Page 89 of Inevitable Destruction

DOMINIK

“Falling”—Besomorph

A twisting,gut-wrenching premonition creeps its way inside of my brain. I squeeze my eyes shut and will it away, but it’s impossible. Now that the thought has infiltrated my brain, I know it’s not going away.

I tear my eyes away from a sleeping Everett, unable to stand the sight of him any longer. My legs rub together on instinct as his cum slowly leaks from my ass. I twitch at the uncomfortable sensation. I’m pretty sure he tore me in places if the burning in my ass, which is greatly amplified by the cum, is any indication.

After what could only be hours of lying in the same position, I wriggle out of Rhett’s touch. His arm falls to the floor, but he remains unperturbed. I release a heavy sigh and brush my curls back from where they stick to my forehead.

I feel disgusting from head to toe, thoroughly and utterly used. I ignore the jolt in my gut at the thought and force myself to stand, my legs shaking as they hold my body weight. My eyes flicker down to the spot where my vomit seeps into the carpet before I pull my gaze away, heading for the kitchen.

I stay as quiet as I possibly can as I search cupboards and drawers for what I know he has. “It’s gotta be here somewhere,” I grumble to myself, opening another cupboard door.

Nothing.

“What the fuck?” I whisper to myself, mentally scratching my head. One of my legs give out as I reach the barstools, and I slam my hand down to catch myself. My fingertips catch on the bowl on the counter, scattering the contents.

My eyes dart to Rhett’s sleeping figure in the next room. My heart pounds in my chest as I watch him breathe in deeply, his chest rising before contracting with his exhale. Satisfied he’s still asleep, I look back down at the counter.

Rhett’s keys, wallet, and sunglasses slide across the counter, along with mail and…

“Son of a bitch,” I whisper, picking up one of the six small syringes splayed out in front of me. He hid them. In a fucking bowl. On the kitchen counter.

I would laugh if it wasn’t so disturbing.

Six of these, plus the two we’ve already used… means he planned to keep doing this for a while. I squeeze my eyes shut at the confusing, contradictory emotions working their way through me.

Right now, I’m focusing on being relieved he has them.

I grab three and place the rest back in the bowl, along with his shit, before scurrying from the room like it’s on fire.

With a hallway of distance and Rhett’s bedroom door between the two of us, I feel the slightest bit more comfortable. My eyes drop to the mess he left earlier when he had to leave in such a hurry.

The familiar sadistic wave of anticipation worms its way to the forefront of my mind, taking over my conscious thoughts, and I get to work preparing a hit. The routine comes easily to me—just like it did before as if no time at all had passed.

By the time I get the pills crushed and ready, the fact I have nothing to heat it with hits me. I creep back out to the living room in search of Rhett’s discarded jeans. I find them easily enough and finger the pockets until I come across his pack of smokes and his zippo. I pull both out and slither back into the bedroom.

Relieved to finally have some nicotine back in my body, I light the end of a cigarette and place it between my lips, greedily sucking the toxins into my lungs as I heat the toxins I’m about to put into my veins.

Once it’s bubbling, I remove the zippo and flick my wrist, closing the lid. I tear off a cotton ball and drop it in the middle of the spoon, watching as it absorbs the liquid. As the cigarette reaches the filter, I stub it out in the tray and light another, enjoying the way my head swims from the rush of chemicals after a few days without them.

I pull the orange cap off the syringe and pull back on the plunger, watching as it fills. I get the air bubbles out and set it back down before grabbing a condom. It takes some maneuvering and the use of my teeth, but I finally get it wrapped around the bicep on my opposite arm.

I stare at everything in front of me for so long, my second cigarette burns to the filter. I drop it in the ashtray absentmindedly.

This is the first time I’ve done it on my own since… before…

My throat bobs with a swallow, a moment’s hesitation creeping in, but I shove it down with a resentful sneer. My fingers wrap around the syringe as I pick it up and place the tip of the needle against a bulging blue-green vein.

With a new sense of confident determination, I angle it just right and press it into my skin, hissing as it breaks through. Once I see blood, I push down on the plunger, watching as the drugs disappear into my arm. The moment I pull the needle out, I lift my arm and bite the condom between my teeth, snapping it.

The rapid warmth flushing through my veins is instantaneous, and I fall back on the bed, my body bouncing on a pillowy bed of cotton. Blissful rapture clogs my brain until all I can do is drown in it.

I can’t feel my lungs move with every breath, nor can I feel any of my limbs.

Death could come to me at this very moment, and I would welcome it with open arms as long as I could feel like this forever.

Nothing but this matters.

Only this.

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