Page 9 of Inevitable Destruction

Goddamn, I fucking hate that.

“Want your other one?” Jay asks, and I nod. I snort it quickly, wanting to get it over with. He does his lines, then sets the tray off to the side, only a light dusting of the powder visible on the metallic surface.

A heavy beat sounds through the room, breaking the stark silence that had settled over us and the buzz of the high coursing through my veins. I quickly recognize the song: Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man.” It was a song Dad and I listened to when we would work on the car in the garage when I was a kid…

Two orange bottles land in my lap, and I drop my gaze to them, feeling a smile pull at the edges of my lips, all traces of the now faint memory gone in a flash. Now these are what I came for—my kryptonite.

I run my tongue along the backs of my teeth, already tasting their bitter powder residue on my tongue. I pick up one of the bottles and rotate it in my hand, watching the small white pills inside spin around, bouncing off one another. I squeeze my fingers around the smooth plastic, and the sweat coating the inside of my palm causes the bottle to slip from my grasp, popping out and onto the bed.

My heart races inside of my chest, making my body feel extremely warm—too warm. I itch to rip my hoodie off, but I resist. Instead, I dig into my sweat’s pocket and pull out a few bills. I toss them onto the bed next to the tray and then stand to pocket the bottles.

I press my palm down over the bulge, ready to kick this fucking party and drown in the nothing, but with the coke coursing through my system, I have to wait.

Stupid fucking coke.

While some people prefer the racing, amplified effects of stimulants, I don’t. At least not when I have a choice. I much prefer the pleasant, relaxing effects of Oxys. What’s even better than swallowing an Oxy, is when the prick of a needle enters my skin, a sharp bite of pain—like a snake bite. And then, utter fucking euphoria where everything around me—including my own mind—just falls away.

I pull my hand away from the junction between my bicep and forearm. I chance a glance down, only to find a multitude of red streaks marring my skin from my nails scoring my flesh.

I bite my tongue and force my eyes closed, breathing through my nose fast and heavily. The music pulsing through the room has changed to something more upbeat, but I can’t say what.

I drag my lids back open and yank my hoodie sleeve back down my arm. I then pull my hat off my head and readjust it backwards, pushing my hair back with it to keep it out of my eyes. Sweat clings to my skin, leaving me itchy.

I bounce on the balls of my feet then switch to rocking back and forth while Jay muddles around his room, tinkering with inanimate objects. I feel out of my element, uncomfortable and twitchy.

Coke affects me in the weirdest way. I get paranoid, and my body feels too small for my bones, my skin feeling stretched taut past the point of pain. I tap my fingers restlessly against my upper thigh, just beside the bulge in my pocket.

But it’s better than the pain of being sober.

There’s a ding from a phone and the click of a keyboard before only the sound of music remains.

“Wanna go do some shots?” Jay asks, and I nod. We leave his room together and down to the main floor where the kitchen is.

“Pick your poison,” Jay laughs, extending his arm across the island filled with every choice of alcohol any alcoholic could dream of.

“Vodka. Grey Goose.”

“You only drink the fancy shit, huh?” he asks as he grabs the bottle and fills a red plastic shot glass.

“I drink the shit that doesn’t taste like shit.” I grab the shot from him and toss it back without preamble. The liquor settles deep in my stomach, adding to the warmth flowing through me, though this heat is a more comfortable one.

“Fair enough.” He grabs a bottle of whiskey—Jack Daniels—and flicks the top off before bringing it to his lips and swallowing a few times. My eyes trail to the steady bobbing of his Adam’s apple before dropping to the black lines on the floor.

It’s stifling in here with dozens of bodies packed together. My skin itches, crawling with a multitude of sensations, but then, a firm hand is pressing onto my shoulder, the heat emitting through the cotton of my hoodie.

Jay leans in until his breath is whispering across my sweat-slick skin. “Wanna dance?”

I nod, and together, we maneuver our way to the main living quarters of the house where the music is bumping the loudest, and the lights are flashing the brightest. I squint, feeling off-centered as the white and blue strobe lights flash haphazardly.

Shadows dance through the minimal spacing between bodies, flickering across my face before disappearing just as fast. I’m buzzing, feeling light and heavy on my feet simultaneously.

A grip on my arm pulls me to a stop in what seems to be the center of the room. I whirl around on my feet. The room tilts at an impossible angle but is quickly righted. I jerk out of the hot arms bracketing me only to find Jay staring at me. His bloodshot eyes are wide, and his mouth is slack, but his grip on me is secure, and for all of two seconds, I allow myself to bask in the feel of another human’s touch. The warmth, the concern emitting from him, the security of his grip.

But it’s not real. Just a thoughtless act—all to keep me from falling.

No one really cares about me. Because if they did, they wouldn’t leave me alone.

Forever fucking alone.

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