Page 74 of Inevitable Destruction

DOMINIK

“Zzyzx Road”—Stone Sour

I wakewith a deep pounding in my temples and my mouth drier than sandpaper. I swallow a couple of times as I come to, disoriented and groggy. A beam of sunlight escapes through the darkness and shines directly in my face.

I throw my arm over my eyes to block out the light as I roll onto my back, feeling stiff and overheated. My body is slick with sweat, and I groan, kicking my legs out to pull the blanket down, but it won’t budge.

My irritation peaks, and I let out a groan, shooting up to yank the motherfucker off so I can sleep when my eyes land on a leg. Two, to be exact—two hairy, muscular, tattooed legs intertwined with mine, along with a body almost pressed against me.

I still, my brain lagging to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Rhett is lying next to me in bed. My eyes flit around the room, taking in my surroundings—which are wildly unfamiliar, but spark an inkling of recognition.

That’s when it all hits me. The night before and everything it entailed.

My palms press into the mattress, and I push down, attempting to scoot to the side, but the dull ache that pulses through my backside gives me pause. My arms grow weak, and I collapse back, my head landing on the pillow with a poof of air.

Now that I’ve noticed it, I can’t stop thinking about the way my ass is throbbing. It’s not painful, more persistently annoying, and just fucking… there.

I stare up at the white ceiling, forcing my mind to shove through the dense fog. There are so many things flickering through my mind—from yesterday at Rhett’s work, to last night when he… when we…

“Fuck,” I rasp and run my fingers through my knotted curls as I pathetically attempt to untangle them for something to do while I’m stuck here, drowning in my thoughts.

I don’t know what’s happening to me. Tears sting my dry eyes, and I blink rapidly, watching the white ceiling flicker in my vision. Most of the time, I can’t even remember how I got here, how it got this fucking bad, but then Essa and her raven black hair and olive green eyes pop up out of nowhere, and I’m hit with my reality all over again—but it was all a farce. A fucking excuse.

I never once thought that after my parents died, I would be happy again. Sure, I was sober from rehab, but the thought of relapsing crossed my mind every hour of every day. Then, that fucking accident, and all of a sudden, I had a beautiful, scarred girl in my life who became my everything instantly.

There was an immediate connection between us—one I know she felt too. But she was broken, more broken than me, and I think that’s why she left with him. Vincent must’ve matched her broken better than I ever could’ve.

But the worst part? I didn’t realize how much she held me together, gave me fucking hope, until she was gone and took it all with her. I was left with nothing but an empty heart, and the only way I knew to fill the void was to make sure I couldn’t fucking feel it.

And it worked—for a while, that is. Until Everett.

He just waltzed into my life and fucking obliterated my reality. He arrested me, punched me, kissed me, throwing everything I ever knew for a loop. Then came the ultimatum—though, I didn’t exactly have a choice—which he knew and used against me.

And now, I’m lying here in his bed at whatever fucking time it is because now, I can’t bring myself to be away from him. It’s so fucking sick; I can’t even make up any plausible reasons because it’s all bullshit.

He degrades me, berates me, and coerces me into doing whatever he wants, and I take it willingly—because I like it.

I like the fact that he’s putting so much of his attention on me, that he wants me.

He made me need him and his fucking attention. I wish I could say it was only because of the drugs. And that’s a big part of it, but not the whole reason.

What is it with these people showing up out of the blue and wrecking my entire life?

My parents never wanted me. They couldn’t have cared less, constantly worried about their image and their personal lives—but it didn’t always use to be like that.

Dad and I used to be close when I was a kid. We rebuilt the mustang together in the rickety garage in the first house we ever lived in, but then he got that promotion when I was ten, and everything changed. Mom became obsessed with money, and Dad became obsessed with her.

They fought a lot the more Mom pulled away from not only him but me, too. It was easy to see, especially when no one saw me anymore. When you get told ‘it’s better to be seen, not heard’ so many times your ears could bleed, you learn to just take the fucking advice.

Years later of the same shit, and the fights got worse. The screaming turned into glass breaking and loud thuds against the wall. That’s when everything changed for me; when the noise at home was just too fucking much, I needed to be anywhere but there.

Word spread around the school of this massive party, and I took it upon myself to go. I took the Mustang because I wanted to do anything I could to get my father’s attention. Granted, I had my license, but he was protective of that car. Practically kept it under lock and key, so I figured if I took it without permission, he would get angry enough to speak to me.

I was wrong.

I went to that lame, high school party that night, which was also the first time I ever did coke. I didn’t like it from the first taste of the thick, bitter drip in the back of my throat, and after the high quickly faded, I went searching for something else. Anything fucking else.

That’s when I had my first Oxycodones—and oh, fucking man, did I fall in love. The blissful, numbing high? I had never felt anything so fucking good.

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