7, 14, 21, 28, 35, 42,49, 56, 63, 70,77, 84, 91, 98, 105, 112, 119, 126, 133, 140, 147, 154, 161, 168, 175, 182, 189, 196, 203...413.
The tears begin blurring my eyes. All my thoughts fade away. I’m breaking apart, spiraling down more and more with each visit. My brain refuses to count anymore. I’ve gone positively numb.
I open my eyes when suddenly I feel Salem’s seed run down my cheek. He’s cursing and swearing. Taken matters into his own hands by jacking himself off as he watches his son rape me with a sadistic smile on his face.
The fibers that were holding me together slowly begin to crumble. I fade. I lose all sense of reasoning. They’ve finally done it. They’ve broken me.
The numbness is over. The pain between my legs is raw, the brokenness of a once happy little girl is shattered. The tears are out of control, and I know what I have to do. I have to run. Tonight. There will be no high school diploma. No chance for a real life. It was all stripped away the day my mother married a monster.
28
Amelia
A hit of any kind of drug always does the trick. I need it, crave it, and my body begs to feel that pop of pure adrenaline as the drugs rush through my veins and excel the rapid speed of my heart.
My fingers begin to tremble out of control as I struggle to get the first pill down my throat. I swallow the little white capsule with no liquid to chase it. Dry as a motherfucking bone. The syringe lying next to me is dirty and bent, but I find a vein and shoot the drugs into my arm anyway. The cold brick wall meets my back as I sink down slowly with a smile. My ass landing on the damp, cracked floor of the smelly alley. The rush floods my body, taking away every ounce of my pain. Invisibly numb.
My head is light, the problems disappear, and I can finally close my eyes without being scared. I clutch the remaining handful of pills in my palm that is packed with meth knowing they’ll be gone in a day. Then I’ll be out on the streets, fighting to feel free once again. Free from life, free from hell, and free from being me. I simply want to die.
This is the only time I feel nothing. Emptiness is welcome. I don’t care anymore. Doesn’t matter that I live in an alley, fuck random strangers to get my next high, or steal food from the stores. None of it matters when I’m sedated. Floating.
A rare smile covers my entire face. I laugh out loud. Laugh harder and harder remembering the little girl who had hopes and dreams. She was gorgeous, perfect, and so full of love for living. Then hell came knocking on my door and took it all away. The reality of my life destroyed me. My own mother allowed it. I hope she’s as dead as I feel. Stupid fucking bitch.
My hands shake to the point I can barely hold the needle and the bag in my palms. I need more. Need more of this high to make every thought of them go away. I swallow two more pills and slowly feel their effect until I’m buzzing higher than I ever have before. This is it, I think as my mind allows me to soar through the sky while I pretend I can fly. My hands spread wide. My body is slumping sideways, and I can’t stop it. The grimy, cracked asphalt slows me down when the side of my head smacks onto the hard surface, but I’m too high to care or even notice. Bleed, bitch, bleed.
Tiny streams of blood flow into the dirty puddle of water. It’s coming from my body, and I don’t even care. No one else does, so why should I?
Chatter from the opening of the alleyway catches my attention. Gazing up, I see the man who always walks into the fancy restaurant at nighttime. My vision is blurred, so I squint my eyes. I think it’s him, even though I can’t be sure.
He’s always in a pressed suit. His dark hair shiny, a brilliant watch on his wrist. I’ve never seen a man sexier in my life. I bet he treats women nice. Respects them and shows them a good time.
The deep rumble of his voice always soothes my soul. Whenever I see him, I study the hand his watch sits on for multiple reasons. The first being, it’s always perched low on the back of a gorgeous woman. Sometimes, there’s a blonde like me with long, wavy hair, other times a brunette with a short, classy haircut, or an auburn beauty with flowing curls. The women who all have long, sleek, muscular legs remind me of a person I used to want to be. The one who was in love with painting and basketball and had a passion for all the girly stuff in the world. I could be her. Could. Possibly. Maybe.
The other reason I adore that arm so much is because of the watch. It’s thick, black, and lined with assorted colors. It screams money. Lots and lots of money. Money equals a high. Being high means a numb state where I don’t remember the way their bodies moved in and out of mine or the come they’d coat me in for their sick pleasure. Money. I need money, because the woman I could have been never had the chance to exist.
The man cranes his neck to peer down the dark alley. His face is blurry, but I know it’s him. He can’t see me even though his dark whiskey pools bore holes through my tainted, barely-there soul. My fingers stretch out wanting to wrap around that watch. To grab hold of his hand for help, and yet I can’t move, can’t speak. Can’t flex my fingers to grab hold of anything. Invisibly numb.
I rarely talk out loud at all. There’s enough of it going on inside my head. I don’t have to speak to the drug dealers who supply me with my fix. They know what I need, and they give it to me gladly. But even my drugs come with a price. Sex, blowjobs, or walk the streets and sell a bag here, a bag there. They know as well as I do I’m as honest as they come out on these streets. Or rather, used to be. Doesn’t mean a thing to me anymore. Nothing does. My life is a dead-end road. No U-turns, no yield, and definitely no stop sign.
This time I stole a little extra. I’ve never cheated or crossed Ricky until now. Needed it to get through the rest of today. It’s my twenty-first birthday. A day of celebration. So, instead of celebrating with family and friends the way I should be, I’m out here doing it up big time with my good friends Crystal and Meth.
It’s nice when Ricky, my favorite dealer, the one I stole from, lets me take a shower, tosses me a clean pair of jeans or one of his T-shirts to wear before he slaps on a condom, shoves my face into the mattress, and takes me from behind. At least I’m clean until he sends one of his men in their fancy cars to seek me out to either give me what I need or advise me to move my ass to deal around town.
This man, though, the one who drives a fancy car, wears expensive clothes, and the watch… He wouldn’t give me the time of day. Never would a man like him give a pitiful excuse for a human a glance. He’d let me rot.
Tonight, the mystery man must be dining at Maggiano's alone. I squint my eyes in order to peer through my drugged mind and watch him chat with the valet driver, toss him his keys, and walk through the swinging doors not once looking back my way.
I sigh, smiling once again as the smell of garlic and herbs assault my nose. Oh, I’ve eaten their delicious food before. The baked lasagna, bread toasted with butter and garlic, and raspberry pannacotta are my favorites. They seem to be everyone else’s, too, as those three are rare to find when digging through the dumpster on the side of the building. The only way I dine. Unless you call the stolen candy bars, pop, or chips here and there dining.
The smell wafts through my nose once again, and even though my mind is telling me I’m not hungry, I push my rickety body up anyway. I sway, stagger, and catch my footing before I stumble to the ground.
“Oh, shit,” I say, laughing when I look down at the saving grace in my hands. I can’t walk out of this alley and across the street with this. Well, I could, but jail isn’t any better than the streets, and I sure as shit am not leaving it here, either. I shove it down the pocket of my baggy jeans and use the wall to guide me out from the confines of my alley. The place I’ve slept, pissed, shit, and gotten so high in I don’t remember my name until I wake up the next morning chilled to the bone.
The bright white light of the late afternoon shines down on my pale skin. “God, my life is a mess, but fuck it all to hell, because I feel good right now,” I mumble. I might be higher than the sun, fucked up in every way a person can be, but I�
��m not stupid. I know I’m a mess. I know people are looking at me like the scum I am as I stumble my crack-headed self to the opening of the alleyway, filthy, bloodied, and all.
I want to scream ‘Fuck you’ to them all. Stand in front of an oncoming car with both middle fingers in the air and dare the cocksucker behind the wheel to end my misery and plow me over.
I lose my footing and trip when I reach the sidewalk. Blood drips from my head, lands on my fingers, and I couldn’t care less. I push myself up, convince myself I’m fine, and head for that divine smell that overpowers my own ripe stench.
“Go on, hide away with the garbage. You piece of white fucking stealing trash. Do you have any idea what I do to people when they steal from me, Amelia?” Oh, shit. I look up to see Ricky standing there. My bloodshot eyes dart from him to the end of the alley, where one of his cars is now blocking the entrance. I gulp, my high increasing.
“Ask me if I care?” I spit at him.
Even while facing the eye of the storm, all I’m worried about is hiding the drugs I have left. He won’t get to them. It’s all I’m worried about. I need the high to survive.
“Cunt, you will.”
The follicles of my hair breach from my head as he drags me back further into the alley. There should be a stinging sensation, but I feel nothing. Other footsteps join him in the deserted area. My body slams back against the cracked asphalt with my head bouncing off the hard surface. Blood, I welcome all of it.
“Where are they?” Ricky slowly bends over and then spits in my face.
“Fuck you.” The two words slowly leave my cracked lips.
I’m rewarded with a fist to the jaw. The sound of it cracking fills the air, but again, still no pain. I have two choices. Play dumb and hope he gives up, or I go for the drugs, getting the rest of the pills down. In still moments like these, it makes me sick what my life has amounted to. Rare but real thoughts.
“Going to play hard, are we, Amelia?” He kneels next to me. “I’ve had this cunt plenty. I’m going to teach you a lesson. The sad thing is, you won’t get the opportunity to learn from it. You’ll be an example for others.”
It’s the slight opening I need. I go for it. Ricky turns back to his goons, and I move quickly. My fingers trembling and arm movements sloppy as fuck. The pills bounce in my palm, and I’m able to throw them into my mouth. The only problem is, it’s dry, causing the pills to lodge in my throat. I start to gag.
“You bitch.” Ricky’s hands wrap around my throat.
His fingers are digging deep into my flesh. The pain finally registers with my brain. My lungs are collapsing fighting for air. My throat is swallowing hard under pressure to get the pills down. The menacing look on Ricky’s face should be my first sign that I’m about to die. I don’t care.
“Not going to make it easy on you, you dirty whore.” His hands disappear from my throat.
When I gasp for my next hit of fresh air, the pills slice the inside of my throat going down roughly. Ricky pulls out a pistol, laying it next to my head. He waits for my reaction thinking I’ll go for it. I’m not. He can use it for all I care.
Then my nightmare really begins to happen as each of his goons grabs an arm. They place their boots on top of my palms, forcing their whole body weight down onto them. My bones crack between the asphalt and the bottom of their boots.
The sound of the bones shattering registers with my brain. It’s slicing and maddening torture and only the beginning of my hell. The high rises, and yet the things I’ve done, it suddenly all becomes too fucking much. The night my bedroom was invaded kicked off the vortex of my living hell. Everything else spiraled downward from there. Why doesn’t he kill me?
Ricky flashes a shiny blade in front of my face with his gleaming smile framing the whole fucked-up scene before me.
“If, and that’s a big if, you live to tell about this, then this scar will be your brutal reminder of what happens when you cross fucking Ricky Valdez.”
He slices up the middle of my grimy T-shirt in one movement. The cold blade runs from my belly button all the way up to the base of my throat. Warm liquid oozes out onto my skin. Pain muted, but it’s the wild look in Ricky’s eyes I fear the most.
He reaches into my pockets grabbing the remaining meth then passes it to one of his goons. I want to scream for him to give it back. I’m too caught up, my mind moving backward in time. Oh, God. I hope these men don’t rape me.
“Just one more sweet kiss, Amelia.” He leans down like he’s going to kiss me. He’s never kissed me before. No one has.
My eyes slam shut with old memories of unwanted touches invading me from my childhood. However, his lips never touch mine. His spit coats my face, and then he begins lightly carving a kiss on my lips with the sharp blade. The desire to cry out and beg for forgiveness never tempts my thoughts. This just may be the best answer to my problem. Death.
“My dick is hard, but never dipping into that rotten pussy again.”
“Ricky,” I whisper through the blood running from my lips and the razorblades scratching my throat. “Just kill me, please.”
I cringe using the word ‘please,’ but death is my only wish at this moment. There’s nothing left in my life, and the reality is, it’s been that way for years now. Why wasn’t I smart enough to think of this before?
“You want death? You think you should be able to choose your punishment for being a double-crossing, stealing cunt? Wrong.”
His fist slams down hard. My face flings to the side, teeth flying from my mouth. He doesn’t stop sending his punishment one right after another. Ricky signals his goons to join in on the fun. Their boots assault my sides with grilling kicks. The ribs caging my organs snap one at a time. Breathing becomes a struggle. Something heavy lies on my chest, stifling the ability to gulp in oxygen. I need air.
Mustering up enough courage, I look back to Ricky, who has the bloody knife in his hand again.
“Please.” It’s barely a word floating off my lips and my greatest mistake.
His palm covers one of my breasts. “You’ll never be able to use your body for drugs again, bitch. I’m making fucking sure of that.”
The cold metal of the blade lands on my skin. He pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The silence before chaos combusts ensues with everything becoming crystal clear. Radiating pain from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes causes bile to rise up in the back of my throat, and the fight to gulp in air sends me into a panic.
The sharp blade of the knife slices through the tender skin of my nipple. A bright light flashes, blinding me. I want to scream for help, cry for the pain, but everything is trapped inside, leaving me to battle the pain all on my own. My world begins to go black until I’m slapped in the face to keep me alert. Ricky smiles down at me, dangling my nipple above my face. He inches the bloody mess toward my face, forcing me to open my jaw.
It’s locked on its hinges. Ricky is unable to get my mouth open. The bile is rising further and further up the back of my throat until it fills my mouth. I’m choking on my puke. One of the goons leans over, places four fingers in my mouth, ripping it open. The bones crack, and my screams finally escape. The sound gurgled by the liquid vomit in my mouth.
Ricky shoves the bloody mess into my mouth, but everything is going dark way too quickly. I hear a scuffle and new voices yelling, but I can’t hold on. It’s happening fast, my own chest suffocating me, my own vomit choking me, and the pain killing me. I’m finally going to die.
“Hey! What the fuck is going on down there?”
“Shit,” Ricky whispers. “Run to the end of the alley, circle the block, and meet back at the car.”
He sends one more kick to my side. It’s the magic touch my body needed to trigger the remaining effects, making it impossible to breathe. Everything goes black, and it’s better than any high I’ve ever experienced.
29
Zeke
“Dining alone tonight, doc?” Piero, the son of my favorite rest
aurant owner, asks when I pull up to valet in my BMW M6 Convertible.
“I’m meeting a few associates to go over a charity I’m helping run.” I huff, smile smugly, and step out of my car. Piero is a damn good kid. One of the most respectful teenagers I’ve met. His parents are teaching him well, having him start by working his way up the family business the hard way. It’s one of the many reasons I enjoy coming here. The food is top notch, the service impeccable, and they treat me as if I’m family.
“That sucks, dude. I enjoy seeing all those beautiful women on your arm. Makes me dream,” he says in a way only a horny sixteen-year-old kid would.
“Keep it in your pants, buddy.” I pat his shoulder, turn around, and wrinkle my forehead when I feel eyes on me from the alley across the street.
I know it’s her. The mysterious woman who barely allows me to see her. She’s homeless. I know this to be true, because I’ve asked about her a time or two. Everyone in the restaurant knows who she is, even though none of them have spoken to her. They say she keeps to herself, never bothers the patrons or disturbs the peace, so they let her be. She intrigues me, and I have no clue as to why.
There have been times I’ve wanted to reach out to her, to see her face up close, to offer my help, but every time I’m here, I’m with a woman. Which is a piss-poor excuse, but it’s the damn truth, and I’m ashamed. I feel those eyes on me just about every time I’m here, as if they are seeking me out for help. It’s the natural fixer in me. It’s what I do for a living. It’s ultimately my passion, and yet I turn a blind eye to the blond woman with crystal cascade-blue eyes I memorized the one and only time I saw her. I’d recognize her anywhere.
“Take care of my baby,” I tell him, toss him my keys, and enter the restaurant. The girl long forgotten with my mind set to business mode.
When Opposites Collide Boxset Page 22
