she groaned and grunted, soaking my whole hand. Within minutes, I felt her spasm once more.
I removed my hand from Missy’s crotch. Her face was still near mine and she tried to kiss me again. This time, I allowed her, which was probably a mistake, since I immediately tasted something bitter.
Fuck .
I knew right away what that chemical taste was—residue from the cocaine she’d snorted earlier. And sick as it was that bitterness made me crave the coke I knew she had in her bag. I suddenly wanted white powder more than I wanted any part of Missy’s body.
A long-dormant voice in my head piped up, she’s already offered to share. I’m sure the offer still stands, especially since you just got her off…twice. Ask her, ask her, go ahead and ask her now.
But no, just no, I needed to get the fuck away from temptation.
I buried my face in Missy’s neck to escape her lips, her coke-tainted mouth. But still, all I could think about was that white powder, and how it used to make me feel—invincible, uncaring, an attitude of fuck the world.
What would one little bump hurt?
Maybe a little more would even be okay. Maybe it’d be enough to stop caring about the past four years and the things I’ve done. Hell, maybe it’d be enough to stop caring about judgmental people staring back at you; maybe it’d be enough to forget about a brother who hates you so much that he can’t remember he used to love you more than life itself.
So, yeah, I opened my mouth, intent on asking for something that could take away the pain. Or at least mute it.
But then I remembered how quickly things can spiral out of control, how one little bump often leads to one big, fat line. More and more, since one is never, ever enough, either.
Everyone has a dark side, but mine has the power to consume me. You hear about not starting down a certain path, and maybe you wonder what exactly that shit means. I used to myself, wonder, that is, once upon a time. But now I know. I’ve been there, done that.
And here’s exactly how it goes…
The path is dark, black and twisting, the unknown.
But it’s also alluring. It beckons your soul.
It calls to you, whispering seductively.
It’s good at convincing, so you take one tentative step.
You hold your breath and wait and wait for the world to fall apart.
But nothing happens.
In fact, it feels kind of good to say, “Fuck it. Who cares?”
Scream it , the path whispers. So you do.
And then you push further…you take another step…then another.
Still cool, baby, see? And don’t you feel good?
Sure you do. You feel fucking invincible.
So what the hell, what’s one more? Make that a few more.
And then…
The fucking bottom falls out.
And, shit, you’re tumbling down hills, crashing into boulders, searching for something—anything—to grab on to.
But you’re on your own, baby. It was all one big lie.
And you fall.
Down, down low, until you wake up.
And when you do you’re battered and bloodied at the bottom, surrounded by rubble from the destruction you wrought.
Your life—that shit’s completely ruined.
And there I was last night, about to walk right off the edge…again.
That was me as I felt for the wall behind me, leaned back against the bricks, and closed my eyes. I just wanted to get out of that shitty alley, away from the fucking demon in Missy’s purse, away from Missy.
But she misunderstood my sudden reversal. “If you’re feeling sick or something, I can just blow you,” she stated matter-of-factly.
Jesus.
I had every intention of stopping her, but then she dropped to her knees and popped the button on my jeans. Zip-p-p. What can I say? I’d spent the last of my resolve on denying myself the drugs, I didn’t have it in me to deny anymore. So I let Missy do her thing.
And, fuck, her thing was pretty damn good, so good in fact that I seriously considered getting back to pleasing her some more. But the selfish, dark part of me had taken over, and I just didn’t
I removed my hand from Missy’s crotch. Her face was still near mine and she tried to kiss me again. This time, I allowed her, which was probably a mistake, since I immediately tasted something bitter.
Fuck .
I knew right away what that chemical taste was—residue from the cocaine she’d snorted earlier. And sick as it was that bitterness made me crave the coke I knew she had in her bag. I suddenly wanted white powder more than I wanted any part of Missy’s body.
A long-dormant voice in my head piped up, she’s already offered to share. I’m sure the offer still stands, especially since you just got her off…twice. Ask her, ask her, go ahead and ask her now.
But no, just no, I needed to get the fuck away from temptation.
I buried my face in Missy’s neck to escape her lips, her coke-tainted mouth. But still, all I could think about was that white powder, and how it used to make me feel—invincible, uncaring, an attitude of fuck the world.
What would one little bump hurt?
Maybe a little more would even be okay. Maybe it’d be enough to stop caring about the past four years and the things I’ve done. Hell, maybe it’d be enough to stop caring about judgmental people staring back at you; maybe it’d be enough to forget about a brother who hates you so much that he can’t remember he used to love you more than life itself.
So, yeah, I opened my mouth, intent on asking for something that could take away the pain. Or at least mute it.
But then I remembered how quickly things can spiral out of control, how one little bump often leads to one big, fat line. More and more, since one is never, ever enough, either.
Everyone has a dark side, but mine has the power to consume me. You hear about not starting down a certain path, and maybe you wonder what exactly that shit means. I used to myself, wonder, that is, once upon a time. But now I know. I’ve been there, done that.
And here’s exactly how it goes…
The path is dark, black and twisting, the unknown.
But it’s also alluring. It beckons your soul.
It calls to you, whispering seductively.
It’s good at convincing, so you take one tentative step.
You hold your breath and wait and wait for the world to fall apart.
But nothing happens.
In fact, it feels kind of good to say, “Fuck it. Who cares?”
Scream it , the path whispers. So you do.
And then you push further…you take another step…then another.
Still cool, baby, see? And don’t you feel good?
Sure you do. You feel fucking invincible.
So what the hell, what’s one more? Make that a few more.
And then…
The fucking bottom falls out.
And, shit, you’re tumbling down hills, crashing into boulders, searching for something—anything—to grab on to.
But you’re on your own, baby. It was all one big lie.
And you fall.
Down, down low, until you wake up.
And when you do you’re battered and bloodied at the bottom, surrounded by rubble from the destruction you wrought.
Your life—that shit’s completely ruined.
And there I was last night, about to walk right off the edge…again.
That was me as I felt for the wall behind me, leaned back against the bricks, and closed my eyes. I just wanted to get out of that shitty alley, away from the fucking demon in Missy’s purse, away from Missy.
But she misunderstood my sudden reversal. “If you’re feeling sick or something, I can just blow you,” she stated matter-of-factly.
Jesus.
I had every intention of stopping her, but then she dropped to her knees and popped the button on my jeans. Zip-p-p. What can I say? I’d spent the last of my resolve on denying myself the drugs, I didn’t have it in me to deny anymore. So I let Missy do her thing.
And, fuck, her thing was pretty damn good, so good in fact that I seriously considered getting back to pleasing her some more. But the selfish, dark part of me had taken over, and I just didn’t
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