Rock Bottom (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

Rafe noticed my anxious fidgeting and quirked a brow. “Don’t want to party with me anymore?”

“I . . . I’m not sure I . . .”

“No worries. You don’t want to, you don’t have to. I don’t have much of anything else to entertain you, but if you want to sit around all day thinking about what happened at school yesterday, or your parents, or . . . Elijah, that’s fine.”

Each word was like a dart straight to my heart. The sound of Elijah’s full name was the killing blow. I couldn’t think about him. If I did, my heart would surely explode. The mental image of his face was enough to make me want to curl up and cry, but the memory of his words—of him sending me away—was too much. Pressure built in my chest and for a minute I was afraid I was having a heart attack. No. No, I couldn’t live with this pain all day. I needed it to stop. To go away.

“How much?”

“You’re my guest, sweetness. What kind of a host would I be if I charged you? Sit back, relax.”

I did as he said and watched him prepare another batch. It looked more complicated without anyone else there to help him, but he was obviously an old pro. When the needle slipped under my skin the relief was immediate and so, so good.

I floated into the afternoon in a happy haze. Nothing could penetrate the cocoon of relaxation I’d wrapped myself up in.

Nothing except
his
voice. “Where is she?”

“She doesn’t want to see you, Eli. Didn’t you take the hint when she left you and came straight to me?”

“You’re full of shit, Rafe. I want to see her. Now!”

No, no, no, no, no.
I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t hear him. He was chasing away my happy place. He would bring it back. All of it. I already missed him so much it was tearing me up, but he didn’t want me. Not really. He just felt bad about yesterday. Because he was Elijah and he was a good guy. I couldn’t take another round of rejection from him, and I sure as hell didn’t want his pity.

He wanted to haul me off to some damn shrink. Like talking about it would make everything go away. It wouldn’t. Nothing made it go away, except the drugs. They were my only escape, my only reprieve, and he wanted to take that away from me, too.

“She’s not here.”

Yes, Rafe, lie to him. Good.

“Bullshit.”

“She’s not. She came, got what she wanted, and now she’s gone.”

“What did you give her?”

“Only what she asked for.”

“You son of a bitch. If something happens to her . . . I will be back.” The pounding of footsteps on the front porch was followed by the slamming of the front door.

I took a deep breath as the room was plunged back into darkness and tried to reclaim my state of bliss. It was harder than it should have been. Rafe sank into the opposite couch, shaking his head.

“That was Elijah.” I don’t know why I told him that. Just needed to say it out loud, I guess.

“He was looking for you. After yesterday, I kinda figured you wouldn’t want to see him.”

“You told him I wasn’t here.”

“Thought it was the best way to get rid of him.”

“But what about my car?” I’d parked right across the street. He’d have to be blind not to see it.

“I moved it last night. Figured if you’re hiding out here, you’d want to be a little harder to find.”

Oh. That made sense. “But . . . what if he comes back or . . . I go out. It’s a small town. I can’t stay hidden in here forever.” Though a good, long while didn’t seem out of the question. “I can’t see him. I-it would hurt too much.”

“I know, sweetness.” Rafe ran a soothing hand over my cheek and I found myself leaning into his touch. I craved human contact. I craved acceptance and approval. Possibly more than I even craved the drugs coursing through my system as we spoke. “What if you really did leave?”

My heart stuttered.
Leave? He wanted me to leave?
Not him, too. “I—”

“I have a place about forty minutes from here in the city. I need to go there to take care of some business arrangements.” He was leaving me. My last hope was casting me aside like everyone else in my life. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come to the city with me.”

He . . . wanted me to go?
I blinked at him in surprise, unable to process the happiness overwhelming my poor, abused heart.

“You don’t have to. I just thought—”

“Yes! Yes. Definitely yes. Thank you, Rafe.”

He smiled at me. “You’re welcome. But you’re going to need more clothes to wear.”

“I brought some cash. I can go—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

***

There was no arguing with Rafe. Two days later he came home with three shopping bags full of clothing. I was sprawled on the couch, as usual, but practically pounced on them when he unloaded on the floor. Laughing, he sat back and watched me paw through the merchandise. It was a little . . . revealing. More short shorts, miniscule skirts that I doubted would cover my underwear, and shirts that looked more like tissues. I held up one particularly itty bitty, bright red number to examine it more closely, not entirely sure what it even was, and Rafe laughed harder.

“We’re going to the city. That’s what all the city girls wear. You want to fit in, don’t you?”

Yes, I wanted to fit in. The last thing I wanted was to disappoint Rafe, too, but . . . “How do you wear it?”

“I could show you if you like.”

“No. I’ll figure it out.”

“Why don’t you go try them on? You can model them for me.”

Scooping up the bags, I scurried into my room and proceeded to dump the contents all over the bed. There was a lot. He’d even gotten me . . . underwear? Lacy thongs in several different colors with bras to match filled one entire bag.
Good Lord.
Pushing those aside for the time being, I started picking through the actual clothing for something I felt comfortable modeling for Rafe.

In a pair of mini-shorts that hugged my ass, and a cami that looked like the lower half had been sawed off, I stood in front of the mirror examining my reflection. They weren’t
so
bad if I folded my arms, and . . . okay, yes they were pretty bad. But what could I say? Rafe had gone out of his way to get all of this for me. The least I could do was be appreciative.

Every outfit I tried on was pretty much the same and, little by little, I grew more comfortable with the amount of skin they displayed. I started checking out my body, instead of trying to cover it, and realized it looked pretty good. The baby fat that always seemed to cling to my bones was gone. I struck a silly pose and grinned at myself.

In a heartbreaking flash my impromptu photo shoot with Elijah caught me off-guard and crushed me. My knees gave out and I hit the floor hard. Rafe had been out all morning so I hadn’t had a hit of anything since yesterday. Everything I’d been working so hard to hide from slammed into me at once.

A sob tore from my throat before I could stop it and that was it. The floodgates opened and I succumbed to the torrent of tears gushing down my face. A red hot pain flayed my still beating heart. I’d destroyed
everything
.

“Rylie?” A knock came at the door, but try as I might, I couldn’t get control of myself. “Oh, sweetness.”

Rafe stepped into the room, and I was vaguely aware of his arms as he scooped me off the floor and laid me on the bed.

“It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be alright.” He stretched out beside me and wrapped an arm around my waist. “I’ll take care of you. I know what you need.”

Part of me wanted to push him away, while another part wanted to crawl inside him and curl up. Before I could make up my mind to do either, he was gone.

I was crying so hard that it physically hurt. I didn’t even notice Rafe’s return until I felt the familiar prick in my elbow. It was like a dam crashing into place. The sobs turned into hiccups and the tears dried up. I lay motionless on the bed, allowing the haze to take me in, cradle me, comfort me.

The light brush of Rafe’s hand as it stroked up and down my inner thigh was the only thing I felt at all. He lay close to my side, watching me as I succumbed to the quieting effects of his ministrations.

“There you go, sweetness. It’s okay.” His hand glided up and across my bared belly. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” The rough stubble of his five o’clock shadow tickled my neck. His lips suckled gently on my skin.

I stared at the cracks in the ceiling, unmoving, unfeeling, uncaring as he continued his explorations. Eventually his jaw scraped over my cheek and his lips covered mine. I didn’t return the kiss, but I didn’t stop him, either, as he forced his tongue into my mouth and lapped at mine.

I couldn’t say no to Rafe. Without him I’d have nowhere to go, no one who wanted me, and no drugs to numb the pain of that cold, hard fact. But there was a line I didn’t dare cross.

When he fumbled with the button on my shorts, I brushed his hand away and choked out the words, “Clothes stay on.”

Hot, slightly sour breath washed over my face. “Of course, sweetness. Whatever you say.”

He pulled the loose collar of my shirt down far enough to bite the swell of my breast, but he kept his word. The shirt stayed on. He was happy. I was . . . not exactly happy, but as long as the syringes kept coming every time the pain threatened to overwhelm me, I stayed.

And they did. They kept coming. Day after day after day.

Until . . . they stopped.

Chapter Twenty-nine

We’d been at his apartment in the city for nearly a week. This place was much nicer than the one back home. It wasn’t a penthouse, but it had a decent view of the city lights at night. The stainless steel countertops and appliances were all new and extremely modern. And it was clean, almost to the point of sterile. The furniture in the concave living room was black, sparse, and functional, not homey like those old tattered sofas, but not uncomfortable. The artwork hanging on the walls in all black-and-whites complimented it perfectly. My bedroom held the largest king-size bed I’d ever slept in, a dresser, full length mirror, desk and chair, and a walk-in closet. I felt like freaking Cinderella.

Since our arrival, Rafe had been busy most days with his ‘business’, so I hadn’t really had a chance to get out and see the sights like I wanted to, but he made sure to be home to give me my shots whenever I needed them. Until today.

He’d left before I woke and been gone all day. My craving had been growing in intensity for hours as the pain grew, not just emotionally, but physically. The aches in almost every part of my body were almost enough to keep the voices and the words at bay. I hurt. Everywhere.

Why was he doing this to me? Was I being punished? What had I done? Had I let Rafe down?
I couldn’t think straight.
How had I failed now?

My stomach roiled and I barely found the strength to crawl to the bathroom before I vomited what little was actually in there. By the time Rafe got home, he found me halfway to unconscious bliss on the bathroom tile.

“Oh, sweetness.” He scooped me up and took me over to the bed.

“Where have you b-been?”

“Working.”

“I h-hurt.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He apologized, but made no move to get me what I needed so badly.

“Rafe . . . please.”

“Please what?”

Was he serious?
“The drugs. Please, Rafe. I need a hit. Please.”

“Rylie.” He sighed and panic pierced the pain. He couldn’t tell me no. He couldn’t deny me now. He’d kill me. “I’ve been more than generous with you, but this stuff ain’t free. I feel like your gratitude is lacking.”

“No. It’s not. I’m grateful. So grateful. For everything. Rafe, please. I have some money.”

“Not enough. I checked. You don’t have nearly enough for what you owe me, Rylie.”

“Nooo,” I wailed.

“Now, calm down. Relax.”

"How?" How the hell was I supposed to do that when I felt like I’d been run over by a steamroller? Every cell itched and twitched with the need to fill that craving.

“You can . . . show me how grateful you are.
Earn
another hit.”

Yes!
“Anything. What do you want me to do?”

“You don’t need to do a thing, sweetness. Just lie there looking pretty like you are and let me do all the work.”

That was the first night I traded away a piece of my soul.

I didn’t put up a fight as he crawled over me. Up close, he smelled. Not like the ever-present scent of weed I associated with him, but of B.O. and cheap aftershave that caused my stomach to pitch again. It all happened so fast. When he was done, he rolled off of me and left the room without a word. If it hadn’t been for the painful cramps in my abdomen, I wouldn’t have been sure it really happened. But it had. I’d given my virginity to a man who didn’t even know or care.

When he came back with that beautiful syringe, neither did I. I threw out my arm and let blissful oblivion just take me away.

***

It didn’t end there. I had to earn each hit I wanted—
needed—
and not always the same way. Rafe was . . . creative, and I learned a lot of new tricks—tricks that took full advantage of my ‘assets’. Tricks that corroded my heart and stained my soul. And earned me the drugs I needed to forget about them afterwards.

“Sweetness.” Rafe lay next to me, playing with my hair, while I impatiently waited for him to get up and bring me what I’d just finished earning. “You’re doing a good job. I mean, you’re beautiful and you’re a decent lay, but . . . I’m not sure I’d say you’re really worth all I’m putting out for you.”

“What?”
I wasn’t good enough? He wasn’t going to give me the drugs?
I
needed the drugs. I needed them. Now. “No. No, Rafe. I’m sorry. Let- let m-me try again. I can do better, I swear.”

“You did fine. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then w-what?”
What did I fail at now?

“This habit of yours is getting expensive. And this roof over your head? That don’t come free, either. I’d love for you to stay and keep things the way they’re going, but you’re going to have to start pulling your own weight around here.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Get a job. Start paying me back for some of this shit.”

“A job? Who the hell’s going to hire me like this, Rafe?” I wasn’t messed up enough not to realize how messed up I was. I operated on at least a partial high continuously. I needed to. No self-respecting business owner would even think twice about hiring me.

Rafe laughed. He actually laughed like this was some kind of joke as I tried my best to conceal the panic welling up inside of me. He wasn’t talking about just the drugs. He was talking about my home. If Rafe kicked me out, I’d have nowhere to go. I’d be homeless. And drugless. I honestly couldn’t decide which would be worse.

“I know some people who would pay for your services and not give a damn if you’re high as the fucking Empire State Building.”

“What . . . what s-services?”

That grin was back. Not the nice one, but the one that frightened me when I first met him. “Your
bodily
services.”

Oh, God. Oh, God.
He was talking about what I thought he was talking about, wasn’t he?

“You’ve got the looks, the clothes . . . Where else can you make what you need to keep a roof over your head and those drugs in your veins all by lying on your back?”