Page 92 of Inevitable Destruction

DOMINIK

“The High Road”—Three Days Grace

The secondI peeled my heavy eyelids open and the cool air flowing from the fan hit my naked flesh, I prepared another hit. It came as naturally as breathing to me, and I didn’t think at all about what I was doing until the needle was puncturing my arm. The only problem was I blew my vein out last night, so now I have a huge, painful, black and blue knot in the crease of my arm—which makes it impossible to find a viable vein.

Forcing down the flood of irritation spilling from my pores, I pull the needle out and drop it on the stand to wrap my fingers around my other bicep. It’s just as bruised as the other side, puncture spots scattering up and down haphazardly.

“I could play connect the dots,” I mumble to myself, then laugh at the idiocy of it. Increasing the pinching pressure of my hold, I roll my thumb around my arm, trying to find a vein that’s popping, but there’s fucking nothing.

“Damnit.” I release my arm with a growl and shove the stand backwards. Everything on it goes scattering to the ground with a loud, chaotic crash. My chest heaves, and my hands shake with desperation. I can feel my blood chugging through the pulse in my neck.

My nails dig into the abused flesh of my arm before delving into my knotted hair and yanking on the strands.

This is all such fucking bullshit.

Scoffing to myself, I pull open the drawer to the nightstand where Rhett keeps the pills now that he’s no longer bothering to hide them from me. Now that I think about it, I should feel some type of way about it, but I don’t.

Popping two Oxys in my mouth, I swallow them down and throw myself back on the bed, landing with a poof, sending a wave of air puffing up through the blanket underneath me. My eyes track up to the ceiling, like they always do when I’m in this position, as I wait for the pills to kick in, though they don’t do much for me anymore.

About a week ago, Rhett came home from work and brought me actual intravenous hydromorphone—AKA liquid Dilaudid, the same shit I’ve been taking, only stronger and actually meant to be taken intravenously. I have no goddamn clue how he got it, but I didn’t ask questions.

Just like how I’m so fixated on him. I stay at his house when he goes to fucking work, waiting for him to come home to me, like I’m some desperate…

“Whatever,” I grumble, talking to no one but myself per usual. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to anyone but him—and even that is a rare occasion. He’s been quiet more so than usual lately—barely speaking to me, constantly throwing odd looks over his shoulders at me when he thinks I’m not looking. It’s gotten fucking weird, but in a comfortable way, I hate to admit.

We’re in a routine of sorts, where all we really do is fuck, get me high, then sleep. Not always in that order, but I’m not complaining. It’s the most stable I’ve been for as long as I can remember, and I think I have a hold on this whole thing. Last time, the needle made me feel so fucking out of control, like my mind and body were in a constant state of chaos, but this time is different—because of Everett.

My temples throb the harder I think, and I press the tips of my fingers to them and rub, hoping to ease the ache until the fucking pills kick in—if they even do. This is the worst fucking part—the in-between: when everything I’ve shoved back comes barreling forth.

It’s physically painful to the point my body writhes in agony. My skin crawls, itching, sweaty, and hot to the touch. My muscles cramp, locking in odd positions so my body has no choice but to twist and contort to accommodate, furthering my discomfort. But that’s not even half of it. I shiver with chills to the point where my teeth chatter so hard, I think I hear them crack, and then comes the vomiting—the second worst part. My gut twists, sending shockwaves through my already-shot nervous system, amplifying the sensations.

I feel a bead of sweat trickle down from my hairline to my temple. My throat bobs as I swallow the dryness in my throat, willing the memories of crippling misery away—but it’s not the physical pain I fear. That I can get through. But the endless, gut-wrenching thoughts and memories that torment me when the haze of my high finally lifts?

That shit makes me want to die.

Forcing myself back into a sitting position, having newfound resolve, I pull the stand closer and find the needle teetering on the edge, about to fall off. I grab it and place it back in the center before grabbing another condom and, this time, tying it around my lower forearm.

My eyes flicker down to the already prominent veins on the back of my hand, watching them bulge. My mouth waters at the sight, feeling a rush of excitement at an entirely new injection site. It’s not the best, but fuck, it’ll work.

I brush my thumb over the blue-green vein running almost directly down the center. Ripping my gaze away, I pick up the syringe and angle it just right before puncturing my skin. I hiss at the bite, reveling in the unique inward pinching sensation.

Warmth floods my veins, drowning me in their depths. My fingers grow numb, and I fall backward onto my proverbial cloud. My body tingles all over, growing warmer and heavier by the second.

My eyes flutter closed as I become someone else. Someone lesser, weaker. Someone better than who I really am.

* * *

The world comes backto me in jagged pieces. With every slow blink, one piece appears—blurred. I’m disoriented when both eyelids finally open, landing on the dark blue blanket beneath me. I close my mouth and swallow the saliva pooling on my tongue before rolling onto my stomach and pressing my face into the blanket that smells too much like Rhett—leather, sandalwood, and cigarettes.

I breathe heavily, taking in as much of the scent as I can, wallowing in it. The deeper I breathe, the harder my dick becomes, to the point where I’m rutting into the mattress on instinct.

A buzzing sounds off in the distance, and my hips slow their movements as I zero in on the noise, trying to decipher what it is. Heavy, slow moments pass as the buzzing eventually comes to a stop.

I’m rooted in place by the density of my limbs, filled to the brim with tingling heat. My eyes fall closed of their own accord once more before snapping open just as the buzzing returns.

“Damn.” I let out an aggravated huff before pushing myself up on all fours. My head hangs between my shoulders as I sway. I lose my equilibrium, and blood rushes through my ears as my head swims.

Once I feel steady enough to move, I crawl to the edge of the bed and roll onto the floor. My right arm crushes a pack of cigarettes and my knee smacks against the corner of the nightstand as I land with a heavy oomph. The air is sucked from my lungs from the impact, so I lie still, breathless and heaving, as I suck oxygen into my lungs.

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