Teagan

Smith has been using his power over me with smaller doses and longer periods of withdrawal. He’s been getting off on it, and I’m sick of it—literally.

“Look at me,” Smith instructs. There is a menacing look in his eyes.

“I’m shaky, Smith.” My hands reach out to reveal my tremors.

“Shut up, Iris. I’m so tired of your bitching.” He stands, showing off the way he towers over me. “You’re always shaky. You’re always in need of a fix. You’re always fucking whining. I’m tired of it. I do so much for you, and you do so fucking little for me. We need to start working on that. Are we understood?” From behind, his body pushes mine against the bathroom sink. His fingers curl around my neck, and his wicked smirk taunts me in the mirror as his hard dick rubs against my ass. I’m numb to his advances. My sexual attraction has never exactly been there with Smith, but when I’m not properly dosed and he’s being stingy, it’s even worse. His lips kiss against my ear, and his tongue licks the lobe gently as he rocks into me. Then, without warning, he bites down and increases the pressure against my throat before uttering once more, “Are we understood?”

“We’re understood,” I grind out the words through my closing airway. When he releases me, I gasp for air as I rub my reddened throat. Smith is sometimes aggressive in bed, and while his dick is hard, we aren’t really having a sexual moment, so the physical hostility he just displayed takes me by surprise.

“Behave, shut up, and be grateful.” His pointed stare shows his words are serious, but he lightens the tense atmosphere in the bathroom by caressing my ass and giving me a fake smile. The mood swings leave me with whiplash. Something is off, though, for the moment, I’m dependent on Smith.

My knees buckle, and my grip on the counter is the only thing holding me upright as my head swirls and pounds. After a few seconds, I realize the pounding is more literal. Smith slams his fist against the wall beside the mirror. His eyes watch me with a glint of annoyance. Dramatically, I fall to my knees at his feet and pull out within me a tactic I haven’t yet used with him, the very emotion I was running from … pity.

“What the hell, Iris?” Each word is measured and drawn out.

The thrill when he says my adopted name is gone. There is only shame left icing through my veins.

“I don’t know!” The simple sentence comes out like a wail.

“We just fucking talked about you getting your shit together, and you didn’t even last one minute. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Smith, please, I need a fix. My emotions are all over the place, and I can’t get ahold of them. It’s been too long. Please, I know I need to change, but I just need a small hit, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

He stares down at where I kneel.

Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.

I think the plea is in my head, but I quickly figure out I’m chanting the one word while clutching on to his leg.

“Damn it, Iris!” He shakes my grip from his pants and kneels beside me on the bathroom floor. “You’ll only get enough to pull yourself together. I’m taking this out of my personal stash. You’re going through my supply too fast.” Quickly, he sets up. It’s so quick; I don’t even get to enjoy the ritual that normally brings me peace. “Don’t make me regret scooping your pathetic ass off the sidewalk.” He plunges the needle into my arm a little too hard, and I wince. “I knew that day you were exactly what I needed, a dumb little cunt trying to blend in on the wrong side of town.” Heroin pushes into my veins, melting the ice that developed there in this bathroom. “I’ve taken you in and let you hide away here, mooching off my drugs while you contributed almost nothing. I need you to stop being a problem for me and start being an asset. You got your fucking fix. Now, pull your shit together.”

His fingers clamp down against my chin, and he holds up my face.

His opposite hand strokes my cheek, contradictory to the tight clench of the other.

“I have shit to get done today. Try not to get in the way of that.”

What he’s saying doesn’t make it through the haze that has taken over my system. He jerks my head up and down with firm hands and then suddenly releases me. I fall back with a thud. He releases a roar-like laugh, and it vibrates through the acoustics in the bathroom. Being dependent on someone else for heroin sucks, but as the drugs continue to wash over me, I can’t help the smug satisfaction that, again, I was able to get what I wanted from Smith in the form of a needle that’s still dangling from my arm.

Just like that, he leaves me on the bathroom floor.

Finally high, I’m thankful for Smith’s stingy nature because I need to keep some of my bearings. I can’t knock out on this cold and dirty tile.

I have plans.

The terror about today that I’ve suppressed is swept away by my dose.

I stand and get to work on my appearance, starting with a shower. Lathered. Scrubbed. Rinsed. My skin is smooth, and my long hair has been blown dry. I get ready with the purpose of making a decision that I can never come back from. Not even Smith would understand this choice of mine.

In fact, he’d be pissed if he knew about it, but he’ll be gone for most of the day.

After I make fast work of getting ready and do the best I can to turn a junkie into something presentable, I coax myself. “You look fine,” I say aloud while eyes that seem dead stare back at me from the mirror. Dressed up like a little doll to be played with, I stand and blow air through my teeth, working up my nerve. A sheer black dress barely covers my body. The neckline plunges to my navel, and the bottom hemline hits just below the cheeks of my ass. Without a bra on, my hard nipples scrape against the itchy fabric. Small strings acting as panties hide my pussy from being visible through the dress, too. Thigh-high heeled boots finish off the outfit.

A vision of Kai—probably my inner judgment—appears in my mind. He’s watching from sitting atop the toilet, lid closed as I paint my face and tame my hair. Kai never cared much about the girlie way I’d wing my eyeliner before, but his imaginative form seems to micromanage every application of black eyeliner and creation of each and every soft curl in my hair. I used to love the longing way he’d look at me, but his face in my mind is one of disgust.

I push the vision away and stare at Iris, a woman I don’t recognize.

I’ve always been a girl who never fit into a perfect little mold. I was girlie and liked things like hair and makeup. Finding the perfect purse to go with an outfit used to excite me, but I wasn’t your typical girlie girl.

My parents never saw me, and then they died. After that, two men raised me—and not just any two men. These were badass men who took charge and instilled fear in a whole town. So, I’ve always felt as if some of their badass tendencies rubbed off on me. I was girlie but definitely strong and aware enough not to be naive. I was capable and cunning and just so happened to like to look pretty while I handled business.

Lately, I’ve felt a lot less adept and more manipulative as opposed to sharp-witted. I ran, ran away from everything, unable to cope, and have been living in a way I never imagined for myself. As I look in the mirror, more dolled up than I’ve been in a long time, I don’t even see the pretty girl anymore.

I’ve lost myself in the time that I’ve lived as Iris. It isn’t only my name that’s changed. It’s everything about me, everything I’ve ever believed in. Haunted eyes stare back at me from the mirror, lifeless just like the demolished soul inside. My face is cracked and leathery beneath the many layers of foundation, and my skin droops from my bones. My body freezes as my hands grip the corners of the counter.

I came here to escape the nightmares, the pity, my life, and even my family, their control, and watchful attention. A little less than a month has felt like years, and yet I haven’t grown or evolved at all in this time. Time stood still while I spiraled and dismantled my thoughts, dreams, and beliefs. The thought of never returning to my old life scares me, but at this moment, as I know what I’ll experience today will be irrevocable, the thought of leaving the life I’ve found, the drugs, scares me even more.

In my avoidance, I’ve found addiction.

No matter how much better I used to think I was when I first got here, unable to become like the others I’ve walked among lately, there is one simple truth; I am addicted to heroin. It dictates my every move and decision. Smith controls me with it. I rely on it to get through the day, to push away my memories, and to give me an excuse to still be here; it’s why I’m living my life as Iris as if Teagan never existed. My breathing escalates as I sit in a panic over my lack of internal struggle. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but I don’t care because the drugs affect my every thought and motivation.

Facing myself in the mirror, coming to terms with what I’m about to do, I make a decision. Teagan is gone—forever. Iris is who I am now, and I need to stop running from my past and completely put it to bed, close the door on the idea of ever going back. I am Iris, the junkie, a girl with no family and a woman with no hope.

Resolved in that admittance, I adjust the scrap of clothing and then quickly move into action. The drugs Smith shot into my veins haven’t completely worn off, but the intensity is gone, and I already want that back. I need it back. I reach into the far corner of the medicine cabinet where I know Smith keeps a stash of Dilaudid for emergencies.

I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed that I’ve been dipping into it when he’s being stingy. He’ll notice soon enough though because the bottle is significantly lighter than it was a few days ago. What I really want to do is crush them and feel the burn in my nose when I snort them, but without knowing how much time I have, I palm six of them and throw them into my mouth and use my hands as a cup for water, so I can swallow them. Six of these pills would knock out a normal person, but to a heroin addict, it barely scratches the itch.

As I wait for them to kick in, I check my appearance once more before unlocking and slowly opening the door wide … just as the doorbell rings. Unbalanced by the drugs, my ankles wobble in the sky-high heels on my feet. I’ve never really cared what anyone thought about me, but as I move to greet my guests, I’m suddenly extremely self-conscious. It isn’t often in life that I’ve felt less than, but that’s the only way for me to describe how I feel. That sensation only intensifies as I open the front door. Four sets of eyes cautiously judge me while feelings of self-doubt and not being good enough bubble to the surface as they inspect every inch of me.

“You want to tell us why we’re here? We already checked the time of the meet, and I’m not supposed to see Smith until tonight.” The large man licks his lips and stares at my overly exposed chest as he questions me.

I wasn’t expecting four men, only the one.

The last time he was here, I only managed a quick minute alone with Smith’s supplier, the man asking for answers. It’s all Smith allowed while he pulled money from the safe, but in that short time, I discreetly set up a meet-up of my own.

“I have an offer for you, one we need to discuss in private.” The steadiness of my voice repulses me, causing my taste buds to turn to acid.

“Well then, I guess you’d better invite us in.”

Against my better judgment, I make way and allow them all inside.

Each man looks me up and down like I’m about to do a salacious trick. Isn’t that what this is all about? Unease slides down my spine for the first time today, but it’s a little late for my morals to speak up.

“So now, why are we here?” The only man to speak so far brings his hand to my chest and pulls on the cheap fabric.

I look away from the men inside this drug house and toward my feet.

“I thought we could come to an arrangement. I need a steadier supply than what Smith gives me, and, well, you’re the one who supplies Smith.”

The gruff chuckle he expels causes me to look up into his eyes.

“And what is your contribution in this deal? What do I get for supplying you?” he says softly, almost tenderly, but there is an underlying tone of depravity.

My stomach drops, and my muscles ache with tension.

“You get me.” A false bravado of confidence surges out of my mouth.

He snorts. He fucking laughs in my face at my offer.

“You think you’re the first or even the hottest junkie whore to want to fuck for drugs? Because I’ve got news for you, princess; you aren’t, and there will be a long line of sluts after you with the same sort of motivation.”

“So, is your quota of strung-out sexual invitations too high this month? Are you going to turn me down? Because, sweetheart, that would be the biggest mistake of your life.” My hands slide down my stomach with seduction and poise. Well, as much seduction and poise as someone dosed with H and Dilaudid can manage.

“I didn’t say I was going to turn you down. You’re mouthy for a bitch in your position. Do you know that?”

He lurches closer, and I shrink.

“Turn.” His finger makes a spiral.

All dignity lost, I obey, slowly spinning to showcase my offer.

“Not too bad for a junkie whore. I’ve seen worse, but I’ve definitely had better.”

The cocky way he mocks me makes me sick. I’m not sure how I saw this going down, but I did figure he’d quickly agree. Men are usually easy. Use sex as a bartering tool, and it normally gives women the upper hand. Yet, somehow, I feel totally out of control.

“You’ll do, but you’ll need to make it worth my while if you want my drugs …” His hand stops my movement as he grips the back of my thigh. “And if you want me to keep this from Smith, which I’m assuming you do.” The threat is made clear; I’m to do as I’m told if I want him to keep this between us.

I lean into him, and his scent repulses me.

“I fuck you, and you give me drugs. That’s the deal, right? We’re in agreement?”

“Not just sex. You need to do anything and everything I ask of you. You need to forget the word no and fuck like the whore you’re trying to be. You tell me; are we in agreement, princess?”

Something about the way he keeps calling me princess gives me the impression that he knows more about where I come from than I’d like him to know, but I ignore what his tone is telling me.

“Yes.” No has been forgotten. That word lost all its power at the farm anyway. This is who I am now. I am a girl who defiles her used-up and abused body for her own gain. It’s easy since any ownership I ever felt over it has been stripped away by force and a lack of self-care.

His slimy nod of appreciation dries up my cunt that’s already incapable of wetness.

Sold to the most convenient bidder.

I’ve been bought like a broken-in, weathered, old sofa. How did I get here?

As I saunter into the bedroom, all of the men follow, every single one.

From the ends of my toes to the top of my head, my body begins to shake.

Opening my legs and playing a role for Smith is one thing, but this …

This is on a whole different level. The drugs. My drugs. A steady supply of heroin is how I get high, and Smith just hasn’t been delivering. He’s been having fun with weaning me off and refusing me. Smith likes me to teeter on the edge of withdrawal. He gets off on it, and after all the time of injecting, I can’t go without. So, here I am, selling myself to the next available source.

As I walk toward a decision I can’t come back from …

With each step, Kai’s deep voice echoes through my thoughts. The way he used to kiss my lips rips out my heart. His eyes so filled with adoration strangles my air. The farmhouse and the touch of an evil man tie my organs in knots. The judgment on Monica’s face when I saw her in town reminds me that my old life is over. An acquaintance I haven’t seen in years looked at me like I was garbage. My family, the people I love, could never accept what I’ve become. Everything comes together—my past, the present, and the extinction of my future.

I march to the final execution of Teagan.

In the lead, I take them to the room I’ve already lost myself in and hold the door as all four men saunter inside. Not leaving my spot by the open door, I say, “Don’t you think it’s time for us to have some privacy?” I do my best to keep my tone light and seductive while annoyance is blistering inside me.

“Come inside and close the door,” he says firmly. My hesitation gives away my nerves, and the man I’ve made arrangements with puffs up with arrogance. “That wasn’t a request. There is nothing for you to think about. Get the fuck in here and close the door.” His threat invades my space as his voice rises louder. “You want the drugs? You remember you’ve agreed to anything? You’ll fuck us all. You’ll take all of our cocks.”

The man I’ve agreed to give myself over to as payment grows restless, snarling his thin upper lip. Each man has an outline of a gun tucked into his waistband. I recognize the shape easily. The floor is dirty with dust and old needles, and the mattress is covered in stains. It’s been overused and worn out. It can’t be refurbished or made like new. It’s a piece of tattered rubbish, only good for the likes of addicts, lowlifes.

A lot like me, especially after today.

“Okay.” I give in and ready myself to hand over the last of my humanity.

I close the door behind me and come inside.

“You like the idea of fucking us all, don’t you?” His hand runs through my perfectly curled hair. “Is it that or your greed for drugs that makes you hot?” His voice actually sounds sweet.

I bite my lip, striving for seductive, but really, the less I have to speak the better.

“Answer me!” As the largest of the four men, he’s immensely intimidating as he draws out the words calmly but sternly, directing his attention at me.

“Taking on all four of you at once is probably the hottest thing I’ve ever done.”

I’m not even sure if he wants me to want them or the drugs more, but I take a guess at what he wants to hear from me.

Each man stands. The largest licks his lips. The two in the middle step closer, and the last runs his hand over his crotch. No time at all passes before four sets of hands touch me roughly. These men tower over me, making me feel small. Their disgusting smiles show their absolute pleasure.

There is no turning back.

I am an addict.

The person I’ve become disgusts me.

And yet I’m allowing it all because the heroin is the only thing that matters anymore. I’m lucky Smith took me in because, if not, I would have wound up on the streets where things like this could happen without my consent. These men can have their way with me. It’s only a means to an end. Like I said, I’m disgusting, especially because, in my head, this is all worth it for what I want.

One of the scumbags pulls out his phone and points the camera at me.

I can’t even bring myself to care.

I’m pushed to my knees. My clothes—the itchy, slutty outfit I dressed myself up in—are torn from my back. Hands touch me. Eyes devour me. Words are spit at me. They take from me when I thought I had nothing left to give, and the Dilaudid kicks in strong just as the first man enters me. From there, they certainly don’t use me one at a time.

They manipulate and fuck me all at once.