Page 34 of Brutal for It
My stomach twists. “Yeah.”
“Got cash?”
I nod, pulling a crumpled wad of tips from my pocket. My hands shake as I pass it over.
He palms me a small bag. White powder.
My heart stops. Starts. Stops again.
I haven’t held this in years. My whole body remembers it — the rush, the escape, the way it made everything disappear for a little while.
“Pleasure doing business,” he mutters, already turning away.
I stand frozen for a moment, the bag burning in my palm. Then I shove it into my pocket and bolt back to the car.
Back at the hotel, I lock the door and sink onto the bed.
I set the bag on the nightstand. Just look at it.
It’s small. Innocent. Just a little clear plastic with powder inside. But it feels like it’s got a gun to my head.
I pace. I sit. I stand. I pick it up, put it down, pick it up again.
Don’t. You’re stronger than this.
But you’re alone. You’re worthless. You’ll never get him back anyway. You already took who knows what with the man you didn’t even get his name. What is one more hit?
I try to pray. The words stick in my throat.
I try to call Jenni. My finger hovers over her name, but I can’t press send. I can’t hear her voice telling me I’m better than this. Not when I don’t believe it myself.
The guilt eats at me, sharper every second.
Tommy’s face. His hands. His voice whispering you’re mine.
The stranger’s face. His hands. The shame of what I don’t remember.
The woman on the beach, sneering trash stays trash.
It all swirls together until I can’t breathe.
I rip the bag open.
For a second, I just stare. My whole body trembles. My heart pounds so loud it drowns out the AC rattling in the corner.
Then I bend down. One deep inhale.
And I get high.
It hits like a bomb.
For the first time in years, the noise in my head goes quiet. The shame dulls. The ache in my chest numbs.
I lie back on the bed, eyes closing, body floating.
For a few stolen minutes, I’m free.
But even in the high, somewhere deep inside, I know the truth.
