Page 62 of Inevitable Destruction

DOMINIK

“Voodoo”—Godsmack

I followhim into his bathroom, feeling numb from head to toe. Except I’m not really numb. I’m in pain—so much fucking pain. My stomach is eating itself, shriveling into nothing. I’m not sure if it’s from hunger or withdrawal. At this point, it could very well be both because I can’t say the last time I even saw food, let alone ate any.

My head is pounding, throbbing. My temples have their own pulse that’s in sync with every shaky step I take. With those steps, my legs wobble, and I fear they’re going to give out, but even if they do, there’s nothing I can do.

I’m on a slippery fucking slope, and the only direction it’s heading is down—and fast.

Could I change its course before I hit the bottom and completely obliterate myself?

Yes.

Will I?

I can’t.

That’s the worst part about this. I’m standing here, letting Rhett—did that woman say his name was Everett? I don’t know why that feels vaguely familiar, but my head hurts too much to think about it.

Truth is, I don’t care.

Rhett shoves me in the direction of the shower. I stumble and fall against the glass, my palms smacking against it with a loud crack.

“Get undressed and clean yourself.”

“You have an obsession with my body being clean,” I rasp. I would laugh at the irony of this situation if I could think about anything other than fucking dying.

“No, I don’t. I just don’t want to fuck someone that stinks like sweat and, well, you smell like fucking death, and it’s not the most attractive scent when I’m trying to get my dick hard.”

“Aw. Death doesn’t turn you on? That’s too bad.” This time, a dry chuckle does make its way past my lips, but it quickly turns to a hoarse cough that burns my lungs the longer it goes on.

“You know what? I changed my mind.” My sleeve is grabbed, and I’m yanked away from the shower and back out the way we came. Confusion swirls around in my head as my body moves too quickly for me to keep up. Suddenly, my ass lands on something soft. I try to glance down between my legs that are now stationary, but something flits over my eyes, blocking my vision.

I gasp when the cool air of the room hits my now bare skin. Goosebumps break out across my torso, feeling like tiny pin pricks.

Pin pricks…

Fuck.

A hot hand presses against my chest, between my pecs, and then I’m falling back. My heart leaps in my chest as I fly through the air. My back hits something equally soft, and that’s when I swallow in realization. I’m on a bed—I have to be.

I’m so fucking out of it. Or maybe I’m not, but so much is happening so fast, my slow working brain doesn’t have enough time to catch up.

Once I finally make out what’s happening, I shift my gaze from the smooth, white ceiling back down to my legs—which are now bare as Rhett drags my pants down my thighs. I’m not wearing underwear so the further he pulls them down, the more my flaccid cock is revealed.

He discards my pants somewhere off to the side after pulling each foot from their confines. Rhett rises to his full height while standing between my spread legs—which hang off the edge of the bed from my knees down.

“This has become way more than it was ever supposed to be,” he whispers, so quiet I second guess even hearing him speak at all.

“W-what?” I stutter, confusion marring my tone.

“You fucking heard me,” he growls, bending down until his face is directly in front of mine. His hot breath fans across my mouth in rapid puffs. “Your fucking pretty boy face and body. And… fuck. And you. You made me fuck this up. But it’ll be okay.” He lets out a breath of what feels like reassurance; for him or me, I’m not sure.

He presses his palms into the mattress and pushes himself away from my naked body. He crosses his arms across his chest before letting them drop, then repeating the same action again. He starts to pace across the floor, so close to the bed that his pants brush my feet with every pass.

I watch him in morbid curiosity. My body aches, figuratively bleeding from every pore, but watching this stiff, controlling man seemingly fall apart is fascinating beyond all belief.

I can’t help but wonder what he’s losing his shit over when I’m the one dying on his mattress. I should be freaking out—but I’m not. If this is what death feels like… well. It could be worse.

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