Page 7 of Breaking Boston

Tight cramps twist my stomach, making nausea threaten to erupt from my throat.

My legs are restless, and painful spasms torture the muscles in my claves.

I hate this shit. No one ever told me about the brutal withdrawal symptoms I'd have from lack of heroin; they just mentioned how good the dope would make me feel, and sure enough, I was hooked from the first shot.

Needing to do another shot so I can feel better, I quickly grab my kit, take out my rig, and mix one up, wasting no time shooting the dark brown liquid into a scarred, bulging vein in my neck, hitting right away.

Before I can enjoy the high, a gloved hand is planted over my mouth from behind, and I'm roughly tugged backward, flush against a firm chest, being held tightly. The empty needle falls onto the bed beside me, not making a sound. Fear cripples me, causing me to freeze, unsure of what to do—of what Icando.

"We're not here to hurt you," he whispers in my ear, and I tremble at the idea of there beingtwoof them here.

What do they want? If they're here to kill me, I'd be willing; it would be an easy escape from the hell and misery that is my life.

As a bright bolt of lightning flashes in the sky, giving my dark room a brief gleam, I see the second man at the foot of my bed, a glowing mask covering his face.

I get lost in the white, glowing 'X's' that cover the eyes, feeling myself relaxing against the man in the teal-glowing mask, holding me captive; he seems familiar, and a wave of relaxation washes over me as my vision blurs. The drugs are taking over, and I slip into a full-body nod, feeling more relaxed than I have in a while.

The man in the white glowing mask sits across from me, his bright eyes watching me intently, scanning my face.

"We're not here to hurt you," he says again, his voice surprisingly gentle. "We're here to offer you a way out."

Confusion clouds my mind as I try to make sense of the situation. "A way out of what?" I manage to mumble against the man's gloved palm, my voice hoarse from the drugs.

"Your life," he replies simply. "But you have to trust us."

My mind races, torn between fear and a desperate desire for freedom. I have nothing to lose, and the promise of a way out is too tempting to ignore. This could be my chance to start over. But then I remembered the plans I had for my future, and none of them involved running away with two masked men whom I knew nothing about.

"I'm going to remove my hand, but if you fucking scream, I'll gag you real fucking quick," the man behind me threatens, whispering dangerously low in my ear before licking the shell of it with the tip of his pierced tongue. I shiver, refusing to show them how good it feels by keeping a straight face even though my core is on fire from each little thing they do.

I take in deep, shaky breaths, trying to steady my racing heart. As I glance back and forth between the two of them, I finally muster the courage to speak.

"Okay, what do you want from me? How do you know who I am?" I demand, my voice stronger now.

The man in the white mask leans forward as I scoot toward the rusty headboard, hugging my bruised knees to my chest, his eyes lock onto mine.

"We know a lot about you,Boston. We can offer you a new life, a fresh start, away from all the abuse and torture."

I weigh my options, my mind clouded by a mixture of fear, desperation, and a glimmer of hope.

"I'm fine where I am right now, and besides, I don't even know you," I whisper, holding my breath in fear of what they'll do when it comes to rejection. But they both surprise me, standing at the same time, side by side as they look down at me.

“What's the catch?” I brace myself for the answer, studying their behaviors.

“Once you're in, you'll never be able to get out. We'll fucking own you,” one of them says, while the other grabs my jaw and turns my head, forcing my gaze on the glowing teal ‘X’s’ in front of me.

"You deserve better than this, Little Bird," he whispers, gliding his finger across my bottom lip.

I stare into their glowing eyes, shocked to my core from this encounter. Am I dreaming? Is this even real? Did I do too much dope and now I'm hallucinating?

I certainly think so, because my eyes flutter slowly, and when they open again, the men in the glowing masks are nowhere to be found.

Once again, I'm left in the lonely, dark room, crippled by the wicked thoughts and visions that consume my mind.

It's the drugs, I tell myself, easing back under the covers. No one was in here with me; it was just the drugs fucking with my mind.

But as I lay there in the darkness, I couldn't shake the feeling that what had just happened was real. I couldn't ignore the sense of serenity that washed over me when the man in the mask held me or the offer they made.

Despite my inner turmoil, a part of me longed for an escape from the misery of my current existence. I also couldn't help but feel a deep connection to the men speaking to me. However, deep down, I knew that it could be a trap, enticing as the offer seemed.

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