I think it’s been days. Honestly, I’m not really sure because I’ve been drunk and high on Xanax since meeting Smith. Maybe it’s only been two days or possibly a few. I do know that it’s morning since I just woke up naked and alone with the sun pouring into the room.

The bottle next to the bed from last night is empty.

My tight muscles ache, and my headache slices through my skull.

Sober, in the harsh light of day, it’s a lot harder to run. An angry storm of a mood washes over me and takes over my entire body. My bleak thoughts move in slow motion as they wrap themselves around my entire being. Sober and depleted, I can practically feel the breath against my skin of the man who raped me. There is phantom tearing pain between my legs. The memory of his voice rings in my ears. I toss about in a panic, and one small twist of my shaky body causes an influx of delirium and tremors.

Smith, come in here. Bring me something to take the edge off. Please …

Versions of this plea play on a loop until even thinking exhausts me. My body goes limp, and I sink back onto the mattress and deeper into my depression. One simple choice, I close my eyes and rest my aching head as I drift back off, already knowing it’s a mistake. Hungover and pathetic, sober and off-balance and full of hatred when I’m like this, the past, my past comes catching up from behind …

“You’re a filthy slut.” The words are spit with venom and somehow, at the same time, humor.

“Please, no more.” I hate myself for begging.

“Do you want to die? Would you rather leave this earth than have me inside you again?”

I don’t even know how to answer that. Does he want me to want him or want me to want to die?

I don’t answer him. I can’t. At this point, I don’t care what the end result is—compassion, saving, or even death. I just want it to end.

My captor spits in my face, and yellow snot-like saliva hangs from my chin. Because of my bound hands, I can’t wipe the disgusting bodily fluid away. With his grease-covered fingers, he rubs the spit around my face and into my eyes. Then, without warning, he shoves into me once more, and I can feel the burning and tearing all the way up my back. Inside my head, I remember Kai’s eyes and fight to push away my reality.

“Iris!” The sharp jab to my shoulder has me forcing my eyes open. My weakened mind is even dizzier now, and my breathing is coming in short, rapid blasts. “What the hell happened? I could hear you hollering in your sleep from out in the garage.”

I’m still in the nightmare. I can still feel the pervert thrusting into me as violently as he can manage. I can only choke out one word while stuck between the world of my past and present.

“Sorry.” I look down in shame.

“You’re running,” he says.

My mouth opens and hangs for a moment.

“It wasn’t a question. I don’t want to hear your story. Right from the start, back on the bus, I could see it in your eyes. You’re running from something. We all are. It’s how we end up here, and I have exactly what you need to win the race against whatever brought you here. Trade those demons in for some relief.”

I want whatever he can give me to win in this footrace against my disturbing memories. Smith drops his knees on the bed and pulls out his so-called magical fix. My unease grows as I stare down at his offer.

Do I want to cross this line?

Things are bad now, but I might never be able to come back from something like this. This could take away any chance at a future on the other side of the darkness that currently has its hands around my throat.

I’m not even sure I want to see the other side though.

Fuck it.

Smith tightens a rubber band around my bicep and then drags a needle across the skin of my forearm. I don’t watch.

“You need to relax, Iris.”

As he calls me by the name I’ve adopted, the scene around me seems a little less real. Somehow, crossing this line doesn’t seem as bad when I think about shooting up heroin as Iris, not as Teagan. My breathing regulates, and shortly after, the prick of the needle punctures my vein, and he plunges the drug into my system.

My world tilts.

This is it.

This is everything that I’ve been looking for.

Heroin.

That farmhouse is gone. The reminders of pity from the people I left behind are a distant memory. Kai’s affection or distance or any of the many molds our relationship fell into are forgotten. The invasive and brutal touch of the man who ruined me isn’t sitting on my chest and making it hard to breathe.

I’m free, and all it took was one little shot of a hard drug.

Tingles run up and down my body and make me feel safe. My head nods forward as my jaw hangs slack. Reality becomes distorted, like a hazy euphoria. I could kiss Smith right now, but he’s too far away, and my limbs are heavy. I settle for what I believe is a smile aimed his way.

“That’s it, Iris. Welcome to my world. There’s no going back now.”

Road maps and GPS be damned. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to go anywhere.

The old, dirty mattress on the floor swallows me whole, and I’ve never been more comfortable. Smith sits next to me, and his ripped jeans tickle my bare leg. Even though my eyes are closed, I roll my head in his direction. There is something powerful about just knowing I’m facing him even if I can’t see him. He gave this escape to me, and I already feel forever grateful, indebted to him.

The simple rustling of his movement sounds like static noise to a rhythm. It’s as if I’m hyperaware of every sound and movement in the room and barely conscious at the same time. Things seem more optimistic—my life, the idea of running away, my past.

As if it was a glided road leading me exactly where I needed to be.

To here. To Smith. To this life. To this drug.

I’ve found meaning in it all.

“Here I come. I wouldn’t let you go on this trip without me.”

A rubber band snaps. The sound of skin slapping skin lulls me to find peace. Smith moans, and it pulses my pussy. Then, there is silence, and I know he’s about to join me in my heroin high. Smith comes to lie beside me. His face presses against my stomach as he gets comfortable, cuddled against me.

“Thank you, Smith.” I’ve never meant those words more. With one simple gesture, he took away all my fears and sadness.

“I’m going to make you mine. You can thank me then.”

This man doesn’t want to shelter me or shield me from sensations. He only wants to make me feel good. This is exactly what I was after when I got on that bus.

I’m all in. He might have already made me his with one hit.

Heroin.

I drift in and out of awareness, but for how long? I’m not sure. When I wake fully, I’m alone. My body aches as I stand. I rub the mark on my arm where the needle pricked me, and Kai’s eyes flash in my mind as I regain my bearings. Guilt and shame cause my knees to buckle, and I fall to the floor. On all fours, my self-loathing takes over as my failures hit me in the face. I had fucking heroin shot into my arm and loved it. My decisions match the ugliness branded inside me. I’m a lowlife waste of air. I cringe as I remember how intoxicating it felt to be free. Free, absolutely free.

I am weak because I let Smith shoot me up and because I’m not done yet.

Not even close.

I know I need more to flush the memories completely from my system. The only thing I want is to chase that high. Not my brother or Paisley or Kai.

I hope Smith is still here and has more drugs to share.

Hello, heroin. It’s me, Iris.

You’ve completely shaken my world, and I’m ready for another round.