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Chapter One
Tree
Ipress the powder into a line with the edge of my license. Cocaine. The only reason I'm still alive right now, although I'm not sure if I'm really alive.My wife is dead.Dead. What the fuck is the point again? I inhale through the straw and squeeze my nostrils as my heart pounds. The pressure in my head rapidly increases and I growl through it as my hand slams against the bathroom counter.
I can't see her face anymore when my brain is flooded with the drug. We aren't supposed to do shit like this in the club, but everyone's been turning a blind eye to my destructive habit. They all look at me with these pitying stares, but when I'm high it doesn't matter. I can be me- the version of me I was before Layla ripped my heart out of my chest. Of course, I wasn't a junkie when we were married, but I didn't have to be. I was high on her.
"Tree, come on! We gotta go!" Knuckles calls through my door.
Knuckles and the girl. They're so happy. Like I was. And she's having a baby.My Layla…
I sigh and stomp out of the bathroom. I only did one line so I can still be alert on the bike. It's not quite enough to quiet the voices in my head, but it takes the edge off. I pull on my cut and open the door. Tonight, we're heading out to meet up with the Aces. The girl- what's her name again? They've told me a hundred times- has been helping to broker some kind of peace between our clubs.
Knuckles smiles at me apathetically as he slaps me on the back. "It's going to be an easy ride, brother. We’ll be there and back in no time."
My eyebrow twitches and I rub at it with my thumb. The muscles of my jaw are so tense I don't say anything as I lock my bedroom door and stalk downstairs. My steps sound heavy even to me. This coke must've been a stronger batch than the last few I've gotten, but I still think I'll be okay to ride. I've ridden after three or four lines before.
"Hey, are you gonna get on?" Mac says from the other side of my motorcycle.
"I'm not an idiot," I snap, angry that I'm confused about how and when I got outside. How long have I been standing here? "Sorry, man. I didn't mean that," I say as I throw my leg over the steel horse.
The streetlamps on the highway are casting an unusually blurry light all around us. Maybe that stuff was way stronger than I thought. We aren't far from the meetup spot though, so I'm going to-
The world leans sideways and I vaguely recognize my jeans tearing as my leg breaks my fall and the momentum rolls me down the asphalt away from my bike, which is skidding across the highway in the opposite direction.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Pres shouts as his footsteps fall closer to me. "Knuckles, call Maya to bring her car!"
Maya. That's her name. Maya, the little beauty that Knuckles fell in love with the first second he saw her. I know the feeling. The last thing I remember is laughing as Pres jerks my helmet off my head and tells me how much of a stupid bastard I am.
I'm shivering, but the sheets are clinging to my skin. I look around the ceiling of the basement. I need to get upstairs. I can see the clear baggie in my head so clearly I can almost taste the shit. I peel the sheet away from my leg.
"Don't youfuckingmove," Doc snarls, and I groan. Being stuck down here with Doc is worse than any other fate. At least when Knuckles and I were down here together, Knuckles took half the negative attention. He was heartbroken too, and he’d been shot, so my addiction and hallucinations took a back burner sometimes. That was nice.
"I'm fine." Cocaine is something I need more than anything else. The pain in my leg, the rawness of my skin, doesn't exist in comparison to my desire to be high. I will eventually be fine if he just lets me out of here and lets me do what I need to do.
"You have got to lay off the dope, kid. You could've died."
Wouldn't that have been a miracle? "Mercy," I whisper.
"What?" Doc steps closer, coming to the side of the bed to look at me as his hands work to clean the lenses of his glasses with some kind of cloth. The smell of it is so strong that a sharp pain works through my nostrils.
"Nothing. You gotta let me out of here, Doc. I'm not dead. You can't keep me."
"I can do whatever I damn well please. You overdosed and crashed because you're being a dumbass. If you leave this room now the withdrawal demons will cheer you on as you snort your way to death."
"What a tragic idea," I say sardonically. He’s right, and I’m not fully against it. I’ll accept the withdrawal demons’ suggestions if it gets me out of this bed.
Doc sighs, dragging a chair over to the side of my bed and sitting on it. "You're young. You have so much life ahead of you."
Panic seizes my chest. I certainly hope that's not true. This time without my Layla has brought me a lifetime of agony. I have no intention of letting this continue for years. I keep hoping things will get better. Everyone says time heals all wounds, but none of those people could be widows.Widower. Even the word itself hurts. This is a title I never dreamt I'd have.
But nothing gets better. There's nothing anyone can say, nothing they can do. I'm broken and lost, adrift in an endless sea of depression. This isn't regular sadness. It drags me underwater and holds me there by the back of my neck until I'm so desperate I go to suck in a breath and then it lets me up just long enough to inhale before dunking me under again. It's continuous torture that I wouldn't wish on anyone- not even the drunk kid that killed my wife. He's probably just as fucked up as I am, without the use of his legs.
"Do you want to die?" Maya snarks from beside me.
Whoa. When did Doc leave?
She settles into the chair Doc was just in before I blinked. "Do you remember me? You look like you don't," she says with a softer tone.
