Page 65 of Inevitable Destruction

“You should go get more of these,” I add absentmindedly. “Wanna keep everything as sanitary as possible.” Surprising me, Rhett leaves without a word, presumably to go get more. He’s back within thirty seconds with a handful. He places them where I had the first three before crossing his thick, tattooed arms across his chest and staring down at me, watching everything I’m doing with a steely gaze.

“Do you…” I clear my throat, suddenly feeling ashamed. He quirks a brow at me.

“Do I what?”

“Do you want to do this?” I spit out, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. I’m unsure of what to do, where to go from here.

“You seem like you know what you’re doing, beauty boy.” He steps forward and brushes a wayward curl away from my forehead and out of my eyes. His fingertips brush the fine hairs of my brow, and my eyes flutter closed at the spark his skin on mine sends through me.

It’s a heady feeling—twisting my gut with fear and sick anticipation.

A soft scoff puffs out of my lips, and I dart my eyes back down to the table. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He doesn’t say anything in return, and I take that as a hint to keep going, but I don’t mind. This… ritual I have is coming back easily enough. It’s ingrained in my DNA. I guess that means I’m meant to be an addict, to be nothing more than this.

It should hurt, but it does. But it won’t soon, and that’s all I care about.

It will just be me, Rhett, and the high of a lifetime.

I finish setting up, confident in my method and everything in its place—except the two things he refused to give me, but I’m not surprised by that. I’m sure he wants to be the one to do the deed.

I’ve never had anyone administer it to me before. This was something I kept to myself, so I only had me. But now I have Rhett, and for some fucking reason, he wants this just as much as I do, so…

When I’m done, I scoot back on the bed, my eyes locked on the table in front of me as I speak softy, my voice hoarse, “You need to crush up a pill, as finely as you can.” A white, cloudy baggie distorts my vision, and I hold my hand out automatically. The baggie drops into my palm, and I stare down at the fine powder.

“Dilaudid?”

“It’s all I had. Figured you wouldn’t care.”

“You’re right; I don’t.” I grip the two thin plastic sides and pull it open using both of my index fingers and thumbs. I tip the bag over the spoon and dump the powder into it. Once the bag is empty, I set it off to the side and pick up the water bottle. I add some water to the spoon and use my pinky to mix it together the best I can without anything to stir it.

When that’s done, I stop, my eyes darting up to Rhett on instinct. He’s sitting next to me on the bed now, the syringe between two fingers on his right hand. I swallow the saliva pooling on my tongue at the sight of the clear syringe with an orange cap.

“I need a lighter,” I whisper, scared my words will snap him out of whatever the fuck this is, and he’ll change his mind. I’m too far gone now; I can’t have him going back.

Rhett reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a pack of cigarettes along with a silver zippo. He stares down at the lighter in his hand and twists it between his fingers before pulling out a cigarette and lighting the end. He sucks in a drag, leaving the filter between his teeth as he holds the lighter out to me, a strange look on his face. I feel my own scrunch with confusion, but I take it and turn away from him, pushing it out of my mind.

I flick the lighter and bring the flame to the bottom of the spoon, watching as the liquid heats and bubbles. When it’s ready, I flick my wrist, snapping the lid closed, and drop it to the table. A hiss escapes my lips as a jagged piece cuts into my inner middle finger as I release it.

Rhett’s laugh startles me, and I jolt in place, my knee centimeters away from knocking into the table and spilling my liquid gold. I suck on the front of my teeth as I shoot him a glare, which only makes his laughing increase tenfold, to the point it starts to sound hysterical.

I lean to the side as I side-eye him. I’ve never seen him act this way before. Not that I’ve ever seen him act anything other than controlling and cruel, but still. This is out of the ordinary.

His eyes finally meet mine. The longer our gazes remain locked, the more my blood heats to an uncomfortable level. I can feel it crawling up the back of my neck to my ears, flooding my cheeks. It pools in my groin, making my dick stiffen uncomfortably. My eyes drop to his lips, picturing them on mine. Cold, hard, demanding.

He kisses so fucking good. The scratch of his beard on my flesh, the sting of his teeth biting into my bones. The savage way he controls me, contorting me any and every which way he wants me.

I jerk my head away from him and my traitorous thoughts to focus back on what’s in front of me, to what actually matters.

I grab a cotton ball and tear a piece off, placing it on the spoon to absorb the liquid. Once that’s done, I hold my hand out without looking at Rhett, keeping my gaze zeroed in on what’s directly in front of me. After a few long, agonizing moments, I feel the cylindrical plastic in my palm. It weighs next to nothing, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like a thousand pound weight in the center of my palm.

My fingers wrap around it, holding it in place as I bring it in front of me. My eyes are closed—which must have happened somewhere along the way. I think I’m afraid to look, terrified I’ll open my eyes, and this will just be another night terror. I’ll jolt awake in my bed, plastered in a thick layer of sweat, a scream ripping through my already hoarse throat.

I open my eyes.

My black lashes obscure my view for a moment before my eyes focus. It’s there. This is real. I’m about to do this.

Sucking in a deep breath, I pull off the orange cap and set it in front of me. Then I place the tip of the needle in the center of the cotton and pull up on the plunger until I get every last drop inside. With surprisingly steady hands, I tip it upside down until the needle is in the air, then I flick the barrel, forcing any air bubbles to the top.

I then place my thumb on the bottom of the plunger and push it in until all of the air is pushed out, leaving nothing but what I’m about to shoot into my arm. The syringe drops from my fingers, landing on the nightstand with a light clatter. My palms press into the mattress below as I force deep lungfuls of oxygen into my body.

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