My weakness had become my strength, because keeping this from Ream meant he continued to be free of what happened in the basement. If I kept quiet, Gerard promised to help keep him away from there.
I had no misconceptions of what Gerard was capable of, or Olaf. But for months, he’d kept his word and my brother was finally losing the dark glassy look in his eyes.
Sweat trickled down my cheek and I wrung my hands together on my lap. The jingle of the metal buckle of his belt sounded so loudly that it was as if I was right next to him.
The leather slid through the loops of his jeans and it clunked as he placed it next to his gun.
He picked the syringe back up and the dryness in my mouth alleviated as I salivated like a starving dog seeing a scrap of meat. He held it up between his fingers, watching me, knowing I was that starving dog, ready to pounce.
“Do you want this?”
I nodded.
His voice squeaked, like when a car brakes suddenly. I preferred when he was quiet and, thankfully, most of the time he was. I guessed it was because he wanted to make certain no one heard us. But the only person who would care was my brother and his room was down the hall. Alexa’s was beside mine and she hated me. She wanted this. She was the one who stole the drugs from her ‘Uncle’ Olaf for Gerard to give to me.
Gerard wouldn’t waste what little money he had to buy me my fix, even if it was to help with my . . . cooperation.
He strode toward the bed, his belly hanging over his jeans. I swallowed repeatedly as the bile rose, knowing what I’d soon taste, making me gag as he shoved it to the back of my throat while his belly jiggled in my face.
The strong scent of his cologne mixed with his body odor suffocated the air and I took short breaths through my mouth to avoid the vile smell. I held out my arm as soon as the mattress sagged under his weight next to me and started singing in my head again.
But he gave me the light to my darkness. The melody to my drumming roar. The heaven to my hell. The numbness to my pain. Ironic, considering he was the cause of the darkness, the roar, the hell and the pain.
He fumbled around in his pocket for the rubber band and I wanted to shout at him to hurry up. I didn’t. Of course, I didn’t. But I had no control over the physical effects—the shaking, the chills, sweats and the nausea.
Ream recently noticed my withdrawal and weight loss. I played it off as the pressure of high school. But in the last few weeks, Ream had been waiting for me after classes, watching what I ate at meals. He knew something was off.
Of course he would. It was just that Ream was fucked up too and had been through worse hell than any kid should ever experience. He was intelligent and overprotective. Soon he’d find out about the drugs and Gerard, and I was terrified at what he’d do. Of what would happen to him if he went after Gerard.
We were here as a product of the very drugs I took. We’d been ten years old when we came here, bedraggled, undernourished, but we had one another. That was what kept us alive. Our bond. I’d do anything for him just as he would for me.
I stiffened as Gerard’s sweaty hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled my arm toward him. He shoved my sleeve up then tied the rubber band above my elbow. I watched as the bruised vein swelled and pulsed beneath the thin surface of my skin.
“Take off your panties.” My eyes shot to him and he grinned, his yellow-stained teeth flashing. Despite being in his late twenties or early thirties, his leathery skin looked ten years older.
“Please . . .” I glanced at the syringe in his hand.
He sighed and his cigarette, beer-laden breath fanned my face. “Panties first, Haven. I want to touch you at the same time.”
He’d never done this. Usually, he gave me the drug then did whatever he wanted to me while I escaped into another world. Refusing wasn’t an option; I was weak and pathetic, just like my mother.
I stood and shimmied out of my ripped cotton panties and sat back on the bed next to him, holding out my arm.
“Open your legs.”
I did.
There were no tears. They were lost long ago to the life I was dealt. No point in feeling sorry for myself when there was nothing left of me to pity.
He flicked my vein with his finger, but he didn’t really need to. It was throbbing and visible yet bruised. He slid the needle in and I held my breath waiting for the sudden rush, but it didn’t come. Instead, the needle remained in my vein, the clear liquid sitting in the syringe while his dirty hand slid across my thigh to between my legs.
I tensed. My stomach cramped. My heart thumped against my ribs. I held my breath, not daring to move as he cupped me and groaned.
It happened at the same time. The pain of his rough fingers entering me and the rush of the drug raging through my veins.
I sank back onto the bed and vanished.
Where are you?
School.
Doing what? I want to picture you in my head.
Gross. Are you jerking off?
God, I was beginning to sound like him now.
Answer the question, Ice.
I’m getting lunch in the cafeteria.
Something was off with him. I may not hear emotions in a text, but habits and words varied and Crisis normally would reply to my jerking off text with teasing, or humor. He didn’t. I also noticed he tried to call me this morning, but I was in the car with Dana and didn’t answer.
I shoved my phone in my back pocket, grabbed an orange plastic tray off the stack and plopped it down on the four aluminum bars. I waited in line while some chick prattled about her bad date to the girl next to her.
“Hey, move it.” The guy behind me yelled at the girl more interested in talking about her date then getting lunch.