Page 334 of Rage

I was lost, alone, and turned to alcohol to cope. I didn’t want to feel anything anymore; no pain, no heartbreak, no loneliness. My mother left me two hundred thousand dollars in her will, but I quickly blew through it all in less than a year, desperate to find comfort in material things. By the time I turned nineteen, I was out of money, and lost my mother’s house, becoming homeless here in Omaha.

My addiction to heroin began when I found friendship with a group of homeless people in their early twenties that were also addicts. It’s been five years since it has completely consumed my life.

Now here I am, having withdrawals, relying on my girlfriend to get me a fix.

I still remember the day I met Tara. I was walking down the main street when I saw her. She stopped me in my tracks with how absolutely stunning she was; slim, but fit, with long, jet black hair, and sun kissed skin. Standing in front of the window of an electronics store, she was watching a news report about a burning house with a blank stare.

She had an energy about her… It’s so hard to explain, but I felt drawn to her, and I had to know her name. I approached her, nervous, making sure the sleeves of my hoodie covered my embarrassing track marks on my arms. As I approached her, she turned away. Then a homeless man we call “Dom” pulled her into an alley.

Right as I turned the corner to go down the alley, Tara had a knife shoved underneath his chin, and he slumped forward onhis knees. She ripped it out and kicked him over before wiping the blade on his jeans.

I was stunned, scared, but still felt that pull towards her. We ended up talking and sharing a sandwich I had gotten from the soup kitchen.

She differs from anyone I’d ever met. Her lack of emotion and empathy was foreign to me as someone who thrives on connection and intimacy, but we needed each other. She was new to being homeless, and I needed companionship. I knew about her traumatic upbringing in the foster care system, and how psychiatrists and doctors kept studying her, using her as a guinea pig for medication and therapy; that had to be the reason for her…coldness.

I had convinced myself that I could help her feel again, help her embrace her emotional side. Our physical relationship took off, and it was amazing at first… But now… It’s very one sided. Most of the time she just takes what she needs, then avoids me. The fact that she’s a killer should have been a sign that I needed to stay away, but I couldn’t. I needed her, and was determined to help her feel love.

Yes, I know. Very much the “but I can fix them” thing.

Every moment Tara was gone, my anxiety grew.

My tears fell as I desperately tried to ride out the tremors and anxiety. My whole body was screaming in pain, and I couldn’t take much more.

It was a cool night, but I was burning up. I kicked off my blankets and curled up again in just a tank top and panties. It helped some, but it was temporary.

Just when I thought she’d never return, she did. She brushed my hair aside and her icy, bitter voice rang in my ears.

“Alaina,” Tara said coldly.

“T-Tara…”

“Sit up, I got it.”

I was so weak, but forced myself to sit up and prop myself up against a rolled up sleeping bag. My eyes met hers, and I tried to keep myself from falling back to the ground. I was in so much pain, and just needed her, needed my fix.

“Is this what you need, baby girl?” Tara asked, holding up a small baggie in my line of sight.

“Y-Yes…” I whimpered, reaching out a shaky hand towards the baggie.

“Show me how bad you want it, Alaina,” Tara ordered, removing her cross body bag, kicking off her slip on Vans, and peeling off her black skinny jeans.

Tara prepared a syringe from the little baggie of dope. My whole body was aching, screaming in pain, but I needed it so badly, and I’d do whatever she wanted me to for my high.

She placed the capped syringe down on the ground next to her jeans and sat next to me. I leaned in to kiss her deeply and she pulled my face into hers. I kissed her with every ounce of love and affection I could muster, praying for reciprocation.

Her kiss felt forced, as if she was kissing me from muscle memory.

Lifting my shaking hands, I cupped her cheeks, deepening our kiss, and she grabbed my arm, pulling me on top of her so I was straddling her waist.

“Tara…” I whimpered as she broke our kiss, her hands sliding under my shirt until she was cupping my breasts. Rocking my hips on her lap, desperate for friction, I tugged at her shirt.

Removing her hands from under my shirt, she quickly tore her shirt off over her head, followed by mine, and buried her face in my breasts. She licked and sucked my nipples, and I arched my back as arousal flooded my shaking body. I needed her; I needed her to see how much I love her, how much I want her…

“You want your fix, Alaina?” She groaned after releasing my nipple with a pop.

“God, yes.”

“You will not get one drop until you ride me. I want to feel your pussy dripping for me. Do you understand?” She snaked a hand around to the back of my head, fisting my hair at my scalp, and harshly pulled my head to the side so she could lick and nip her way up my neck.

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