CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
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Calder
I watched the amber liquid start to bubble, the open flame underneath the metal spoon licking along its underside as the familiar and acrid scent of heroin irritated my nose. An instant later, I felt the bite of the electrical cord into my skin as I wrapped it around my upper arm in a tight tourniquet. I watched the vein in the crook of my elbow rise and plump up under my already scarred and sallow skin.
Then there was a syringe in my hand, a drop of fluid beading on the tip of the needle, the instrument of my release and the instrument of my destruction. I watched in helpless horror as I brought the needle down toward my skin, not wanting to do this, but powerless to stop myself. I tensed for the sharp sting of the needle, for the wash of mind-numbing euphoria that would soon follow, knowing it only meant I'd want to do it again, knowing it would be the end of me.
"Please, no," I begged fearfully. "I don't want this, not anymore. I don't want to die. Please."
A hand came out of nowhere and grabbed mine, stopping me just before the needle pricked my skin. Another took the syringe from my shaking hand and took it away. The clean scent of citrus filled my nose, banishing the sickening smell of heroin, banishing the unbearable pain that racked my dope sick body, banishing the fear.
"No," a sweet and gentle voice spoke into my ear. Steel blue eyes and a warm reassuring smile appeared in front of me. "You don't need that," she said. "You have me."
"No, I don't," I answered desolately. "You left me. I have nothing. I have no one."
I started to sob and couldn't stop, feeling lost and so alone. I hurt deep inside again, but this time it had nothing to do with withdrawal and everything to do with a broken and battered heart. I pulled away from her, curling into myself. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted oblivion. I wanted the needle and syringe back.
"Calder," she called out to me.
I ignored her as her soft fingertips slid caressingly down my arm. It felt so good, so comforting, but I refused to let it lure me back to her. She'd just hurt me again.
"Calder." Her voice was a bare and fading whisper now.
The fingers glided farther down my arm as she began to slip away, but then abruptly stopped at my elbow, stilling over my scars and the undeniable proof of my weakness as a human being.
"Oh, Calder," she whispered in a sorrowful and sympathetic tone that jolted me to the core.
That was when I realized that the voice was no longer in my dream. It was very real now, and I was no longer asleep. I opened my eyes to the bright light of morning and found myself staring up at an unfamiliar popcorn ceiling and lying in a strange bed. I looked over to see Ella sitting up next to me with a cream-colored sheet pulled up to cover her breasts. She was staring at my left elbow with a shocked and disbelieving expression as her fingers traced lightly over the old scars I'd never wanted her to see. Well, fuck.
I didn't mean to stay the night with her, and I didn't mean to have sex with her either, but here we were. When I realized I couldn't resist her, I took control of the situation, thinking I could get her out of my system for good this time, then leave before the light of morning, so she wouldn't see the scars. So much for that idea.
The sex had been amazing, the best I ever had. It wrung me so dry that I'd basically passed out with her in my arms and slept the whole night through. Something I rarely did, thanks to my frequent battles with insomnia. Considering I had a raging hard-on just from lying here next to her too, I hadn't gotten her out of my system either, not even close. I closed my eyes and sighed in resignation.
"Calder?" she said softly as her fingers fell away from my skin, leaving behind an inexplicable and unwanted sense of loss that pissed me off.
"What?" I asked tersely as I opened my eyes to frown up at her.
Her body stiffened, and her lips pressed together as she gripped the sheet tighter against her chest. She turned away from me toward the side of the bed, but not before I saw the hurt that flashed across her beautiful steel blue eyes, and it gutted me. What was it about seeing her hurting that affected me that way? What was it that made me want to comfort this woman who had hurt me so badly? Why did I lust after her so much that I couldn't keep my hands off of her? None of it made any sense to me, and I didn't like it, but it didn't change the fact that I couldn't see her upset and do nothing.
I sat up and reached over to touch her shoulder gently. "Ella," I said softly and apologetically.
"When did you start using?" she asked in a quiet and subdued tone without turning to look at me. She wasn't naive. Anyone who grew up in The Armpit like we did, knew exactly what those scars meant. Drug use had been rampant there. Hell, it still was.
I dropped my hand and huffed out a breath as my mind whirled. Part of me wanted to lie to spare her feelings. A darker and pettier part of me wanted her to know exactly what she did to me. I wanted her to know how much she hurt me when she walked out on me all those years ago, and what her leaving turned me into. The petty part of me won.
"Twelve years ago," I answered with a cutting edge of bitterness.
Her head fell forward, and her entire body seemed to curl in on itself as she began to shake with soft sobs. My chest ached to see it.
"Was it...was it h...heroin?" came her whispered question.
"Yes," I replied quietly as the bitterness gave way to sudden shame. "I've been clean for eight years now."
She wasn't the one to blame for me becoming a drug addict. I was, and it wasn't fair to try to lay it on her. No matter who caused the pain I was trying to smother, or who offered me that very first hit of heroin, there was no one else responsible for my decision to shoot up that first time but me. And even though I was clean now, I'd been paying for that lapse in judgment ever since.
"Leaving you was the worst mistake I ever made," she whimpered softly. "I've been paying for it ever since if it makes you feel any better." She sniffled and wiped some of the tears from her eyes. "Just like I deserve," she added so quietly that I barely caught it.
As I watched her cry, I thought of that photo Scott showed me of Ella with her husband, of the cowed and defeated look on her face in it. She looked so lost and alone, so broken in that image, just like right now. No, she didn't deserve that. No one did. What all did that bastard do to her? Righteous anger hit me hard, and I let out a low growl. I was glad Raymond Voss died, and I hoped to God it was painful. I could tell from just one picture that he was a piece of shit, even before Ella told me he was a monster.
A sudden urge to comfort her took over my mind again. I unconsciously reached out to her, ignoring how my heart rate spiked as my hand touched the soft ivory skin of her gorgeous back. She flinched away as I caressed her, and cried even harder. Enough was enough, and I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed her and lifted her over into my lap before she had a chance to protest. She fought my hold on her as I pulled her in close to me.
"Ella, stop," I said calmly, yet firmly.
She struggled for only a moment more before finally settling and curling in against me. Her arms latched around my neck, and she buried her face into my neck. She was warm and soft in my arms, her clean citrus scent smelling so familiar, so good to me. She wiggled closer, and I was suddenly acutely aware of her bare breasts against my bare chest and her warm naked ass rubbing against my still erect cock. Well, fuck. I closed my eyes and laid my cheek on her head as I tried to will my arousal away. That wasn't what she needed right now.
"It's not your fault I chose to put that poison in my body," I said with quiet certainty.
"Yes, it is," she sobbed out, her tears wetting my chest.
"No," I growled out sternly. "It is not."
She raised her head and looked up at me with stricken red-rimmed eyes. "I drove you to it."
I closed my eyes as the memories of the days that followed after she left me filled my head. It was all a hazy cloud of confusion, loss, and unbearable pain. At the time, I'd hated her, yet still loved her. I'd wanted her back even though she tore open my heart. I hated myself for that, and it fed the already well-established pain and self-loathing I'd been carrying since learning at sixteen that I was a child of rape. I turned to alcohol then because I didn't know how to cope with it. I'd never been shown any other way. I grew up watching my mother deal with her pain by turning to booze and heroin. I wondered why I didn't start using heroin sooner, then opened my eyes again to see the reason why. Ella.
Even after all this time, I still saw the woman I once loved, the woman who pulled me up out of the darkness and into warm blissful light. She had been my reason for being, my reason for everything. She was my salvation, my future, but then she left me. She walked away and let me fall back into the abyss, and I'd dealt with it the only way I knew how at the time. I felt an undeniable pull toward her even now, a sharp tug on my shriveled heart that promised things that could never be. Just like heroin, it was a craving that would only lead to more pain, and be the end of me. She still had a hold on me, and I needed to walk away now before I gave in, before it was too late.
Suddenly, Ella's warm hand was on my cheek, her gaze swimming with pain, guilt, and remorse. "I'm so sorry, Cal," she whispered quaveringly. "For everything."
"I know," I whispered back as my eyes moved down to her lips.
The temptation was too strong, the craving more than I could manage to stave off, and I gave in and kissed her. I couldn't help myself. I just wanted one more taste, one more hit, and then I'd quit for good. I knew they were the rationalizations of an addict, but I didn't care. It felt too good to stop. I didn't want to stop.
Her lips were like bright sunlight and honey, her body like warm promises of peace and happiness. I wanted to feel all of it one more time, wanted to feel the echo of what used to be and what could have been. I turned her in my lap to face me, and she wrapped her legs around my waist. I felt her lock her ankles together behind my back as her arms clung to me tightly. She whimpered my name into my mouth as I deepened the kiss and thrust my tongue in deep, plundering and taking as I grabbed her hips and lifted her up. My cock unerringly found her already soaked core, and she sank down onto me with a soft cry of pleasure. I groaned as her tight wet heat enveloped me, owned me.
I pumped her up and down on my dick, burying my face against her neck and groaning loudly as she rode me, harder, faster, deeper. Suddenly, she shattered apart in my arms, her nails digging long furrows into my back as she let out a long wail. The wet slapping sounds that filled the room grew louder and more frantic amid her screams and my more primal grunts and groans. My balls tightened and hot electric tingles licked up my spine, a warning of my own inevitable release. Then with one more deep penetrating thrust up into her, my world spun down and focused into one perfect point of sheer bliss. We both flew apart together, crying out as one and clasping on tightly to each other.
When I came back to myself, I was spooning around Ella with my softening cock cradled against her ass. I held her and listened as her breathing slowed and then grew deep and even. When I was sure that she was asleep, I carefully extricated myself from around her and quietly dressed. I stopped in the doorway before leaving and looked back at her one more time. She looked so peaceful now as she slept, her pain and anguish gone for now. I believed her when she said she was sorry, but it didn't change anything between us. We just weren't meant to be.
"So am I," I whispered softly, and then walked away.