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Chapter 23
Mikel
Mikel took the beer Isaiah readily offered as he walked towards the large lounge chair. Was this all a dream? Was it his hand accepting the joint from his friend, sucking on the paper, filling his lungs with smoke? Music played in the background. The man’s voice echoed how he felt. Paralyzed. Where was the real him? Who was the real him? He didn’t know, but had he ever? The man he’d thought he was would have never snapped at Remy like that, nor left her alone in the car. Anger and disgust roiled in his gut. Hatred for himself clawed his insides. Guilt and shame kept him glued to the spot where he sat.
You’re nothing.
You should kill yourself and put us all out of our misery.
You failed her.
Weak.
Selfish.
Fuckup.
Pain laced his every breath. Living was a punishment. He was tired of pushing through, and just getting by. He was filled with an empty loneliness and impending darkness that only seemed to get worse by the minute. Why did he even bother trying to keep his promises to Remy? He was a failure. Always would be.
Isaiah snorted a line and offered him one. Mikel’s hands clenched, his whole body itching for a high to forget the fact that he’d just gotten beat up by Joe Canoby and his buddy. That they had threatened his life and that of anyone he loved if he didn’t behave like the well-trained lapdog he’d been in the past. That fucker mentioned Remy by name. He knows her address. It was better if he pushed her away. She needed to stay far from him for her own safety.
“Maybe you need a better reminder of who owns you.” Joe’s last words still possessed him. Sick motherfucker wanted to remind Mikel just how powerless he really was. He’d never be free. He never should have given in to his selfishness. He should have ended it all before it began, taken himself out of the equation. I should just kill myself and everyone will be better off.
You’ll never amount to anything.
You’re just like me; you’re nothing.
Murderer.
You don’t do anything right.
You belong to me.
You are nothing but a failure.
Worthless piece of shit.
Dirty bastard.
I hate you.
I hate me.
Torment lit his rib cage. Shame was a crushing weight on his chest. He would do anything to feel light and free, just for a stolen minute—escape this world and all his regrets.
June sauntered her way over to him before sitting on his lap with a glass pipe. Her perfume was strong and sickly sweet. She licked her lips seductively before saying, “I’ve missed you. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Well, I’m glad you came home where you belong.”
She had no idea how her words cut to his bone, sunk into his marrow. She was right; this was all he was ever gonna be. He was starving for a fix, to feel something besides this internal agony and skin that burned with a million tiny paper cuts. He took what she had to offer, giving in to temptation. Remy was better off without him.
She lit the pipe, sucking in and blowing the smoke of the crystal meth in his face. He inhaled, seeking the dark escape. His painkiller. Her hand rested on his chest and she laughed. The noise echoed as the beginning effects of the drug seeped into his cells and poisoned his veins. She did it again, and again until he was floating in warmth—lying on a sandy beach with the sun shining down on him. His body relaxed, like he was floating in the water without a care in the world.
Hands unbuttoned his shirt … a hot mouth licking his nipples.
Remy was here in this dream.
