Page 107 of Inevitable Destruction

“Yeah, and how exactly did you know him?”

“Oxys, mainly. Some coke and weed on occasion, but Oxys were my vice.” Why not just dive right in? What do I have to lose?

His thick brows pinch together before one arches as he thinks, wearing his thought process on his face, but I’m too fucking tired to try and decipher what any of it means. I just stand with my hands in my pockets under the shitty protection of the awning as I wait for him to either let me in or tell me to fuck off—the latter being the most probable.

“Come in,” he tells me with a nod and turns, pulling the squeaking silver screen door back open. With an inward sigh of relief, I follow his footsteps, stepping over the threshold and onto the vaguely-familiar, thin, gray-blue carpet. The scent of tobacco fills the air in a thick stench I find somewhat welcoming.

“Brad’s not here. Got busted a few months ago with a gram. Just a fucking gram—can you believe that?” He looks back at me over his shoulder, a scoff on his lips. “He’s been in for a few months, so I’m lookin’ out for him while he’s gone. I’m Marcus.”

“Gotcha,” I say with a nod, taking a seat on the faded orange rolling chair with a mesh backing. The kitchen’s flooring is ripped up in so many places, it’s impossible for the wheels to roll so I pull it out from the kitchen table, the creaking sending a high-pitched vibration through the small room, and take a seat.

Marcus takes a seat next to me and grabs a cigarette off the table. He lights it and drops the lighter back on the scratched, wood table before bringing his eyes to me. He places the cigarette between his lips, his right eye squinting as the smoke curls upward.

The sight makes my gut clench, the much too vivid picture of Rhett doing something very similar flashing through my mind’s eye. I wince, flinching in my seat.

I can feel his eyes drilling into the side of my face as I stare at the olive-green painted cupboards. The silence distends uncomfortably, and I fidget in the chair, causing it to creak with every minute shift of my body.

“Can I have one?” I ask, breaking the density of the smoked-filled air. He nods and slides the pack toward me. I light the end and inhale deeply, my eyes fluttering as the rush of nicotine floods my bloodstream.

“You said Oxys were your vice,” Marcus notes, his voice lifting lightly at the end. His thumb taps against his mustache-covered lip as he leans back in his own chair, his eyes flicking up and down my body.

“Yeah.” I dart my gaze away, back to the floor.

“What’s your poison now?”

“It’s been Dilaudid. Some coke and weed.” My hands begin to shake.

“That’s it?” I shrug, flicking the ash into the ashtray.

“It’s all I need.”

“Sure thing, kid. I get that.” He nods and stubs his cigarette out. “So, I’m assuming that’s what has you here at—” His eyes dart to the digital clock on the stove before shifting back to me. “One twenty two in the morning. All alone.” His face darkens as he rotates his chair back and forth on its wheels, surrounded by a thick, pungent cloud of smoke.

I swallow, unease creeping along the base of my spine. The shaking in my hands travels down to my legs, and they bounce up and down rapidly, causing the chair to grind. A hand flies to my knee, squeezing and pressing down. My body stills at the contact.

“Calm down; I’m just teasing. You’re so worked up.” Marcus smirks and drags his hand away from me, straightening in his chair.

I let out a puff of air with a humorless chuckle. “Right—sorry.” My voice is quiet, weak, displaying how unsettled I really feel.

“I don’t have any D, in pill form or otherwise. I got some coke, but with the way you’re about to jump out of your chair, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I shake my head and take one last drag of my smoke before putting it out. Marcus watches, his eyes following the movement of my hand like a hawk. Before I can blink, his fingers grip my wrist in a tight hold. He yanks my arm closer to his face, and my chair slides closer.

His index finger traces the track marks I can’t cover up, a sinister smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Well, you didn’t tell me you were a needle boy.” He chuckles and presses down on one of my small bruises. I hiss, my eyes closing at the slight throb.

Feeling pain, fear, uncertainty, is a world better than feeling the absence Rhett left inside of me.

He filled every crack, every fissure, with brute dominance, and now that he’s ripped himself away, I’m left aching and bleeding out, my blood as black as obsidian.

Releasing my hand, Marcus lights a blunt, taking a few hits before passing it to me. Relief blossoms as the sweet, earthy smoke fills my lungs, lessening the weight my body’s forced to carry.

We pass it back and forth, the unsettling silence growing more comfortable until my mind is floating, and everything around me feels warm and fuzzy. I chuckle to myself, my cheeks straining against the pressure of my smile.

“Damn, Dominik. All it takes is a little weed to loosen you up, huh?” I nod, blissed the fuck out. The wavering hesitation I felt for being here with someone I don’t know is long gone. Turns out, Marcus is a pretty cool dude.

I could stay here forever, like this.

Maybe I never have to leave. Rhett wouldn’t be able to find me here.

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