Page 106 of Inevitable Destruction

DOMINIK

“Hurricane”—I Prevail

I’m an addict.

Rash decisions are what we do best—which is why I’m on my way to a not-so-good side of town to get what I need. A place I haven’t been in years—since before my overdose.

I’m left with no choice since Jay won’t return a single fucking call of mine and Rhett destroyed the rest of the coke. I used what was left in the vial of Dilaudid this morning, and the effects of withdrawal are already hitting me hard.

My heart hammers inside of my chest as my tires squelch on the wet pavement, the gauge on the speedometer flying closer to its limit. The wind whips through my open windows, sending rain in and soaking the leather. My arm hangs out, hammering against the cool, slick metal along to the beat of “IKnowI’mNotAHero” by The Virus and Antidote.

The landmarks flying by jolt something in my memory, and my foot slams on the break, sending the ass end of my car fishtailing as I come to a screeching halt, rocks from the gravel shoulder spewing in every direction, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air.

My fingers tighten on the steering wheel as I stare out into the wet night through my open window. Rain falls, and I’m thankful for the distortion. This place means nothing to me anymore. It’s just a spot where something happened—something I once thought defined my life—but all of that ceased to mean shit once Rhett stormed his way into me and changed the fucking narrative.

With a swallow, I look away from the place the accident took place—the very spot I laid eyes on Essa for the first time and saved her life—and gun the gas, peeling away from the shoulder. The red octagon appears out of the corner of my eye, growing closer by the second. I fly through the intersection, and my heart gives a jolt as I jerk forward in my seat, my tires veering off course as I hit a bump in the road.

The music fades away as my vision tunnels, narrowing until all I see are the lines on the black road and the hood of my car.

It’s not until older, dilapidated buildings come into view in place of trees that I snap out of my trance and slow the car down to a reasonable speed. My tires crunch over the broken pavement, and I veer around potholes as my eyes scan for what I hope to still find.

As my tires sink into another hole in the road, I scan the houses I vaguely recall as familiar. The last time I drove down this road was a few days before my parents died when I needed to re-up before a party.

Back then, I loved getting fucked up with other people more than I do now. As I’ve gotten older and lived a life of solitude, I’ve come to reap the benefits of being alone. No one asks questions, no one keeps tabs. I can be me in all my fucked up glory and no one around to fucking judge me.

I think I preferred it back then because I hated being alone. My parents were fighting too much, and I was just a body taking up space in the house, a ghost wandering around—there but never really seen.

Then, after… Every time I fucking walked outside, there was someone there, staring and whispering. Fake placating came in abundance, along with insincere condolences—because what is there to say to the son of a murderer?

According to Rhett, I deserve to suffer because of what they did. I had no clue about what my mother was doing with Steven, or how unstable my father was. I was too lost inside of my own head to see anything other than the path to my next dose.

Maybe that’s why… because I was so oblivious, I couldn’t see what was happening right in front of me. Making it my fault…

I could have stopped it, had I seen.

My eyes sting, and I blink away the liquid pooling over their surface, blurring my vision.

I’m on a whole new, unseen level of broken and confused. The only thing on my mind, the only fucking thing I can allow myself to think—to focus on—is this. Finding what I need so I can stop everything.

Rhett’s voice echoes in my mind, telling me I’m destructive over and over, and fuck if I don’t believe every word he spewed with toxic venom aimed straight for my heart.

He’s right—of course, he is. I’ve never been good, never strived to be that person.

And now I’m here, pulling along the curb of a run-down trap house. I cut the engine, the vibration of the motor fading out, leaving me plugged in silence.

My lifeless stare darts to the rickety screen door on the white house as it flings open, smacking against the chipped siding. Some buff dude I don’t recognize steps onto the sagging porch with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring daggers at me.

My eyes flicker up to the roof of my car, and I take a deep breath. Reaching over, I grab my white hat that just fucking appeared out of nowhere again and place it on my head, flipping my sweatshirt hood over it as well before grabbing my keys and stepping out of the car.

Keeping my head down against the rain falling, I shove my hands into my pockets and walk up the uneven sidewalk. It’s surprisingly quiet, even for one A.M.

The moment my foot lands on the first, sagging step, the guy I don’t recognize finally speaks. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Uh,” I pause and force myself to look up even though my head hangs impossibly heavy between my shoulders. “Is Brad Marshall here?”

“Why the hell you wanna know about Brad?” The bitterness in his tone doesn’t ease up, though I don’t blame him.

“Cause we know each other,” I explain. “From a few years ago. Name’s Dominik,” I tell him, though I don’t expect it’ll mean much.

---