Page 42 of Seeing Grayscale

It turns out Norcos make me extremely nauseous when I take them on an empty stomach, something I hadn’t realized when I was with Hunter. It wasn’t like the guy hand-fed me, but he ensured I didn’t go without.

Whenever I know I won’t have access to an outlet, I turn off the phone he gave me. Getting around town to the coffee shops that are okay with that sort of thing is hard. Not to mention, I’m really strapped for cash, so I’d rather get a bite to eat than pay the bus fare.

The first week I was back home, I had to keep it off for three days, and when I finally got to turn it back on, the thing vibrated so much that I thought it was broken.

It’s probably a bad idea to keep in contact with Hunter like I have been—nothing too deep, casual texts that took a hot minute to figure out—but I’m obviously not stopping it either.

Truth is, I’m worried about the guy.

Our parting words had me thinking about him more and more.

How much of his life would be ruined if he came clean about who he is? Does he even want to? There’s an ominous energy clinging to him, foreshadowing and desolate.

I’m worried he’ll hurt himself if push comes to shove.

So, I keep in touch and entertain whatever the hell we are doing.It has nothing to do with missing him.

Not one fucking bit.

Pushing my wet hair out of my face, I reach over Tammy’s cluttered sink for her toothpaste. Not willing to risk any toothbrushes, I squirt a nice-sized dollop on my finger and scrub my mouth.

I’m not supposed to remove the brace, but I have been the last two times I showered here. The thing looks like it’ll rust or grow mold if it gets wet. By that logic, I should’ve been wrapping my whole leg, considering how much rain we’ve gotten lately, but whatever.

As I lean over to spit, someone bangs on the bathroom door.

“Be right out!” I call.

Tammy’s house is a constant revolving door. Being a Madam, her place is always full. Whether it’s customers coming for a quick fuck, or heremployeesneeding to get patched up or high. I mean, anything and everything goes down here. I try to keep my head down so no one pays me much attention whenever I'm here.

After getting my brace back on, I grab my duffle and open the door.

A woman around my age rushes past me, streaming mascara on her cheeks, and she throws up. “Oh, come on, baby! It ain’t that bad!” some dude calls from the bedroom.

Not wanting to get in between either of them, I start to leave, but the woman whimpers, gagging some more. “Fuck.” She spits into the toilet.

I have nothing to offer her, and I certainly can’t help. She is probably in the same boat as me if she's here. Broke as fuck, doing what we gotta. “You good?” I ask.

Dark blue eyes framed with long, clumpy lashes glance up at me. “Do I look like I’m good?” she growls. “Close the door.” And then she stuffs her fingers down her throat, purging the rest of the load she swallowed.

Shuddering, I leave quickly, letting the door shut. The urge to get out of this hellhole is strong now that I have what I came for—a nap and a shower.

When I’m in the kitchen, I find my phone is thankfully still hooked up to the charger, and Tammy is smoking a blunt at the kitchen table. She’s in her forties, keeps her face painted with makeup, and greying brown hair up in one of those fancy buns. I don’t know what the style is called.

“Dan’s looking for you,” she says casually. “Heard about your deal with One Tooth Ray.”

“Shit,” I curse under my breath, powering on my phone and stuffing the charger in my duffle.

Honestly, I’ve been waiting for it to get back to him. Dealers are two-faced fucks most of the time, so it’s not surprising that Ray coughed me up. As I stare at the lit screen, my stomach knots uncomfortably. I haven’t eaten today, and the pills are long gone to help with my leg pain. Standing up like this also isn’t the greatest sensation while I try to devise a plan.

“If you stay here, he won’t touch you,” Tammy tells me.

I glance at her, thick clouds of pot smoke rising to the ceiling. “Staying here means working here, Tam. I’m not doing that.”

“You wouldn’t be hungry.”

True, but at what cost? My ass is finally healed up. And I’m not trying to be like the woman hurling in the bathroom. No thanks. “I’ll figure it out,” I blurt, not even knowing whatfiguring it outlooks like.

The phone vibrates in my palm, several texts pour in, and my heart rate kicks up. It always does when I see Hunter’s name on this thing.

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