Mysterious Skin - I Wish I Was (4/15)
Title: I Wish I Was (4/15)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Pairings/Characters: Neil, Wendy, Brian
Rating: light NC-17
Warnings:language, mentions of abuse, drug abuse, sexual situations
Summary: Brian's not through with Neil. Neil's not through destroying himself.
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Chapter 4
(Neil McCormick)
The cocaine made me feel fucking fantastic, but it also made me sick… like, really fucking sick. I was puking my guts out every day I did it, which wasn't every day because I wasn't some fucking addict or anything. I just did it every once in a while, like every few days or every other day or sometimes not at all for a week. I only took it so I could keep back the nightmares. Usually when I'd come crashing down from the high, I'd smoke a little weed and sleep so heavy that I didn't have nightmares… and I needed to stay up so I could work more anyways.
It wasn't that I needed to work so I could buy more coke. I just needed a place to go every day. The money for the coke was just a perk. It's not like I had anything else to spend my money on… and that shit is expensive, so if I had to borrow money from Wendy sometimes, it wasn't a big deal. I wasn't addicted to it. That shit just cost too much for minimum wage. It was her idea for me to get a "real" job anyway, so she owed me that.
Anyway, the coke still made me sick… so, I figured it was for the best if I just didn't eat to avoid the nasty vomit taste. When I was high, I wasn't really hungry anyways. Still, when I started dropping a little weight, Wendy started giving me these long glares, like she was trying to figure out a math problem written on my body.
"Are you okay?" she asked one morning over breakfast. I hadn't snorted any coke that morning, so I actually picked at the cereal.
"Yeah," I said, flashing a quick smile. "Why?"
"I don't know…" I knew as soon as she said it that she would proceed to tell me exactly what she apparently didn't know about. "You've been kind of out of it lately. You're either moping and sleepy or jittery and totally cheerful. You haven't been eating, and you're working all the time, and when I get home you're always awake, so I'm assuming you're not sleeping well either. Neil."
I raised my eyebrows, leaning my cheek against my fist. My spoon swirled cheerios in little circles in the milk.
"Are you doing drugs?" she asked, eyes so intense that I thought she might have been trying to push me backwards mentally.
"Pot," I responded, acting as though she was stupid. I was sure that if Wendy found out about my casual coke habit, she would bitch about how bad for me that was. I'd heard enough of that when I'd been hustling.
Not that she'd been wrong or anything, but that was just one mistake and…
"Well… did something happen back in Hutchinson? You came back different."
"Different how? I don't feel any different," I said. Actually, I felt a lot different… but I couldn't figure out what it was that made me feel different. It felt kind of like betrayal and emptiness. I didn't care… at least, I didn't think I did.
"Um, hello? The way you've been acting is all weird. I thought I just made that clear. C'mon, Neil, you've been totally out in space lately."
She must have noticed the way my eyes widened, or maybe they didn't, and I just paled… or maybe my lip trembled a little. Either way, I must have done something because she started giving me this look, this look that looked way too much like that look she gave me the night she found out about who I was… that Halloween when I'd… the same Halloween when Brian and Coach… and it all came down to Brian, didn't it, because she had said 'out in space' and suddenly I was thinking about him and his obsession with the idea that aliens had abducted him and not something so much worse had happened to him, and when did what happened to me during that summer become something bad and become rape like in the shower in Brighton Beach and…
"Your nose," she said slowly.
I ran a hand across my upper lip and drew it back. Red.
"Neil?"
I couldn't stop staring at the blood because it didn't feel like it was mine anymore. It was the same blood that had come spilling out of Brian that night and that other night and so many of his miserable nights when he couldn't remember.
"Neil, what the Hell…" Wendy started again, but the red was consuming me. Swallowing me whole. All I saw was red.
"FUCK YOU!" I shouted, tipping the table and leaving with the door slamming shut behind me.
(Brian Lackey)
School went back into session, but I was flunking miserably, mostly because a lot of the time I wouldn't show up. The very first day back, I'd had a Sociology class, and the teacher looked eerily similar to Coach Heider with his moustache and long white teeth. Sure, he was a brunette, and he was too young, but I couldn't not see it. It made me sick, and I spent nearly the entire day in the bathroom, curled up in a ball like a pathetic child.
Mom wasn't happy with my grades.
"What has been up with you lately, Brian? You've been totally disconnected," she said in frustration at the dinner table. My teachers had called her about my poor performance, and the college itself had called her to make sure she knew I hadn't been there.
I stirred the spoon in the potato soup I was preparing us for dinner, not looking at her. "I don't know," I mumbled.
"Is something going on that you're not telling me? I don't feel like I even know you anymore."
I could feel an argument rising in the back of her throat, and I didn't want to argue because I was just too tired. I knew she had a right to be upset, and it wasn't as if her suspicions and frustrations were ungrounded or anything, but…
"I don't know," I said again, unable to come up with anything better. "I guess I'm just tired."
"You've always done so well in school, though. It isn't Eric, is it? Honey, I like Eric, but-"
"Eric's fine, Mom," I said, pausing only momentarily between the second and third word. "Eric's not corrupting me or whatever you're thinking."
"It is a little weird how he dresses though, and you've started to dress that way too. I don't really think that I like it."
"It's just clothes, Mom. Eric's no one to worry about." Left unsaid was the bitterness I felt about how a clean-cut Coach had been the one she'd needed to worry about and yet none of them ever suspected him of anything.
"I'm not trying to say that Eric's bad, Brian. I'm not saying that."
"Yeah," I said, and apparently I was more raring for a fight than I thought, because I turned then and spat, "but you're implying it, aren't you? You think because he dresses that way that he's doing drugs or drinking or selling himself like those people on T.V."
Actually, that sounded a lot like Neil McCormick.
"Brian," she said sternly, and I backed down a little. It was next to impossible to win an argument against the woman who birthed me, considering she had in fact been the one to give me life… well, her and my dad, but I liked to think that he had never existed.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, going back to stirring my soup, and I guess she felt sorry for me or something because she didn't say anything else about it.
"Well… at least stop skipping class. I'm paying good money for you to go to school there."
"Yes, ma'am…"
I poured the soup into two bowls and sat down with her, and we ate in near silence. "So…" she said after too long. "How is Eric anyway? I haven't seen him around."
"He's been by. We've both been busy. He said his grandma had the flu pretty bad and ended up in the hospital, but she's okay now."
"Well, that's good."
"Yeah… he said something about going to New York for spring break, to see a friend of his, his friend Neil… I thought that maybe I should go with him, you know, so he won't be alone. It's dangerous to drive that far by yourself."
She seemed to consider it for a long moment, skeptical, uncomfortable with the idea. "I don't know if I like the idea of you two making that drive. What if something goes wrong?"
I wanted to tell her that nothing could be more wrong than it already was, but I decided against it. "We'll be fine. You know I can be resourceful. I even learned how to maintenance a car over the summer. We were both going to save up our money so that we'd be okay, and we'll map out our trip, and I'll call you every night we're on the road."
She sighed through her nose in the way that told me she didn't approve. "Well, you're not a kid anymore, so I can't necessarily stop you, now can I? However, I need you to promise me that you'll call me twice a day and if anything goes awry. I also want to talk to Eric's grandparents and make sure that they're okay with this too, all right?"
I nodded, managing a real smile for once. "Yeah, okay. I'll tell him tomorrow."
"Also, I want to talk to this Neil person, make sure he's okay with you guys coming."
I felt my smile drift away from my face, but before she could ask I said, "Oh, well… we were going to surprise him. Eric said that Neil and his friend Wendy started up a band, and their band might have a record deal, so he wanted to surprise them and throw them a congratulation party or… or something." It was a lie, and normally I felt terrible when I lied to my mother.
"Well, can you at least tell me about him?"
I swallowed hard, stirring the soup in my bowl idly. "Oh, you know… You know him. He was on my little league team ten years ago." She raised her eyebrows, but I didn't want to talk about that, so I kept talking. "Eric showed me pictures of him as of recent. He's totally and completely normal. He looks kind of like a rock star though, you know, really good looking, earring, black clothes…" Actually, if I remembered correctly, his earring had been ripped out during his… whatever happened to him.
"Well, that doesn't sound normal," Mom said with a hint of a smile in her voice. "How long has Eric known Neil?"
"Since Eric moved to Hutchinson. They were really good friends. Neil was the best player on the Panthers team."
I couldn't understand why I had brought myself back to the little league team when I'd wanted to avoid it. Maybe I just wasn't paying attention or looking for a way to fill the silence… Maybe it was just because it was always there, lingering on the end of my tongue and in the back of my head as a constant reminder.
"I don't really remember, Brian. That was years ago."
"Oh, well… I mean, I didn't remember either until um… Eric mentioned it."
At that moment, I couldn't remember my parents ever coming to a single one of my games. There was no way she would remember him. It was almost relieving. Almost.
"Well, all right, but I need to talk to Eric about this Neil person."
"Okay."
(Neil McCormick)
I was sure there was something I was supposed to be doing. I'd felt like that since yesterday when I woke up. I wasn't sure if I didn't remember what it was or if I just didn't care. Wendy hadn't said anything about my blow up at the breakfast table a few days ago… or maybe it was longer than that… but she'd been giving me these long glares ever since, so I made sure to stay out of the apartment as long as possible.
I was curled over a cup of decaf coffee in a little hole in the wall café, trying to take the edge off of my latest hit. My heart was thudding dramatically against my ribcage, and all that blood rushing through my head was making me feel sick. I thought maybe the coffee would help, but it really wasn't.
I sniffed and wiped my nose and made sure there wasn't any blood there. It hadn't bled since that morning at breakfast time, but I was checking every time now, almost obsessively. After that nosebleed, I'd nearly stopped snorting all together… nearly…
I looked up from the pool of dark liquid that looked so black, like some kind of black hole, and surveyed the room. It wasn't long before I met eyes with a guy, older, a little fat, balding. I'd seen him at the hustler bar where I'd used to work, but I'd never gone home with him. He seemed to recognize me too.
I thought about my empty wallet and of my dwindling coke stash and vaguely remembered in the back of my head that I was supposed to be at work hours ago, both today and the day before (so that's what I'd forgotten, I thought).
I licked my lips and gave a very vague smile at the guy, calling him over with my eyes since he'd been basically doing it to me since I'd walked in, I was sure. He casually walked by, hand lingering on the back of my chair, and I waited for him to walk out of the café before following him.
He was smoking a cigarette when I stepped out, the cold air smacking me across the face like I knew Wendy wanted to. I looked the man up and down when he gave me a slight nod and offered me a cigarette. Easy money.
Easy.
"How are you?" the man asked.
"Good," I replied, taking the cigarette and lighting it. I had slight tremors in my hands. "You?"
"Good," he said, smiling. His teeth were crooked. "You're a bit jittery."
"Yeah. I guess."
"Would you like some way to get that energy spent?"
This guy was dumb as a fucking rock, I thought. The way he talked and dressed gave off the impression that he was one of those New York business guys, the type who had shit to do and couldn't waste too much time in pleasure… the kind of guy who drank his coffee or snorted coke to stay up all night so he could keep working and the kind of guy who would send out a whore as soon as he was done with it. Perfect, as usual. I shrugged noncommittally though, playing a little coy, and said, "Sure."
It seemed like no time and we were in his car. Even less time passed and we were at his apartment. I slowly removed my jacket as he shut the door with a quiet thud.
He had a nice place, I thought. It wasn't my style, of course, but he had a lot of weird art all over the walls, which usually meant that there would be some pretty good money.
Click.
I looked back. "What are you doing?" I found myself asking before I was able to stop myself.
The guy, somewhat annoyed, raised an eyebrow and said, "Locking the door."
"Why?" I was jittery.
"It's New York," the man scoffed. "Bedroom is this way."
I followed, more hesitantly than I realized apparently because he placed a hand on my back between my shoulder blades in order to make me go faster. I kept looking back at the door.
Escape.
I didn't know where it came from, but the word lingered there for a second.
"I don't got all day, kid," the man grumbled, and I turned numbly to see that we were in his room, and he was removing his shirt. His sheets were satin, fucking satin. "Now, I've got two hundred and about an hour, so let's do this, all right?"
"Ah… uh… Yeah," I mumbled. I started undoing my shirt and found that the tremors were worse.
That wasn't right.
I shouldn't have been shaking that much. I hadn't snorted that much.
"Drop your pants," the man said, and my eyes flew up to his like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming semi.
"What?" Maybe it wasn't just jitters.
"What, are you deaf or something? I've got less than a fucking hour!" the man growled and pushed me up against the wall, pulling my pants down for me. "Get a move on, kid, we're on the clock."
He shoved me, hard. My head knocked against the wall a bit, and he kissed me sloppily, teeth knocking against mine, hands roaming all over.
There were little noises that sounded like words, and then they were words, and then I realized that they were coming from me and that they were "stop. Wait, stop. Stop. STOP. STOP!"
The man pulled back, partly confused but mostly pissed the hell off. "What?" he barked.
I was dizzy. It was hard to catch my breath. My stomach turned over and over. There were little weird noises, whimpering noises like a puppy caught in a fucking bear trap… and those were coming from me too.
"Hey," the man said, slightly more gentle or maybe more cautious, "you okay?"
SLUT SLUT SLUT SLUT SLUT SLUT
I shut my eyes, trying to will away the nausea, but then I was feeling phantom pains in my ass and forehead and oh God, there was blood everywhere, and it hurts so bad, and please stop hitting me, and fuck that water is cold, and it hurts so bad, and please stop, please stop, there's some things I don't do, it hurts so bad, please stop, slut, slut, slut, slut, take it all, you slut, and I want my mom, and
I vomited all over the man's carpet. He barely managed to jump out of the way.
"I gotta go," I stammered weakly, stumbling as if I was drunk down his hallway, pulling my pants up. "I'm sorry. I gotta go. I gotta go. I'm sorry." I couldn't seem to stop saying that.
"Go? You fucking made a mess of my carpet, and you think you can just leave?" the man complained, racing after me, and his footsteps were so loud that I thought I was going to puke again. "You came here to do a job, you know!"
I didn't know why he was telling me that. I knew that. I couldn't believe he still wanted me with vomit on my breath and all down the front of my shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm sick. I gotta…"
He slammed a hand against the door when I tried to open it, sending it slamming back shut, and then there was a yelp.
That was also me.
I turned back to him, and he looked like he was vibrating until I realized that it was me shaking. I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was going to die.
Kind of like that night in Brighton Beach.
And suddenly it was sputtering out of me pathetically, "please, oh God, please don't kill me. I'm sorry. I'm sick." I was dropping to my knees and pulling at his belt. "I'll suck you off, just let me go."
The entire time I fucked him with my mouth, the man stared at me as if I was some creature from another planet. I probably would have been looking at me weird too. After all, I couldn't stop crying and gagging.
I went on a binge that afternoon and afterward came crashing down harder than I ever had that night. Wendy was at work, or maybe she was with that guy Jay that she had been talking about. I didn't know or care. I collapsed into my bed, sinking heavily into the mattress and slept and slept and slept like I was never going to wake up.
I kind of wished that I wouldn't.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Pairings/Characters: Neil, Wendy, Brian
Rating: light NC-17
Warnings:language, mentions of abuse, drug abuse, sexual situations
Summary: Brian's not through with Neil. Neil's not through destroying himself.
Read
Chapter 4
(Neil McCormick)
The cocaine made me feel fucking fantastic, but it also made me sick… like, really fucking sick. I was puking my guts out every day I did it, which wasn't every day because I wasn't some fucking addict or anything. I just did it every once in a while, like every few days or every other day or sometimes not at all for a week. I only took it so I could keep back the nightmares. Usually when I'd come crashing down from the high, I'd smoke a little weed and sleep so heavy that I didn't have nightmares… and I needed to stay up so I could work more anyways.
It wasn't that I needed to work so I could buy more coke. I just needed a place to go every day. The money for the coke was just a perk. It's not like I had anything else to spend my money on… and that shit is expensive, so if I had to borrow money from Wendy sometimes, it wasn't a big deal. I wasn't addicted to it. That shit just cost too much for minimum wage. It was her idea for me to get a "real" job anyway, so she owed me that.
Anyway, the coke still made me sick… so, I figured it was for the best if I just didn't eat to avoid the nasty vomit taste. When I was high, I wasn't really hungry anyways. Still, when I started dropping a little weight, Wendy started giving me these long glares, like she was trying to figure out a math problem written on my body.
"Are you okay?" she asked one morning over breakfast. I hadn't snorted any coke that morning, so I actually picked at the cereal.
"Yeah," I said, flashing a quick smile. "Why?"
"I don't know…" I knew as soon as she said it that she would proceed to tell me exactly what she apparently didn't know about. "You've been kind of out of it lately. You're either moping and sleepy or jittery and totally cheerful. You haven't been eating, and you're working all the time, and when I get home you're always awake, so I'm assuming you're not sleeping well either. Neil."
I raised my eyebrows, leaning my cheek against my fist. My spoon swirled cheerios in little circles in the milk.
"Are you doing drugs?" she asked, eyes so intense that I thought she might have been trying to push me backwards mentally.
"Pot," I responded, acting as though she was stupid. I was sure that if Wendy found out about my casual coke habit, she would bitch about how bad for me that was. I'd heard enough of that when I'd been hustling.
Not that she'd been wrong or anything, but that was just one mistake and…
"Well… did something happen back in Hutchinson? You came back different."
"Different how? I don't feel any different," I said. Actually, I felt a lot different… but I couldn't figure out what it was that made me feel different. It felt kind of like betrayal and emptiness. I didn't care… at least, I didn't think I did.
"Um, hello? The way you've been acting is all weird. I thought I just made that clear. C'mon, Neil, you've been totally out in space lately."
She must have noticed the way my eyes widened, or maybe they didn't, and I just paled… or maybe my lip trembled a little. Either way, I must have done something because she started giving me this look, this look that looked way too much like that look she gave me the night she found out about who I was… that Halloween when I'd… the same Halloween when Brian and Coach… and it all came down to Brian, didn't it, because she had said 'out in space' and suddenly I was thinking about him and his obsession with the idea that aliens had abducted him and not something so much worse had happened to him, and when did what happened to me during that summer become something bad and become rape like in the shower in Brighton Beach and…
"Your nose," she said slowly.
I ran a hand across my upper lip and drew it back. Red.
"Neil?"
I couldn't stop staring at the blood because it didn't feel like it was mine anymore. It was the same blood that had come spilling out of Brian that night and that other night and so many of his miserable nights when he couldn't remember.
"Neil, what the Hell…" Wendy started again, but the red was consuming me. Swallowing me whole. All I saw was red.
"FUCK YOU!" I shouted, tipping the table and leaving with the door slamming shut behind me.
(Brian Lackey)
School went back into session, but I was flunking miserably, mostly because a lot of the time I wouldn't show up. The very first day back, I'd had a Sociology class, and the teacher looked eerily similar to Coach Heider with his moustache and long white teeth. Sure, he was a brunette, and he was too young, but I couldn't not see it. It made me sick, and I spent nearly the entire day in the bathroom, curled up in a ball like a pathetic child.
Mom wasn't happy with my grades.
"What has been up with you lately, Brian? You've been totally disconnected," she said in frustration at the dinner table. My teachers had called her about my poor performance, and the college itself had called her to make sure she knew I hadn't been there.
I stirred the spoon in the potato soup I was preparing us for dinner, not looking at her. "I don't know," I mumbled.
"Is something going on that you're not telling me? I don't feel like I even know you anymore."
I could feel an argument rising in the back of her throat, and I didn't want to argue because I was just too tired. I knew she had a right to be upset, and it wasn't as if her suspicions and frustrations were ungrounded or anything, but…
"I don't know," I said again, unable to come up with anything better. "I guess I'm just tired."
"You've always done so well in school, though. It isn't Eric, is it? Honey, I like Eric, but-"
"Eric's fine, Mom," I said, pausing only momentarily between the second and third word. "Eric's not corrupting me or whatever you're thinking."
"It is a little weird how he dresses though, and you've started to dress that way too. I don't really think that I like it."
"It's just clothes, Mom. Eric's no one to worry about." Left unsaid was the bitterness I felt about how a clean-cut Coach had been the one she'd needed to worry about and yet none of them ever suspected him of anything.
"I'm not trying to say that Eric's bad, Brian. I'm not saying that."
"Yeah," I said, and apparently I was more raring for a fight than I thought, because I turned then and spat, "but you're implying it, aren't you? You think because he dresses that way that he's doing drugs or drinking or selling himself like those people on T.V."
Actually, that sounded a lot like Neil McCormick.
"Brian," she said sternly, and I backed down a little. It was next to impossible to win an argument against the woman who birthed me, considering she had in fact been the one to give me life… well, her and my dad, but I liked to think that he had never existed.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, going back to stirring my soup, and I guess she felt sorry for me or something because she didn't say anything else about it.
"Well… at least stop skipping class. I'm paying good money for you to go to school there."
"Yes, ma'am…"
I poured the soup into two bowls and sat down with her, and we ate in near silence. "So…" she said after too long. "How is Eric anyway? I haven't seen him around."
"He's been by. We've both been busy. He said his grandma had the flu pretty bad and ended up in the hospital, but she's okay now."
"Well, that's good."
"Yeah… he said something about going to New York for spring break, to see a friend of his, his friend Neil… I thought that maybe I should go with him, you know, so he won't be alone. It's dangerous to drive that far by yourself."
She seemed to consider it for a long moment, skeptical, uncomfortable with the idea. "I don't know if I like the idea of you two making that drive. What if something goes wrong?"
I wanted to tell her that nothing could be more wrong than it already was, but I decided against it. "We'll be fine. You know I can be resourceful. I even learned how to maintenance a car over the summer. We were both going to save up our money so that we'd be okay, and we'll map out our trip, and I'll call you every night we're on the road."
She sighed through her nose in the way that told me she didn't approve. "Well, you're not a kid anymore, so I can't necessarily stop you, now can I? However, I need you to promise me that you'll call me twice a day and if anything goes awry. I also want to talk to Eric's grandparents and make sure that they're okay with this too, all right?"
I nodded, managing a real smile for once. "Yeah, okay. I'll tell him tomorrow."
"Also, I want to talk to this Neil person, make sure he's okay with you guys coming."
I felt my smile drift away from my face, but before she could ask I said, "Oh, well… we were going to surprise him. Eric said that Neil and his friend Wendy started up a band, and their band might have a record deal, so he wanted to surprise them and throw them a congratulation party or… or something." It was a lie, and normally I felt terrible when I lied to my mother.
"Well, can you at least tell me about him?"
I swallowed hard, stirring the soup in my bowl idly. "Oh, you know… You know him. He was on my little league team ten years ago." She raised her eyebrows, but I didn't want to talk about that, so I kept talking. "Eric showed me pictures of him as of recent. He's totally and completely normal. He looks kind of like a rock star though, you know, really good looking, earring, black clothes…" Actually, if I remembered correctly, his earring had been ripped out during his… whatever happened to him.
"Well, that doesn't sound normal," Mom said with a hint of a smile in her voice. "How long has Eric known Neil?"
"Since Eric moved to Hutchinson. They were really good friends. Neil was the best player on the Panthers team."
I couldn't understand why I had brought myself back to the little league team when I'd wanted to avoid it. Maybe I just wasn't paying attention or looking for a way to fill the silence… Maybe it was just because it was always there, lingering on the end of my tongue and in the back of my head as a constant reminder.
"I don't really remember, Brian. That was years ago."
"Oh, well… I mean, I didn't remember either until um… Eric mentioned it."
At that moment, I couldn't remember my parents ever coming to a single one of my games. There was no way she would remember him. It was almost relieving. Almost.
"Well, all right, but I need to talk to Eric about this Neil person."
"Okay."
(Neil McCormick)
I was sure there was something I was supposed to be doing. I'd felt like that since yesterday when I woke up. I wasn't sure if I didn't remember what it was or if I just didn't care. Wendy hadn't said anything about my blow up at the breakfast table a few days ago… or maybe it was longer than that… but she'd been giving me these long glares ever since, so I made sure to stay out of the apartment as long as possible.
I was curled over a cup of decaf coffee in a little hole in the wall café, trying to take the edge off of my latest hit. My heart was thudding dramatically against my ribcage, and all that blood rushing through my head was making me feel sick. I thought maybe the coffee would help, but it really wasn't.
I sniffed and wiped my nose and made sure there wasn't any blood there. It hadn't bled since that morning at breakfast time, but I was checking every time now, almost obsessively. After that nosebleed, I'd nearly stopped snorting all together… nearly…
I looked up from the pool of dark liquid that looked so black, like some kind of black hole, and surveyed the room. It wasn't long before I met eyes with a guy, older, a little fat, balding. I'd seen him at the hustler bar where I'd used to work, but I'd never gone home with him. He seemed to recognize me too.
I thought about my empty wallet and of my dwindling coke stash and vaguely remembered in the back of my head that I was supposed to be at work hours ago, both today and the day before (so that's what I'd forgotten, I thought).
I licked my lips and gave a very vague smile at the guy, calling him over with my eyes since he'd been basically doing it to me since I'd walked in, I was sure. He casually walked by, hand lingering on the back of my chair, and I waited for him to walk out of the café before following him.
He was smoking a cigarette when I stepped out, the cold air smacking me across the face like I knew Wendy wanted to. I looked the man up and down when he gave me a slight nod and offered me a cigarette. Easy money.
Easy.
"How are you?" the man asked.
"Good," I replied, taking the cigarette and lighting it. I had slight tremors in my hands. "You?"
"Good," he said, smiling. His teeth were crooked. "You're a bit jittery."
"Yeah. I guess."
"Would you like some way to get that energy spent?"
This guy was dumb as a fucking rock, I thought. The way he talked and dressed gave off the impression that he was one of those New York business guys, the type who had shit to do and couldn't waste too much time in pleasure… the kind of guy who drank his coffee or snorted coke to stay up all night so he could keep working and the kind of guy who would send out a whore as soon as he was done with it. Perfect, as usual. I shrugged noncommittally though, playing a little coy, and said, "Sure."
It seemed like no time and we were in his car. Even less time passed and we were at his apartment. I slowly removed my jacket as he shut the door with a quiet thud.
He had a nice place, I thought. It wasn't my style, of course, but he had a lot of weird art all over the walls, which usually meant that there would be some pretty good money.
Click.
I looked back. "What are you doing?" I found myself asking before I was able to stop myself.
The guy, somewhat annoyed, raised an eyebrow and said, "Locking the door."
"Why?" I was jittery.
"It's New York," the man scoffed. "Bedroom is this way."
I followed, more hesitantly than I realized apparently because he placed a hand on my back between my shoulder blades in order to make me go faster. I kept looking back at the door.
Escape.
I didn't know where it came from, but the word lingered there for a second.
"I don't got all day, kid," the man grumbled, and I turned numbly to see that we were in his room, and he was removing his shirt. His sheets were satin, fucking satin. "Now, I've got two hundred and about an hour, so let's do this, all right?"
"Ah… uh… Yeah," I mumbled. I started undoing my shirt and found that the tremors were worse.
That wasn't right.
I shouldn't have been shaking that much. I hadn't snorted that much.
"Drop your pants," the man said, and my eyes flew up to his like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming semi.
"What?" Maybe it wasn't just jitters.
"What, are you deaf or something? I've got less than a fucking hour!" the man growled and pushed me up against the wall, pulling my pants down for me. "Get a move on, kid, we're on the clock."
He shoved me, hard. My head knocked against the wall a bit, and he kissed me sloppily, teeth knocking against mine, hands roaming all over.
There were little noises that sounded like words, and then they were words, and then I realized that they were coming from me and that they were "stop. Wait, stop. Stop. STOP. STOP!"
The man pulled back, partly confused but mostly pissed the hell off. "What?" he barked.
I was dizzy. It was hard to catch my breath. My stomach turned over and over. There were little weird noises, whimpering noises like a puppy caught in a fucking bear trap… and those were coming from me too.
"Hey," the man said, slightly more gentle or maybe more cautious, "you okay?"
SLUT SLUT SLUT SLUT SLUT SLUT
I shut my eyes, trying to will away the nausea, but then I was feeling phantom pains in my ass and forehead and oh God, there was blood everywhere, and it hurts so bad, and please stop hitting me, and fuck that water is cold, and it hurts so bad, and please stop, please stop, there's some things I don't do, it hurts so bad, please stop, slut, slut, slut, slut, take it all, you slut, and I want my mom, and
I vomited all over the man's carpet. He barely managed to jump out of the way.
"I gotta go," I stammered weakly, stumbling as if I was drunk down his hallway, pulling my pants up. "I'm sorry. I gotta go. I gotta go. I'm sorry." I couldn't seem to stop saying that.
"Go? You fucking made a mess of my carpet, and you think you can just leave?" the man complained, racing after me, and his footsteps were so loud that I thought I was going to puke again. "You came here to do a job, you know!"
I didn't know why he was telling me that. I knew that. I couldn't believe he still wanted me with vomit on my breath and all down the front of my shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm sick. I gotta…"
He slammed a hand against the door when I tried to open it, sending it slamming back shut, and then there was a yelp.
That was also me.
I turned back to him, and he looked like he was vibrating until I realized that it was me shaking. I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was going to die.
Kind of like that night in Brighton Beach.
And suddenly it was sputtering out of me pathetically, "please, oh God, please don't kill me. I'm sorry. I'm sick." I was dropping to my knees and pulling at his belt. "I'll suck you off, just let me go."
The entire time I fucked him with my mouth, the man stared at me as if I was some creature from another planet. I probably would have been looking at me weird too. After all, I couldn't stop crying and gagging.
I went on a binge that afternoon and afterward came crashing down harder than I ever had that night. Wendy was at work, or maybe she was with that guy Jay that she had been talking about. I didn't know or care. I collapsed into my bed, sinking heavily into the mattress and slept and slept and slept like I was never going to wake up.
I kind of wished that I wouldn't.