’t say anything, there was no use in denying something I wore the evidence of.
A few minutes later, I was sitting next to Dom, Indian style, while he fired up the heroin, getting ready to reintroduce me to my old lover. I salivated for a taste of her. I already felt her in my blood. My knees bounced anxiously. The second he held the needle up to my arm, I pulled it back. “Second thoughts, pretty girl?” Dom asked, leaning close enough to me where I could smell his rancid breath.
I didn’t get a chance to answer. Not him. Not my own question about why I’d hesitated. Because the needle was yanked from Dom’s hand and plunged into his neck by a masculine arm covered in tattoos.
“Good shit, right?” Preppy asked Dom, pulling his gun from his waistband and pushing it to the back of Dom’s skull. Screams erupted, and the partiers scattered like cockroaches exposed to light. Dom’s face was contorted in both fear and pleasure, which proves that even with a gun to your head, heroin wins.
Heroin always won.
I untied the elastic from around my arm and let it fall to the ground. Preppy’s hair was mussed. His face was red and his eyes were angry and determined.
“Get the fuck out of my town. I see you here again and it will be a bullet in your neck instead of a needle next time,” Preppy warned. “You understand me motherfucker?” Preppy pulled Dom’s head back by his hair so he could see the seriousness in his threat. He then released him, and Dom nodded sluggishly until his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell over in a heap onto the grass.
“You don’t know what else he’s had. He could die!” I said, standing up.
Preppy shrugged, his face uncaring and hard. “Oops.” He scratched his head with the barrel of his gun. “You know, it’s not very nice to run off like that. You could have at least said bye first. Maybe a ‘Hey Prep, just gonna go shoot some dope into my fucking veins. BRB.’”
I couldn’t deal with the possibility of never having Mirna back and Preppy’s sarcastic bullshit at the same time. “Fuck you!” I spat, taking off into the cemetery, jumping over thick roots and tripping over small triangular shaped headstones, barley visible over the grass which was the same height. It was pitch-black and my eyes weren’t adjusting well. I fell into half a dozen statues and headstones, like a ping pong ball, before I stopped to catch my breath under a crumbling mausoleum.
My head was on my knees when I heard Preppy approach, his heavy footsteps a hard thud on the wet ground. “You know what the really fucked up part is?” I asked. “Well, I’ll tell you. The really fucked up part is that I thought I saw Eric in the house when I got here.” I lifted my head and glanced at Preppy, who had his arms crossed over his chest. His biceps flexing. “I mean, I know he’s dead so it’s impossible, right? But I’m fucked up, more than I ever thought. So much so that I imagined I saw him. But even after that, during that split second when I thought he could really be alive and there in that house, ready to shoot up, I’d made the decision that I was going to stay, anyway.” I ran my nails up and down my calves. “That’s how badly I wanted it.” I paused. “WANT it.” I corrected.
The desire was so great inside of me I groaned out loud. Preppy crouched down in front of me, his gun hanging from his hand between his legs, pointed at the ground. His finger stroking the trigger.
“Look at me,” he demanded, tilting my chin up so I was looking into his eyes. “There are no old junkies, Doc. You either make the decision to stop inviting it into your fucking veins or it kills you.”
“I…I know,” I stammered, staring up at him through a curtain of my own dark hair. But I just don’t care.
Preppy pushed the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear, and trailing his fingertips over my cheek in a sweet gesture that both thrilled and frightened me. I wasn’t expecting that, especially after what he’d just done to Dom.
Preppy sighed and withdrew his hand. “I need to point out that letting the H kill you is the same as leaping off that tower, because it’s still you making that decision to die.” He trailed the barrel of his gun up my leg, from my ankle to my knee. The cool metal set my skin to prickles and made me shiver so hard, my teeth chattered. I sucked in a breath. Preppy’s voice slowly turned from an eerie calm to a violent rage. “You were going to use,” he said, but it wasn’t a question, it was an accusation. A fact.
I nodded, my eyes on his gun as he rested it on my thigh. “And you still want it?” he asked. I nodded again, too ashamed to speak the words out loud.
“Say it!” Preppy demanded, turning the gun so it was now pointed at me, but his finger wasn’t on the trigger. “Tell me you still want it. Tell me that you want to die.”
“It’s not that simple,” I tried to explain.
“Tell me!” Preppy demanded.
“Why?” I asked, trembling. I scattered backwards until my back hit the cold marble of the mausoleum, but Preppy crawled over the step and hovered over me before I could get any further.
“Because I’ve been holding back.” He leaned forward and grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking me up to him roughly, his lips hovering above mine, his cool breath on my face. “So I need to know if you give a shit about your life.” He pulled me up to a standing position by my hair, my scalp screamed in agony. He slammed me back against the wall. “Because the way I see it, is if you don’t give a fuck about your life,” he leaned in and ran his nose along my jaw and chuckled deep and dark, the sound vibrating to the depths of my soul, “then I don’t have to give a fuck about it, either.”
I looked over his shoulder, scanning the cemetery to see if there was anyone nearby. Anyone I could call to for help. No such luck.
Preppy must have been reading my mind. “Nobody’s here to save you. Nobody can save you, except you. So fucking tell me, Doc. Do you want to fucking die?”
“I told you! It’s not that simple. It’s just that I feel…” I started, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Tell me damnit!” Preppy roared, pushing his knee between my legs to better pin me to the wall.
“I feel like I’m fucking bleeding out!” I screamed. Preppy’s face remained hard and impassive as his eyes frantically roamed my body for wounds. But he wouldn’t find any, not on the outside, at least. “No!” I said, grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand still holding the gun to my chest, pressing it between my breasts. “Here. I’m bleeding out here, and I don’t know how to make it stop. You told me before that you could make the call. You said you could get me what I need. I need it. I need it so bad. Can you? Can you give me what I need?” I hated the desperation in my voice. I hated the weakness. One brief encounter with my ex-lover, even though I’d only watched her across the room as she seduced others, had me falling under her spell once again.
“Oh, I can give you what you need,” Preppy growled, pinning me to the wall with his hips. His erection hard against my lower stomach, taking me off guard. My pulse spiked with fear, then fell with disappointment. “But no fucking H.” He ground his hips against me, his hardness taking me off guard. I pushed against his shoulder, but I might as well have been attempting to lift a car because he only held me tighter.
“Why? Why won’t you help me? You can help me! You said we were friends. Friends help each other, right? And this is how you can help me.” His stare grew more intense, which infuriated me because he didn’t say a thing. Instead, he let me cry and wail and pound my fists against him. “Why won’t you help me!” I screamed. My throat was tight and sore. “Pleeeaaassssse!” My yell turning into a sob. “I don’t want it,” I cried, my head falling back against the wall. “I don’t.” I shook my head. “But I don’t know how to stop the bleeding and make the pain go away. I don’t know how to dull the edge that makes me want to scratch off my skin without running back to that house and sticking a needle in my arm.” I met his furious dark eyes. Preppy’s body as unyielding as his drilling stare. “So, pleeeeeaaassse,” I cried, bouncing slightly on my knees as I begged. I covered h
is gun with my other hand. “Please help me.”
I don’t know if it was me touching his gun, or the begging that did it, but the spark was back, glistening wickedly in his eyes. His pupils grew large. He licked his bottom lip and ground his hips against me. I gasped, my blood turned red hot. I instantly regretted everything I’d said. He rocked his knee against my core and a flush of wetness soaked through my panties. I didn’t want this, there was too much going on in my head. Too much to sift through and process, but my body didn’t seem to care about what I wanted, because my nipples tightened under my tank top. “Do you trust me?”
My brain wanted heroin.
My body wanted Preppy.
“No,” I answered honestly, my chest heaving from fear and anxiety and anticipation. “I don’t trust you.”
He pulled his gun back and turned it over in his hands, examining it as the moonlight glinted off the metal. He smirked. “That’s good, Doc.” He leaned in close, his beard bristling against my cheek, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot behind my ear as he spoke. “You shouldn’t,” he said as he held the barrel of his gun to my head.
Finger on the trigger.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
