Page 66 of Inevitable Destruction

My tears have dried on my skin, pulling it taut. Fingers brush my hair away from in front of my eyes, and I turn my head to the side, chancing a glance up. Looking through my lashes, I find Rhett sitting next to me on the bed, his thigh pressed against mine from hip to knee.

Seeing his jean-covered leg next to my bare one reminds me I’m completely nude next to him. I should feel ashamed on some level, having my erection completely visible, but it elates me, him seeing the way I react to his touch.

I’m so fucking shattered realizing how badly I need him, and this. I need him for this.

“Ready, beauty boy?” His voice is a low timber in my ear, soothing my nerves and igniting my blood.

I nod, unable to speak, and hold my right arm out to him. He takes it between both of his hands and caresses my skin as he inspects my inner arm. My body shakes as he scrutinizes me. I can feel his fingertips tracing over the once soft flesh of my arm, and I fight the instinct to jerk away and cover my shame. But I can’t. I’m naked and laid bare in front of the man that has only ever wanted my pain.

And I let him have it. I fucking gave it to him willingly.

“You have scars here,” he speaks aloud, his voice quiet, but the words so fucking loud.

“Yes,” I concur shamefully.

He presses deeply into one of them until I gasp. “Might be hard to get that tiny needle into a vein over one of them.”

“They’re faded enough that it should be fine, but either way, it’ll hurt. You can do it…” A deep breath. “I trust you.”

Silence. So loud, my ears ring.

“What?” Rhett finally says. I think I hear confusion in his words, and I can’t help laughing at the irony of it all.

“Grab an alcohol pad and clean my arm for me?” I ask, my voice raising at the end. Rhett’s grip on my arm tightens substantially, and I fight a wince. I can’t meet his gaze even though I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of my face.

How did this all get so fucked?

The scent of alcohol burns my nostrils as something cold coats my skin. Rhett discards one wipe, only to grab another and repeat the process all over again. Just as he goes to reach for a third one, my arm shoots out, and I wrap my fingers around his tattooed wrist.

“That’s good enough.”

He breathes out, his chest inflating before relaxing. “What now?”

I lick my cracked lips as I stare at him. Is he fucking kidding me?

“What do you mean, what’s next? This was your idea, I’m just along for the ride.”

“Shit. Yeah, you’re right, but this is—” he cuts himself off abruptly. He growls, the sound deep and thundering as it rumbles in his chest. He yanks his fingers through his hair as he pulls it away from his face. His cigarette hangs from his lips, smoking curling up around his nose as it burns to the filter.

I raise my hand and pinch the exposed filter between my fingers and remove it from between his lips. My fingertips brush his lips as I do, and he freezes. I do, too, but quickly retract my hand, and place the cigarette between mine to get my own hit of nicotine before this happens—if it’s even happening anymore.

For the first time since I met this man, I’m seeing him rattled, unsure. Nervous. All at the prospect of putting a needle in my arm—which was his own doing.

“Just pick it up, Rhett.” I push the now gone cigarette into the small ashtray in the corner of the stand I’m using as a table. I think I’m going to have to talk him through this… How can I do that when I’m barely keeping it together right now?

I bet my parents are rolling over in their grave right now. They’d be so fucking disgusted with me. The twist in my gut sends a wave of nausea through me, and I hold my breath as I will it away.

“Please… I need it to stop,” I beg. “Just do it, Rhett. Fucking do it!” My voice raises to the point of being almost hysterical. I release a breath of relief when I watch him pick up the needle. He stares at it as he twists it between his fingers.

“Before… you have to tie something around my arm.”

“Right,” Rhett nods, setting the needle back on the tabletop with slow, steady hands. He cracks his knuckles and steadily pulls open the drawer of the nightstand. A remote, a book that I can’t read the title of, lube, and condoms come into view, along with a few other small things.

He tosses things around in the drawer as gently as he can as he looks for something, when my eyes lock on a green and black condom packet. “Just use one of those.”

“One of what?” He raises his head and peers at me before looking back down in the drawer. “A condom?”

“Yeah.”

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