Heavy weight presses me down into the mattress. My foggy head starts to clear. I press my hands against my eyes and rub until the room comes into focus. Smith is the heavy force weighing down on my back. He grunts, and my stomach rolls.
“That’s my good girl. Squeeze my cock.” His fingers spread my ass, and he spits. The cluster of saliva drips from my ass down to where his dick penetrates my pussy.
My head is swimming like I just stood too quickly and lost my balance. I don’t remember passing out or even really what was happening prior to that, but there is paraphernalia from my last use scattered all around me. Smith must have really loaded me up. He grabs on to my hair and twists and pulls, barely eliciting a reaction from me.
“Tell me you need my cock, Iris.”
This is one of Smith’s favorite games. He tells me what to say, and I behave like a parrot. Internally, I’m rolling my eyes, but honestly, it makes the whole thing easier for me.
“I need your big cock, Smith.” I throw in the size comment for good measure, no pun intended. He isn’t small, believe me; it’s like I’m being torn when he goes in dry, but he has nothing below the belt that is setting any records. I’ve had bigger and definitely better. Kai didn’t get around the way he did for no reason. His package is impressive, and as much as I hate to think about it, his experience with women taught him a lot.
“How bad do you need it, my little slut?”
“I’d do anything.” He is a means to an end. What I mean by anything is that I’d do this for the drugs.
“Anything? Do you mean it?” Smith’s pace becomes more furious.
“I mean it. Your command is mine to obey.”
He yanks his cock from my pussy, spreads my ass cheeks, and comes between them. His hand barrels down on my ass, and I squirm. He stands, but I remain still, not wanting to get up to clean myself until after he’s gone.
“Good girl, baby.” I hate when he calls me that. I’d rather he refer to me as slut. As I lie on my stomach, my face downcast toward the mattress, Smith’s presence looms over me. From beneath my eyelashes, I peek at the floor where the bed ends. I study the dark hair on his toes, hoping he’ll leave me to clean the sticky cum from my ass in peace.
“Look at me, Iris.”
The thrill of that name, the one I’ve created for myself, still hasn’t worn off. I barely ever feel anymore. In the month or so that I’ve been here, I’ve grown numb from the drugs, and emotions are few and far between, but when he calls me Iris, there is always a spark of excitement.
I tilt my head back to see his face.
“You’ve made me very happy. There were some hiccups that I believe we’ve corrected, but overall, I am so damn lucky you fell into my arms on the sidewalk. I need you to continue to make me happy. You have a good thing going, and I want you to remember that.”
His sweet words catch me off guard. This isn’t us. We fuck and score.
That’s who we are.
He pulls me to my feet, and his cum slides down my legs as he lifts my hand between us. The only thing I care about falls into my palm before his fingers squeeze mine, and he leans in, bringing his mouth to mine. Our dry lips touch; the cracks in his scrape over the cracks in mine. His tongue gently slithers into my mouth. It isn’t often that we kiss—hardly ever really—so his action takes me by surprise once again. With the plastic baggy pressed against my hand, I don’t dare turn away, not when I’m so close. He sweetly chews on my bottom lip and hums in appreciation before pulling away.
“You’re special, Iris, and you’re mine.” His fingers scratch against my ribs.
“Thank you, Smith.” I don’t even know what I’m thanking him for. I guess the drugs. He probably assumes it’s for his kind words though. The words are just sort of automatic because I know he likes to hear them. The heroin burns hot in my hand, and the pressure of performing for Smith rushes out of me as he disappears through the bedroom doorway.
Drugs first, and then I think I need some fresh air. I’ve been holed up inside this house for too long in an endless cycle of heroin, nods, and Smith. I sit cross-legged on the mattress and grab the supplies always readily available. My adrenaline starts to race as I suck in a deep breath. Suddenly, my pussy is wetter than it ever has been for Smith. My mouth fills with saliva, and my stomach jumps with excited anticipation. This moment right here, the one where I prepare a shot is almost as good as the heroin itself. With the entirety of the little baggy dumped into the spoon, I cook up. My eyes bulge when the tar bubbles, and I inhale a deep whiff of the burning stench.
Burke.
Heroin.
Paisley.
Heroin.
Kai.
Heroin.
I’m not ready to leave here. I’m not ready to return as Teagan.
I need the drugs to make the reminders of my family disappear. At first, I just wanted to escape, but now, the thought of them is painful. They’d be disgusted if they could see me. Burke and Kai have always been there for me, been my sounding board and my security blanket, but I pushed them away when that became suffocating. Now, I’m just alone.
I want my high.
With my teeth and one hand, I tighten the rubber around my arm. The snugness sends endorphins pulsing through my entire body. I dunk the needle in the drugs and fill up. The sight makes me tremble. I steady my hand and find a vein. After a few taps on my arm and a couple of misses, I’m in and injecting myself.
Nothingness blankets my being.
I close my eyes, but I don’t cease to see.
Gmork, the wolf-like villain from one of my favorite movies as a kid, appears behind my closed lids. In the movie, The NeverEnding Story, he is the servant to the Nothing, and now, he’s here during my nothingness, serving to keep me fucked up. His blue eyes stare me down as he bares his pointy fangs at me. As a kid, I was terrified of him, yet, in this moment, he’s like an old friend, a source of comfort cooked up by my drug-fueled mind.
Time passes while I talk to a figment of my imagination.
The villains, their evil, and their power no longer control me with fear. I’ve come to expect shadows in the dark. I’m immune to their destruction because I’m the only one with the power to hurt me.
And I do it fucking well.
Gmork isn’t the antihero in my story. Neither is Jacoby or his lackeys.
I am the lowlife sabotage that has taken my own life and flushed it down the toilet. This life I’ve chosen with Smith and heroin is the real-life plot twist I never saw coming. I could have gone to the clinic and tried to get better, but instead, I decided to circle the drain.
Enough!
I’ve lived inside my own mind long enough. I pull myself from the spiral and get up from the disgusting mattress I call a bed. Clothes on the floor return to cover my skin. They probably stink. I haven’t done laundry once since arriving. Moving to the bathroom, I throw water on my face and attempt to run my fingers through my hair. I don’t care what I look like. I don’t care that I smell. I just need to get out of this house for a while.
The light from the sun stabs at my eyes when I go out the door and step outside, and the sticky air swarms me. My lungs hurt simply from the effort it takes to get to the sidewalk adjacent to the road. The noise from the traffic makes me paranoid. Stories of judgment from the people out and about transform in my head. Mothers tighten their hold on their children as I walk by. The downtown area is alive with people shopping and going about their lives, but for me, it’s like I forgot what normal is like.
Walking down the street?
Passing a stranger with a polite nod?
All of it seems foreign after my time spent inside the dark of a drug den. My only comfort is the birds flying overhead. I don’t know why, but they ease my anxiety. This was a bad idea, but still, I don’t turn back. Part of me relishes in this public punishment of revealing my sins, showing society what I’ve become, a druggie not fit to walk the street without glaring stink eyes directed my way.
My hands shake, and sweat beads above my upper lip. A flower shop to my right wafts the scent of roses my way, and a coffee shop produces a line out the door of people eager for a much more socially acceptable fix than the one I’ve been indulging in. In the center of town, I’m surrounded by people going about their day and their business, earning a buck the old-fashioned way, creating an honest living. My knees knock, my body tired from pretty much the simple act of existing. An overwhelming sense of defeat hits me as I realize how low I’ve sunk, and a tear burns my skin as it leaves the corner of my eye and drips down my cheek.
“Teagan? Teagan, is that you?” The voice is perky and familiar even though it’s one I haven’t heard in years.
Panic grabs ahold of me. I can’t be seen like this.
A giant diamond ring surrounded by clusters of smaller diamonds sits on her left ring finger. Its partner band paired next to it sparkles under the light. A large, protruding belly sticks out from under a baby-blue sundress. I stand, stupefied, attempting to conjure up a way to disappear, but unless the drugs have given me superpowers, that is not happening.
Monica.
Monica Wilson walks my way, looking put together and like everything I’m not.
“That is you!” she screeches as she holds her arms wide, as if to pull me in for a hug. Thankfully, she seems to second-guess the action and drops her hands to her sides. Good, I don’t want to be hugged.
“Hey.” My one-worded response is filled with embarrassment. This is who used to be thrown into the air in high school as a cheerleader and one of the girls who caught Kai’s attention. It’s so ironic that she’s the one to see me at my lowest.
Great.
“You look … good.”
I look like shit, and we both know it. Why couldn’t she pretend like she didn’t remember me like she had at my home all those years ago? Awkward avoidance in public would have been much better than this.
“I see congrats are in order.” I gesture to the obvious baby bump in an effort to direct the focus off me. I have no idea what she’s up to now, but if she’s still in touch with anyone from back home, it’ll be no time at all before rumors get started, and Burke will come looking for me—or worse, Kai.
She looks down at her belly, as if she’s surprised by the news. The baby looks like it could be delivered right here, so it can’t be something she’s still getting used to.
“Oh, yes, baby number two will be here any day now.” She rubs her stomach and beams with pride as she looks back up at me. “What about you? Do you have any kids yet?”
How do I escape this? I don’t want to stand here and have the pissing contest of who has done better since high school. Clearly, it’s her.
“Nope, no kids. Listen, Monica …”
“Oh, don’t worry! It’ll happen. I got lucky. I met the most amazing man in college. We married just after graduation. Terrence—that’s his name—is an account manager for a huge firm, and his job gives me the ability to be the stay-at-home mom I always wanted to be. He works a lot, but he always makes time for his family. We actually just got back from Hawaii, a little family vacation before the new bundle of joy comes. I couldn’t be happier, Teagan. You’ll find that one day. I promise! You’re a total catch, but maybe just work on your presentation a little, and it’ll happen for you sooner than you know it! You never know when Mr. Right will come around the corner. So, it’s always important to look your best.”
Thanks, Monica. I’ll be sure to go home and clean up my act, so I can follow in your housewife footsteps. Girls are such bitches. She doesn’t care about how I’m doing or what I’ve been through. She wants to brag about her life and throw in a dig or two at me.
“You’re right. You’re totally right. Speaking of, I’d better run so that Mr. Right doesn’t find me looking so disheveled. That is what you’re saying, right? You’ve hit the jackpot, and I’m a mess? Congrats. I’ll alert the yearbook committee.”
Her passive-aggressive, polite bullshit is more than I can handle. Not waiting for a response, I leave her standing with her mouth hanging open. In fact, I can’t get away fast enough—for more than one reason. I hate the Monica Wilsons of the world. I hated them before I was a trashy drug user, and I definitely hate them now.
I’ve had enough fresh air for today, and I walk back to the place I now lay my head at night, hoping Smith is back from wherever he went because people like Monica certainly make me want another hit.
Heroin over bitches. Every time.