“Well, I think–”
“He needs my–”
“Maybe we should–?”
Everyone starts talking over me at once, talkingaboutme. Maggie and Sam have their hands on one arm, trying to ease me out of my seat, and Young-gi has his hand on my other arm, keeping me in place as he demands answers I don’t want to give. Jules and Ry are chiming in, Georgie is anxiously trying to give advice.
And you know what? Fuck all of this. It’s too much.
“Get the fuck off me!” I push them all away and shove Young-gi as hard as I can, managing to move him a few inches deeper into the booth. The force, the impact, eases something in me and I turn in my seat to face him.
“Get the fuck off!” I shove him again, as hard as I can, knowing that I might be bruising his chest, but I can’t stop myself. “Get off me!”
I shove him again, my hands on his chest, until I’m pressing him back against the wall, kneeling on the seat, gasping for air. And he lets me, so maybe I’m not hurting him too badly, after all.
“This isn’t fair,” I choke, running out of steam. “It wasn’t fair. I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t ask for it, to be made into this.”
Young-gi stares up at me while I press against him, my palms flat against the soft cotton of his shirt.
“Wait, are they together?” Jules asks. “Like, together-together?”
“Then why doesn’t he know?” Sam adds. I stiffen as they start up again, their well-meant intentions of helping me grating on my nerves because it’s useless, worthless. “He’d kind ofhaveto know if they weretogether, right?”
“Tommy, babe,” Maggie murmurs, getting behind me on the bench, wrapping his arms around my waist. Young-gi’s eyes flash to the embrace and I see fire, anger, and possessiveness. I read the emotions on his face in a way I never have before.
“Let go of him,” Young-gi demands. “Enough. No more kissing, no more touching. He’smine.”
And that just about does it for me, for my temper, because this isn’t fair and I should be allowed to get help! I growl in the back of my throat and scramble out of the booth with Maggie.
“No, Young-gi, fuck you!” I shout, sounding confused and almost drunk, feeling kind of drunk because I can’t think, my thoughts are all too loud, swimming in all the noise. “You don’t get to make this decision for me!”
“What decision?” He follows me, standing toe to toe, grasping my chin in a familiar hold and making me look at him. “Tell me what you’re here for, Tommy. Tell me what you need. What are they helping you with? What’s got you throwing this temper tantrum?”
“Fuck you,” I hiss, but it comes out weaker than I wanted. “I don’t need anything. I just want–I just want to–”
My breath hitches, and my cheeks heat. I can’t. I can’t tell him like this, vulnerable and shit. It’s too humiliating. And the fact that I’m like this, that I was forced to be this way, that this isn’t my fault, just makes me raging mad.
And it’s easier to say it in anger than it is to say it in shame.
“You want to know what my problem is, Young-gi?” I shout, pushing his hand away, squaring up with him. I’m distantly aware of my friends gasping and backing up, because they all expect me to fight. To attack him. But that’s not how I behave with him. Instead, all the vitriol and poison I’ve been holding inside tonight comes spilling out, the way it always seems to do when he demands it from me.
“You want to know why I wanted to come here tonight? Because I can’t fuckingcumwithout being high, alright? I’m fucking broken, I can’t keep my head on straight and everything’s too fucking loud and I can’t just let someone touch me that way anymore, and I can’t get off when I’m thinking and I’m thinking all the damn time! And I’m stuck at your house andyouknowthat you turn me on sometimes, you know it, and I can’t fucking do anything about it!”
I get louder, angrier, because I’ve admitted my shameful secret and I hate it. Hate this whole thing. Hate the way his face hasn’t changed, the way he’s still just watching me like he’s reeling me in, piece by piece. “And you shouldn’t get to decide that for me, Young-gi! That’s fucked up, okay? I should get the chance to get some fucking relief, because goddamnfuck,I’m fuckingready, okay? Is that what you want to hear? That I’m a fucking nutcase and I need drugs to get off? That I’m broken? That my dick is broken? Is it funny to you? Isn’t it pathetic? React, goddamn you!”
Young-gi steps closer, flickering in the pulsing lights, but I can see the intensity of his gaze under the blue and purple strobes. He puts his hand under my chin, and I let him. I let him and I let out a goddamn sappy sigh, like I’m letting something go and I’m relieved. Like I needed this, and that’s fucked, but I’m so tired and so emotional that I let it slide, just this once.
“What do you normally take, Tommy?” he asks, getting really close so I can hear his deep, rough voice over the music. “Ecstasy?”
“Y-yeah, Molly,” I agree. “Maggie keeps it on hand for me. For when I need…need help.”
“I see.” He looks over my shoulder. “You, ecstasy. Now.”
I attempt to turn, but he tightens his hold on my jaw, a clear and silent warning to stay put. To keep my eyes on him.
“What’s it cost per pill?” he asks, his free hand now holding a little white pill.
“For Tommy? It’s on me,” Maggie’s voice comes from behind me. “You can’t judge him for it. He needs it, alright? It’s been a really long time. Are you going to let him get high without making him feel bad about it?”
