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All I do is look away, silently seething.
“Funny thing about heroes, kid. They always end up getting dragged into everyone else's mess. You sure you wanna be here right now?”
“You got what I need or not?”
He studies me for a long moment before jerking his chin toward the back door. “You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood.”
My stomach flips with a mix of relief and dread, so tangled together that I can’t tell which one is winning.
As I follow after him, Christian’s voice echoes in my head.
“You can hate me tomorrow.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
Tomorrow doesn’t matter. With any luck, tomorrow will never come.
Arnie leads me through the exit of the main building and over to the detached garage where he lives. Metal screeches in protest when the door groans open, and I let him lead me into his familiar space. I've seen it a dozen times—same stained couch shoved against the wall, same folding table littered with baggies, scales, and empty bottles. The air smells like chemicals, making my eyes sting. Miracle by Bad Omens quietly plays from an ancient-ass boom box.
He shuts the door behind us and locks it tight, the click echoing loudly off the concrete walls. “An eighth, huh? That all you need?”
“Yeah. Just a few lines to get me through the night.” Or not. Either way.
A snort leaves his throat when he sits at the table and pulls out a bag, weighing it slowly. Too fucking slow. My leg bounces uncontrollably with every passing second.
“You know,” he says casually, “most people would lay low after a stunt like the one you pulled tonight.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No,” Arnie agrees, leaning back to fold his arms. “You're not. Payment?”
My stomach sinks. “You said—”
“I said I was generous. Didn’t say it was free.”
“I don’t have—”
“No shit,” he interrupts, smiling wider. “But you’re resourceful. We can make a deal like last time.”
Once again, the memory of a stranger's hot breath on my neck makes my skin crawl. “I said I’m not doing that again.”
“Then I guess you don’t need an eighth that bad.”
Desperation claws at my lungs, and I stare down at that baggie, craving oblivion. Itching for the numbness that consumes me every time I snort a line.
“You can hate me tomorrow.”
If someone asked me when things got this bad, I wouldn't be able to answer. It feels like I was always destined to end up here.
“You really get off on this shit, don’t you?” I rasp, meeting Arnie’s sleazy grin.
He just shrugs. “Supply and demand, Dev. You know how it is. I've got a business to run.”
I drag a trembling hand down my face, hating myself every time I give in. “What do you want me to do?”
“Just a little insurance to guarantee my money. Same as always.”
Shame floods my chest so hard it almost knocks me over. I blink away the heat blurring my eyes as bile rises in my throat. The air thickens enough to choke on. My fingers itch, a high-pitched ring sounding in my ears even as my nose starts to drip preemptively.
