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Nope. Nope. I click the email shut. What am I going to do now? Ugh. I think this calls for ice cream, maybe alcohol.At 8 a.m., Kate?
It’s just the perfect end to the shittiest night.
2
Fabian
The hit I’ve taken kicks in as I walk away from the fire burning in the metal drum. None of the guys down by the river even raise their heads. A damp spring chill seeps through my coat, and I pull it tighter around my body. I want to be on my own for this one. Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the grubby prostitutes who hang around giving out free sex in return for drugs struggle to her feet. She pulls down her short skirt with a wrench before she follows me, and just like that, I’ve got a hard-on. I groan. My subconscious has gone from seeing her to fucking her before I’ve even rejected what a bad idea it is.
But almost as if she knows what effect the drug is having on me, she puts her hand on my arm and trails her fingers down to wrap them in mine. And I can’t move away, everything fades in and out, and fuck, I’m so turned on. She grins at me knowingly, leaning forward to press her breasts to my chest.
“It will blow your mind,” she says, licking her lips as she runs her hand down my stomach, squeezing my cock. Fuck. Why has she followed me? I’ve got nothing to offer her: no cash, no drugs. I try desperately to pull up some restraint, to drag my head back into the game.
“I’ve got nothing to give you,” I say. Maybe this will encourage her to go away.
She strokes me through my jeans, and my whole body goes wired.
“You’ve got this. Most of them can’t get it up—I have to work for it. I want one I don’t have to work for.”
My cock is alive and electric, and my mind snags on STDs, followed by what effect this drug is having on my penis: like Viagra on steroids. One of the most painful experiences of my life at college, and not something I want to repeat: My erection lasted three days. But my head is full of cotton wool, and, clearly sensing weakness, she pulls me into an archway out of sight of the bridge rattling overhead and swiftly unbuttons my jeans, taking my cock out and stroking. I squint down, groaning. I am desperate not to do this, but I can’t halt the runaway train. In seconds, she’s rolling a condom down my length, and thank God—because I’ve got no thoughts in my brain, no ability to keep myself safe.
Her hand slides lower wrapping around my balls, and something must kick in because, all of a sudden, I’m lifting her and pushing forward roughly. Then I’m inside, and she’s hot and tight. It feels like the best sex I’ve ever had. I push her back against the brick wall of the bridge support, hard and fast, but she just winds around me and doesn’t seem to want me to stop. Within seconds, I’m coming. My head goes light, and I gasp, tipping my neck back as everything narrows to a pinpoint. The world swims before it all goes black.
When my eyes open, I’m lying on my back on the ground, water dripping down from above, and I blink up at the brown metal beams, weeds growing out of the rusty rivets, turning my head toward the dark shadow of the path. As soon as I sit, the whole world swoops and dives, and I take a quick glance at my crotch—no penis hanging out, thank God—before collapsing back down. What the fuck? She clearly tucked me back in but didn’t help me otherwise. I grin up at the overpass. My cock still feels hard, but I can’t detect latex, so I slide my hand down my pants and, sure enough, she’s tidied me up. A laugh bubbles up. I should thank her for that.Jesus.The traffic is a steady thump bump above me. How long have I been out? What the hell was I thinking? Why do I keep doing this shit? But I’ve no answer for any of it, so I spread my arms out on the thin grass as the damp seeps upward, cold seeping into my bones. A sharp shiver shoots up my spine, and I gingerly push myself up into a sitting position, propping my head in my hand as I look across the pathway to the river and the buildings beyond. Dark clouds are gathering, and the druggies and the girls are nowhere to be seen.
If I’ve missed that high, I’ll be mad, but I’d love to take it with someone I was into. Like that uptight doctor from months ago who looked like she’d never put a foot wrong in her entire life, and the desire to fuck again washes through me, as strong as before. This stuff I’ve taken … I shake my head. Shuffling my ass around, I lean against the cold wall, but the earth tips sideways, so I clamp my hand to the brick, breathing hard. I hope that girl was okay. Underneath the bravado and the tricks, these street girls can be pretty messed up, and what in God’s name was she doing, following me and asking for that?
I don’t think I can stand unsupported, so I just stare out over the gray water. Eventually, I peer at my watch. 3 p.m.: I came out at twelve. Jesus, I must have been lying on the grass for what … an hour? More?
The shivering is taking hold now, and I need to head home. Pushing my boots out, I shuffle my body up the wall until I’m upright. Something about experiences like this make me feel alive: My blood is thundering through my veins, and my mind is buzzing. I rub my cock through my zipper, the desperation to come still there—crazy goddamn side effects. Leaning on the stone of the bridge, I drag myself up the steps from the river to the street, eyes darting up the road for a cab, and giddiness rolls through me when a yellow light appears almost immediately. I wave my arm and weave toward the cab as it pulls in.
Once the cabdriver’s got my address, I sprawl in the back as the warmth starts to penetrate, stamping my feet and rubbing my cold stiff hands, staring out at the traffic and the swarm of people. Where do they all come from? Sounds fade in and out: the radio the driver is listening to, the honk of horns, the rumble and woosh of truck brakes behind. I absently pat my pockets for my wallet and come up empty.What?I shove my hands in my jacket, my jeans pocket. Nothing: no cell phone, no cards.Oh,fucking hell:She’s cleaned me out. I slam my hand into the window, and the guy glances at me in the rearview mirror.Fuck.This. I can’t afford to lose my phone, and Jesus, all my cards. My foot connects to the seat in front of me.
“Fuck!”
“Hey, what’s your problem, buddy?” the cabbie shouts, and I shake my head at him, subsiding back and burying my head in my hands. Thank God it was a cheap smartphone, not my adapted one.
Jesus Christ! I’ve no cash, nothing to pay this taxi with. I let out a loud groan, and the cabdriver scowls at me in the rearview mirror. I’ve no family to speak of and, the type of life I lead, few friends. What the hell am I going to do? I eye up the taxi driver. Push comes to shove, I could outrun him—he must be forty pounds overweight. That fucking …calm. Think. I’ve two friends, two options here: Adam is the one who always bails me out, but he’s in debt up to his eyeballs with his company, and I’m not burdening him anymore. It’s going to have to be Janus.
“Take me to Maiden Lane and Front Street,” I say, and the driver eyes me in the mirror again.
Taking a deep breath, I take him through the situation, and he shouts a lot—bitter complaints about wasters in New York and derogatory comments about guys with long hair and tattoos—before grunting unhappily at me. After some negotiation, he agrees to take me to Janus’s offices with the promise of three times his normal fare. Then he threatens to come in after me and beat the shit out of me if I don’t return. I’m sure he’d make good on his threat.
The receptionist eyes me as I approach the desk through the soaring marble-and-steel office entrance, smiling one of those false smiles that all receptionists seem to specialize in. I’m not quite steady on my feet, and she’s fading in and out. I also realize, too late, that I’m filthy and disheveled like I’ve been sleeping on the street—which I guess I kind of have.
“Call Janus Phillips and tell him Fabian is downstairs and urgently needs his help. You need to get that message to him as soon as possible. I’m a personal friend.”
Did that sound sensible? Resting my head on the marble of the desk, my legs start to shake, and I slide to the floor, leaning my back against the reception desk as my eyes close.
Then someone is urgently saying my name.
“Fabian. Fabian!”
My eyes pop open to find Janus crouched down beside me, all smart suit and tousled hair, eyebrows pulled tight.I love this guy. No one has ever cared about me like my two friends from college, and I’m warm with whatever karma brought them into my life. Janus is so all-round good, loyal as they come. I’m the hopeless friend, the guy he tolerates with an amazing amount of good grace. Something about the smart attire jars on me, though, and I grimace at him: I’ve probably seen him in a suit twice in my life.
“I’ve pulled you out of a meeting,” I groan. “Shit, I’m sorry.” I close my eyes, the world swinging around in an alarming fashion.
He laughs, and I crack open an eye to see his face has cleared and he’s smiling. “It was bankers,” he says. “Fucking spectacular timing.”
