8. Chapter 8

The Adderall and Xanax practically burned a hole in my pocket as I waited for the buyer for the Adderall . I needed the money, but I didn’t want to be there selling. I couldn’t pinpoint why, since I hadn’t given a shit before.

I sat in an old diner, sipping stale coffee as my breakfast of eggs and toast got cold, staring out at the gray and drizzling day. At least I wouldn’t freeze my nuts off with the temps rising to the fifties. The trees had finally started sprouting, reminding the world that summer would be here soon, thank fuck.

When I looked up, the buyer approached, and he slid into the booth across from me. It was pretty public, but it was in a shitty part of town, and it didn’t have any security cameras, so I wasn’t worried about being harassed.

He looked fucking young, with bouncing, wide hazel eyes, looking around the restaurant, being too fucking obvious .

“What’s up?” he said.

I leaned back and slung my arms over the back of the booth. “How old are you?” I asked, keeping my voice down.

“Tsh…” he huffed and stared at the rainy day from the large windows. “Old enough.”

I raised a brow. “I ain’t selling to kids.”

“Nineteen. Need to card me? Jesus.”

“Good enough. Hungry?” I slid my plate toward him. He looked pale and gaunt. He had the look of someone who did too many drugs.

The thought niggled in the back of my mind that I shouldn’t sell to him. It was people like me who kept them hooked. But I understood well enough that if he didn’t get it from me, he’d get it from someone else. At least the shit Storm had snagged was legit, and not some dangerous concoction. The justification for selling to him rang hollow, but I’d do it, anyway.

My buyer grabbed the fork and rested an arm around the plate as if I’d snatch it away before stuffing his face with my untouched breakfast.

“Want something to drink?”

He looked up and nodded. “Orange juice.”

I waved the server over and ordered some juice for him and some more coffee for me. I said nothing as she went to grab our orders, letting him eat in silence. Judging by how fast he was eating, he must have been starving.

When the server returned, I ordered another breakfast for him, this time with pancakes.

“Why’re you being so nice?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

The word ‘ guilt ’ crossed my periphery.

I shrugged. “You’ve caught me in a generous mood.”

Honestly, I had no idea why I was feeding this schmuck. He was a fucking buyer, not a friend.

“If you can’t afford food, how can you afford me?”

“You know why.”

Drug addiction was real.

A second breakfast was put in front of him, and he devoured that, too.

“I shouldn’t sell to you,” I whispered.

He looked up, wide-eyed, with some scrambled egg stuck on his lip. “No! ”

“Keep it down!”

“Please,” he quietly hissed before he shrugged, looking smug. “Whatever, I’ll just get it from someone else. My money’s just as good to someone else.”

Fuck me . That right there was the truth of it.

“Hand me the cash, slowly, under the table.”

He eased the wad of cash my way. I fisted it and quickly counted out four hundred and fifty bucks.

I cursed myself for having guilt for the first time.

What the fuck had been wrong with me lately?

I counted out another fifty and handed that back to him, along with the baggie holding thirty pills.

This job only netted me a hundred and thirty bucks, which wasn’t nearly enough. But selling the Xanax would bring me almost five hundred for my share.

What I needed was to sell high-end pills—opiates and shit.

Or you could get your ID back and a fucking job . The thought punched unwanted and unhindered through my mind.

I paid for the food, dropped a tip on the table, and climbed out of the booth. Before I walked away, I turned to face the younger man. “Don’t call me again.”

As I walked out into the damp, late morning, I shoved on a beanie while berating myself with words like ‘ loser ,’ ‘ pathetic ,’ ‘ weak ,’ and ‘ piece of shit ,’ while Cueball’s words echoed back at me. ‘ There’s a good person somewhere inside those black eyes of yours. ’ I didn’t believe him, but I still needed them.

My Dom never believed it, but he said I was good, anyway, because he got to fuck me. And Ajax only said that to me because I begged him to.

No, there was nothing good about me. Yet, I needed to hear those words. It helped me not hate myself so much.

A part of me wanted to change and do better. The other part didn’t give a shit. Why should I? No one liked me, anyway. No one stuck around. No one fucking cared. Who the fuck was I going to be better for? Me? Why bother?

What I needed was to be punished, to earn that good boy title. It’d been way too long. That was the only time I actually believed those words because I worked so hard for them.

After selling the Xanax and paying off Storm, I headed home to shower, not wanting to stick around long enough to chat, feeling edgy and worn.

It was late afternoon, and I knew Ajax would be home. It’d been two weeks since I’d dropped to my knees for him because I’d been avoiding him, but now I had to see him again. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do it again, but if I didn’t, I would suffocate in this self-loathing that was as corrosive as any acid.

After prepping and showering, I stared at my dripping face in the foggy mirror, always hating what looked back at me.

My mirror image turned red as the rage at myself consumed me. I suddenly lashed out and smashed the glass with my fist, shattering and fracturing a corner of it. The pain was excruciating. I sat on the toilet lid, cradling my throbbing hand, now bleeding all over the fucking place.

The ache was soon replaced with burning numbness, allowing me to wrap my hand in bandages. I also tore apart an old T-shirt and wrapped my hand in it.

I tossed on a pair of jeans with holes and a black hoodie and slipped on the rings on my left hand since my right hand was fucked and swelling.

It was hard to get my shoes on, but I finally managed.

Once I was ready to leave, I just stood facing the closed door to the apartment with a sense of hopelessness and loneliness. This was all Ajax’s fault. If he’d only left me alone, I wouldn’t have kissed him that day. Now, he was all I could fucking think about, and soon Ajax was going to make this all better, if only temporarily. Then I’d get to come home and hate myself all over again.

Ajax opened the door to his studio apartment after I pounded on it.

There was no humor in his laugh as he looked down at me. “And here I thought I was finally free of you. What do you want now? To choke on my cock again?”

I didn’t even bother to hide it. “Yes.”

This time, when I tried to shove my way inside, he stood his ground.

“Come on! Every dude likes their dick sucked.”

“If that’s true, you can suck any dude. Why me? ”

I pushed harder against him. “Just let me in.”

“Not until you tell me why you’re here and why you came last time.”

“Dammit! What the fuck does it matter?”

I had to push him. I didn’t want to tell him my story. Besides, it wasn’t his fucking business.

He fisted my hoodie and towered over me. Looking up at someone nearly a foot taller than you could be daunting, especially when they were pissed. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he looked a little gaunt, reminding me of that kid today. Ajax didn’t do drugs, right? I’d never seen him do more than weed.

“Listen, you feral gremlin, I’m not about to be used.”

“Used? I’m sucking you off. Not the other way around.” What did that matter? I was definitely using him because my needs went beyond sex.

When he let go, I grabbed the hem of my hoodie and pulled it over my head. “Fine, we can do it out here, then. You like to be an exhibitionist, right?”

I had nothing under my hoodie, so my chest was bare. When I reached for the fly of my jeans, he yanked me inside and slammed the door.

“That’s better,” I said, dropping my hoodie to the floor, unzipping my jeans, and pulling them off. “I prepped, too, so if you want to fuck me, you can.”

Ajax’s jaw dropped for a second before recovering and shaking his head. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

What isn’t wrong with me? I thought.

When my thumbs slipped into the waistband of my boxer briefs, Ajax lunged at me. My heart raced, and I inwardly smiled. He would definitely do it. I knew he would.

Ajax grabbed my throat right under my jaw, forcing my head up. “And what do I have to do for you in return? Call you a good boy again?”

I tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let me. “Yes.” There was no point in lying.

He let go and stood back, shaking his head again, but saying nothing. I had him.

As I kicked off my underwear, standing in front of him naked, vulnerable, and slightly afraid, I said, “You can even fuck me in front of the window if you want. In fact, you can do whatever to me, use my body any way you want. ”

I should’ve fought this, and I shouldn’t have come here. Ajax was the last person I wanted, but I needed to do this. For the first time, I truly understood what it was like to have an addiction. Sure, I’d been on the wagon for years, but once I had a taste of it again, I was hooked. It didn’t matter who it was at that point.

“You drive me crazy. You know that, right?” he said.

“I know. Trust me, you drive me crazy, too.”

“I hate you.”

“Good. I hate you, too. I don’t need you to like me.”

“This is all wrong but fuck it.”

With that, he grabbed me again and smashed his lips against mine, forcing his tongue into my mouth as aggressively as he was. I groaned when he fisted my hair hard enough to sting, leaning my naked body back as he blanked me with his clothed one.

My fingers roamed his body until I found the hem of his T-shirt and tugged on it. He stopped kissing me long enough to pull it over his head and toss it to the ground before lunging at me again.

Ajax’s kisses were all-consuming. It was a lot for someone who couldn’t stand me. Regardless of his amazing kissing abilities, this had to stop. Kisses were supposed to be a reward. I was only to receive them when I was good.

I eased him off me by pushing on his chest. “Stop.”

“What’s wrong?” he panted into my mouth.

“You can’t kiss me unless I’ve been good for you.”

Ajax abruptly stood straight and ran a hand through his hair, fisting a handful of it. “Fuck, this is all wrong,” he said again. “I don’t give a shit how much I don’t like you. This isn’t right. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

When he bent down to grab his T-shirt off the floor, I punched his arm with my non-dominant hand. “No! Don’t stop.”

He lashed out at my hair and grabbed a chunk of it, and I let him. I shoved him again in the chest, despite the awkward position of our bodies, and he snarled at me. He couldn’t stop now. Not when I was so close to getting what I wanted and needed, dammit!

Ajax suddenly spun me around, pinned my arm behind me, and growled in my ear. “You irritate the fuck out of me. You get that, right? ”

When I didn’t answer, he yanked my arm tighter behind me. “Yes!” I wasn’t about to fucking call him ‘ sir ,’ but this would have to do.

“Think of it…” I grunted from the pain. “Think of this as your revenge on me. Do what you want to me. But when it’s over, I need to know… that even for a few minutes, I was good.”

My face burned in humiliation. Ajax would never look at me the same again. It was one of the reasons I’d avoided him for the past couple of weeks. I’d rather see his disgust than his pity, which was another reason I kept pushing his buttons.

“Jesus Christ…” he breathed. “Don’t start making me like you now.”

“I don’t need you to like me,” I reminded him. “I don’t need you to feel anything about me.”

Ajax shoved me onto my stomach in his bed and then lifted my ass in the air.

Fucking finally .

“Tell me not to come,” I said.

“How about you not say a damn word?”

My body vibrated with pleasure at his control. This wasn’t going to work if I had to hold his hand through it all.

“And no fucking coming until I say so,” he rasped in my ear, his tone edging toward violence. “Now, don’t move.”

You couldn’t pay me enough to disobey at that point.