Rock Bottom

by Canosa, Jamie

  Also unexpected. He wanted to hire me?

  “How long you want me?”

  “How much for the night?”

  “All night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Two-fifty.”

  “Two hundred and fifty dollars for the whole night?” Dark brows spiked toward his hairline.

  “What can I say? I’m cheap.” Hurt flashed across his face at my dismissive attitude, but I didn’t know what he expected. He wasn’t getting a freebie, if that’s what he thought. “And you need to pay half up front.”

  “Fine. Get in.” He pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and passed me the full amount.

  Feeling as though my whole world turned on its head, I slid in beside the ghost that haunted all of my lucid memories. This was a bad idea. A horrifically bad idea. I had no idea what I was thinking other than I couldn’t bear to walk away from him again. Not yet.

  And I was going to regret it.

  We drove in silence across town to a slightly nicer hotel than what I was used to. When we stopped outside the office, I realized he hadn’t prepared for this in advance. I waited in the car until he returned with a room key and followed him, silently, upstairs. What the fuck was I doing here?

  The place was nice with a large bed and clean sheets. That’s all I really noticed or cared about as far as hotel rooms went. Elijah wandered toward the small television stand and started unloading his pockets, wallet, phone, keys, change . . . Okay then. He’d bought my services, now I had to provide them, no matter how much the thought sickened me worse than ever before.

  “What are you doing?” I’d removed my shirt and was moving on to my shorts by the time Elijah finished inspecting the room and turned back to me.

  “Getting the show on the road.”

  “Rylie . . .”

  “What? You paid for my body, didn’t you?”

  “I paid for your time. That’s all I want.”

  I didn’t know how to take that, or even what it meant, so I stood there staring at him, half dressed.

  “Put your clothes back on.” He dropped his gaze to the floor until I’d donned my shirt and zipped my shorts. Then he looked at me. Just looked.

  Minutes ticked by while he did nothing but stare. He was at least five feet away from me and it still felt like the most intimate thing I’d done with anybody in a long, long time.

  “Rylie—” Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  I watched, confused by who else could be there—confused by a whole hell of a lot, actually—as he answered the door and paid the delivery guy holding the pizza box.

  “I asked the guy at the desk to call in the order,” he explained after setting the box on a small round table.

  “I don’t understand. If you don’t want me to . . . you know, then what do you want?”

  Elijah took a steadying breath, clearly clinging to his self-restraint, and threw the box open. “I want you to eat.”

  My eyes flicked from the pineapple pizza—my favorite—to Elijah and back again. The once delicious concoction no longer held any appeal for me. Noting did. I only ate when absolutely necessary.

  “Jesus Christ, Ry!” That restraint was obviously slipping. “At least pick at it. I bought your damn time and this is what I want you to do with it.”

  “I should have charged you more,” I grumbled, dropping onto one of the chairs as he placed a thick slice of pizza in front of me and took one for himself.

  “You set your own prices?” Elijah took the seat across from me.

  “No.”

  “Then who—?”

  “Don’t, Eli.” He winced at my use of his informal name as I meant him to. I didn’t want him thinking this was some kind of damn reunion. We weren’t friends anymore. We weren’t anything anymore.

  “Rylie . . .”

  I stuffed a bite of pizza in my mouth and Elijah sighed, taking a bite of his own. We finished our slices in silence and when he tried to give me another, I waved him off. One more bite and I’d be sick. He didn’t look happy about it, but he gave in, folding up the box and setting it aside. I leaned back in my chair, trying to appear more comfortable than I was.

  “Have you been here this whole time?” Elijah’s fingers danced over the table top in a staccato rhythm.

  “Pretty much.” I wasn’t going to get through tonight without answering some questions, I knew that. As long as we stuck to benign crap, maybe I could put his mind at ease and send him on his way.

  “Doing . . . doing this?”

  “For a while.”

  “W—” His jaw hardened and he had to look away from me. “Why? Why, Rylie?”

  “I . . .” Why? There really wasn’t an answer to that. This wasn’t something I chose. It wasn’t something I wanted. It wasn’t like streetwalker was my new ultimate goal in life. It just sort of . . . happened. Forget why, I didn’t even know how. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Is someone making you—?”

  “That’s not what I meant. No one made me do anything. I did this to myself. So no one has to feel guilt, or pity, or whatever the hell it is that brought you here.”

  “You want to know what I feel? Angry, Ry. I feel angry. I am pissed the fuck off.”

  “I—” The stunned look on my face must have finished the sentence I couldn’t find the words for.

  “You don’t think I have the right to be angry with you? You come to my house, hysterical, talking about wanting it to ‘end’, and then drop off the face of the Earth. Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through these last months trying to find you? Hoping like hell you were still alive?”

  “You’ve been looking for me?” He’d claimed as much earlier, but it hadn’t really clicked until now. “This whole time?”

  “Of course I’ve been looking for you. Christ. And then I find you, standing on some godforsaken corner. And you're still using, aren’t you?”

  I folded my arms self-consciously, trying to hide the evidence of my worsening drug problem, but all I succeeded in doing was drawing his attention right to it.

  “What is that?”

  “Wha—?”

  Elijah was up and out of his seat, prying my arm away from my body before I could even finish the question.

  “Holy shit. What the fuck is that, Rylie? What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

  I tried to pull my arm away, but Elijah held tight in a gentle yet firm grip that refused to let me hide my shame. “Please.”

  “Answer me. What are you using?”

  “Elijah . . .”

  “What?” He’d never yelled at me before and it startled the answer right out of me.

  “Heroin.”

  His eyes went wide as he finally released my wrist, dropping onto the edge of the bed. Both hands threaded through his hair as his head fell forward. He sat there, staring at the floor, back heaving with each forced breath, for a long time.

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say. I don’t understand, Ry.” When he lifted his head again his eyes were glassy. “I don’t understand what happened to you. How did this happen?”

  I didn’t really understand that myself. “I don’t know.”

  “Please, Rylie. Please try to explain this to me.”

  “I honestly don’t know. I don’t know how things got so messed up. They just . . . did.” The sting of tears was so foreign to me, I almost didn’t recognize it. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried. I never cried. The drugs made sure I never had to.

  “Come here, Princess.” Elijah held out his arms like nothing had changed at all. But it had changed. Everything had changed and now he wanted me to tell him how it had happened.

  I stared at his arms, warring with the overwhelming desire to accept what he was offering. Instead, I turned away.

  His disappointment hit me like a hurricane. “Where did you go when you left my house that day?”

  I answered his questions honestly, too exhausted
not to. The facts fell into line, piecing together the story of a stranger. Some girl I barely even remembered anymore.

  I breezed over a few of the more explicit details of my time at Rafe’s, leading up to . . . “Rafe brought me to the city with him. At first I was excited, but . . . but then he started telling me that I owed him. That I had to earn what he gave me. And I needed it. I need it. I can’t—”

  “He got you addicted on purpose, Ry. He got you hooked so he could control you.”

  “I know.” On some level, deep down, I knew that. I’d known it all along, but it didn’t make a damn bit of difference, did it? Whether I knew the game we were playing or not, he’d still won.

  The late hour combined with emotional toll of the day and the fact that I hadn’t had a hit in far too long were catching up with me. I wrapped my arms around myself and groaned.

  “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “I hurt. You got anything to take the edge off?”

  “No.” Elijah shook his head adamantly. “I’m clean. I haven’t touched that shit since you walked out on me.”

  Shame and disappointment swelled and I buried my face in my hands, feeling tears on the rise. I needed those damn drugs and I needed them now.

  “Come lie down.” He patted the bed and the promise of a soft mattress to cradle my achy body was too good to pass up. I crawled past him and collapsed onto the pillow, hoping like hell he wouldn’t ask any more of me tonight.

  Elijah brushed the hair away from the back of my sweat dampened neck. “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?”

  “It doesn’t m-matter.”

  “It matters . . . to me. It still matters to me.”

  I took a shuddering breath to combat the tears. I didn’t know if they were happy or sad. All I knew was I couldn’t stand to feel anymore right then.

  “Close your eyes.” Elijah rolled me onto my side and tucked my back to his chest. “Can I just hold you tonight, Ry? Please?”

  “It’s your money.”

  I couldn’t make out his grumbled response, but his arm wrapped around my waist, holding me tight, making me feel safe and warm inside for the first time in forever. I tried to stay awake, to cling to the feeling despite the way my body screamed for relief, but within moments I drifted off.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  I woke in the morning with a sense of regret so deep it hurt my bones. Or maybe that was the withdrawal. Either way, I knew it was time to go.

  Elijah snored softly beside me and my heart warmed at his face slackened with sleep. He was no longer the boy I’d left behind. He was a man. I’d seen the change in his eyes last night, but now I could see it in his body, as well. The thicker forearms, toned shoulders, solid back. His air of ‘I don’t give a shit’ had evaporated, replaced by something heavier. Something that dared you to screw with him and promised that the results would not be pretty. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a result of more time spent with Andy, an attempt to protect himself when no one else would. His frayed edges had turned sharp, and yet I didn’t fear them. Wrapped in his arms, they felt like a shield, protecting me.

  I knew getting in his car would only lead to grief. To this inevitable moment. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to leave him. To walk away. To say goodbye. Again. He deserved more. But as was the case with most things in my life, I didn’t have a choice. Rafe was waiting, and with him, relief at the other end of the painful tether between us.

  A small pad and pen printed with the hotel’s logo were laid out on the nightstand. I took them with me as I went in search of my shoes and stopped to leave him one last message before escaping back into my reality.

  Car horns blared. Pedestrians shoved their way through the morning rush hour foot traffic. The smell of hot tar and sweat already hung heavy in the air. I hurried along, ignoring the blisters on my feet, the appalled looks, the crude comments, and was nearly clipped by a man in a suit biking to work as I crossed the street to the apartment. But none of it unsettled my already jittery nerves as much as the roar of Rafe’s voice the minute I stepped inside.

  “Where the hell have you been?” He stormed into the kitchen and I took a step back, trapped against the door.

  “W-working.”

  “You were working? All night?”

  I reached into my bra to show him the cash Elijah had given me and realized I’d left it behind. “I-I . . .”

  “You what?”

  “I forgot it.”

  “You forgot my money?”

  “I didn’t—”

  The slap came out of nowhere. Completely unprepared, I stumbled into the counter.

  “You worthless . . . You’ve become nothing but a fucking liability. Damien called last night looking for you and you know what I had to tell him? Do you?”

  I shook my head and took cover behind my arms when he raised his hand to strike again. He didn’t. He dropped his hand and glared at me.

  “I had to tell him that I didn’t know where the fuck my girl was. Do you know how big an idiot that made me look?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Tell anyone where you were going? No, you didn’t, did you?”

  “There was no one to tell. The others were already gone.”

  “Then you stay on the fucking street until they get back, so I know where the hell you are.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry, Rafe. I didn’t know. I was just working.”

  “Working? No, sweetness. Working is something I get paid for. You’re out of control. Damien thinks you’d be worth a shit-ton more clean and I have to say I agree.”

  “What?”

  “It’s time you get your shit together, Rylie. Men like Damien—men with deep pockets—don’t want strung-out whores. They want escorts. Capable, intelligent arm candy. Not just a body to bang. That’s where the real money is. It’s time you stepped up your game.”

  He wanted me to do this sober? “I . . . I can’t. Rafe, no, I can’t. I need it. Please, Rafe, I need it. I need it now.”

  “What you need is to get your ass in gear. Let’s go.” He took my arm and hauled me back out to the front of the building where his car was waiting for us.

  I was tossed into the passenger side where I sat, jonesing so hard my entire body shook with need as scenery blurred by. I had no idea what lay ahead, but I knew enough that terror coiled in the pit of my stomach like a snake ready to strike.

  ***

  “Get out.” We pulled up outside of a small, two-story green and white house. It sat off the main road a ways, and the first thing I noticed was that there were no neighbors in sight.

  “Rafe, please. What are we doing here? I’m so sorry I messed up. I won’t do it again. I swear. Please. Can we just go home, Rafe? Please?”

  “No, you won’t mess up again. Because from now on you’re gonna have a clear head.” He pushed me up the walk and through the front door without bothering to knock. I considered running, but even if I could get past him—which was doubtful with the shape I was in—there was nowhere to go.

  Inside, the two men I’d met at Rafe’s a lifetime ago greeted us. The one who’d helped him give me my first shot of heroin stood and proudly announced, “Welcome to rapid detox.”

  Right then and there, I decided it didn’t matter where I went. Anywhere was better than here. But it was too late. Hard hands closed around each of my arms as Rafe and the man dragged me toward a solid door leading off the kitchen.

  The second partner—the one with a bald head, a wicked looking scar running from the back of his right ear to the tip of his chin, and a distinct dent in his nose—remained seated, relinquishing no more than a disinterested glance as I started to struggle at the sight of the lock securely fastened to the outside of the door.

  I struggled so hard their fingers bit into me, bruising my skin. I struggled so hard that we all nearly lost our balance as they dragged me down a flight of dirty wooden stairs. I struggled so hard that Rafe finally released me and threw a fist into my fa
ce to get me to stop. I tumbled onto a bare mattress set on a creaky metal frame.

  I was still recovering from the shock when I felt the cold bite of metal around my wrist. I tried to move, but found that I couldn’t.

  “No! Rafe, no. Please. Please don’t do this! Please, help me. Please. Please, no!” I sobbed and struggled some more while the men stood back and watched me.

  It was useless. The restraints were secure. I wasn’t going anywhere they didn’t let me. Finally, I gave up the fight and collapsed onto the cold plastic.

  “You finished?” Rafe’s cruel voice was a dull drone in my ears.

  “Yeah.” I was most definitely finished.

  “Good. Now, you're gonna stay here until you’re clean. Then you can get back to work.”

  “We'll bring you food and water,” my second escort explained. “At all other times you’ll be on your own. No one can hear you so don’t bother screaming. And if you try to get free, you’ll only end up hurting yourself worse.” He indicated my shackled wrist that I’d already managed to tear bloody and raw with my futile attempts. “It won’t be fun. It won’t be easy. In fact, it’s going to suck like a bitch. But it’s for your own good, so I suggest you just let it happen.”

  With those words of wisdom, the men cleared out, leaving me to my misery.

  No. No. No. No. No. I didn’t know if the word continued to pour from my lips or just through my brain. It didn’t matter. There was no one there but me to hear it anyway. Me and the bed and the filthy commode set up directly beside it just within reach. The dirt strewn floor. And, maybe, the spiders spinning their webs in the exposed rafters over my head.

  I didn’t care. I didn’t care about where I was, or what was happening, or when it would stop. All I cared about was getting my next hit, or not getting it. That morning I couldn’t have imagined the pain getting any worse, but it did. Oh, how it did. My stomach cramped so hard I felt certain it would shrivel up inside of me and I suddenly became very grateful for that dirty toilet. I also became aware of the reason behind the lack of bedding.

  With no lighting besides the single bare bulb dangling from the ceiling, I had no way to mark the passage of time. It didn’t take long, though, for my clothes to become soaked through with sweat. Sometime after that, the chills set in. My head throbbed while my stomach continuously rolled. I’d never felt so sick in all my life. My entire body felt like it had been hit by a Mack truck. Twice.