“What. The. Fuck. David. Hurry up,” she squeals from behind me. I’m mulling over whether I even want to pack Scarlet’s belongings and ship them. This would make it too final. I’m not ready to let her go.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this? I just don’t have the mind nor heart for it, Ivy,” I whisper into her ear before I take a few steps away from her.
“Do I have to do every-fucking-thing for you?” she screams as she barges past me. She’s hopped up on her favorite poison—nose candy. We pay for our packing supplies then leave for my house.
I’m a useless idiot while Ivy stuffs one item after another of Scarlet’s possessions into cardboard boxes. Her nose powder gives her super powers, and before I’m able to even form a thought on to why I don’t want to help her, she zooms and packs Scarlet’s entire side of our closet.
“There!” she exclaims as she shoves me out of her way.
“Now, take all this shit and mail it off. Or do I have to do that, too, motherfucker?” Her eyes are bugged out and an irritated shade of red. She slinks her way toward me, stops fast, then grips her hands at her waist. Next, she uses her index finger to motion me toward her. When I don’t oblige to her command, she marches toward me then snaps her fingers against my nose.
“What. The. Fuck. Hello?” she squeals again.
“Can we just get high already?” I demand, before I offer her the smile that got us here.
“Don’t give me that smirk. I want to finish this shit. I want this bitch out of our lives. You know we need to move forward so that we can sell this place already.” She rolls her eyes then leaves me alone in the closet—with all of Scarlet’s boxes.
My lover’s possessions are all stashed into perfectly-packed boxes. One of Scarlet’s nightgowns peeks through a box, so I draw it out and press my face into the laced fabric. Her aroma of fresh fruit reminds me of her lush, wavy, auburn hair. And her eyes—those bright-hazel eyes that lured me in and yet understood me so well. I’m sorry, Scarlet.
March 1st, 2013
Over an hour lapses before I’ve finally completed the necessary paperwork required to leave my home. Ivy convinced me to sell what I could. Everything I own is now jam-packed into a L.L Bean backpack. Even my Fisker Karma has a new owner. Over three million dollars show up on my bank statement. Thankfully, Ivy’s control has some limits; she has yet to demand I sign my finances over to her.
“I just want you all to myself, baby. Plus, I have my own money,” she explained, before we exited her top-of-the-line Toyota Tundra.
Ivy has secrets she has yet to share. And here recently, she convinced me to not only wear a mask while we fucked, but to broadcast it on some sex site. In a month, I’ve digressed from being a self-employed homeowner to an amateur porno star and homeless addict. My hand clinches at my backpack as I remind myself that everything I own fits snug into one bag.
Ivy leads the way as we leave the realtor’s office. Once we’re enclosed in her Tundra, she turns to me to say, “Now, you’re free, David.” Her voice is several decibels higher than usual and her crooked teeth are on full display.
“Yeah.” I exhale and fasten my seat belt.
The familiar illness following the lack of Ivy’s euphoric poison begins to loom. My skin glistens with withdrawal sweats, and the ache of needing my next fix pangs within me. Knots form in my bowels as my mouth dries to the equivalent of gritty sand. My skin throbs and aches for my next high.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll have some delivered the moment we’re in our hotel room,” she announces as she merges into traffic. Twenty minutes pass before we finally leave Naples. Ivy swears that a road trip is just what we need. I question if it’s smart, considering my need for more euphoric poison.
“Baby, don’t you worry about a thing—Ivy’s got it all covered.”
Other than knowing her from the birthing facility, there isn’t much else I know about Ivy. She likes to be in charge when we fuck, and she has a serious cocaine addiction. But her past, before she met me, is something she’s unwilling to share.
We park at the farthest end of the parking lot. Before we step out of her Tundra, Ivy takes in several pinky scoops from her powder tin. She sniffs and wipes until there’s no trace left of the powdered residue. A shiver shudders from her before she involuntarily tweaks her head.
“You should do a bump or three,” she shrieks. Her eyes are more pupil than iris, and her smile is almost sinister. For some reason, Ivy becomes a yeller when she’s bugged out.
“I’d rather just wait,” I reply, before I turn my attention toward the setting sun.
“David, you should consider a new method. Mainlining cocaine will only lead to harsh conclusions,” she sings in a strange melody. Ivy jitters then checks her nose one last time while her tongue licks at her teeth. Her jaw jerks, and she makes that strange smile she always does while she grinds her teeth.
“Suit. Yourself. Motherfucker,” she squeals before she leaps out of her Tundra. With ease, I step out, but then I jerk forward to vomit.
“You should seriously eat.” Her face contorts into a grimace. She slams her car door and then shuffles over to shut mine. Another wave of bile rushes through my esophagus and splatters all over the pavement.
“You good now?” she probes, from a safe distance.
“Yeah,” I murmur as I use my shirt to wipe the corners of my mouth.
“Fuck. Our bags,” she shrieks and glares as she waits for me to retrieve my backpack along with her overnight bag.
After a strenuous walk from the Tundra to the hotel’s reception area, I hit the lounge chair cushions like a high-speed, highway collision—hard.
“Sir, are you well?” a stranger interrogates me. I nod then shift my gaze away from him.
My skin discharges sweat and the once knots in my stomach feel like rusty, razor blades. Another rush of bile threatens to hurtle from my mouth.
The older, nosy gentleman that exhibited concern has now withdrawn away from me. I stumble in search of a restroom as bile oozes from the corners of my mouth. I reach the women’s toilet just before the restroom door slams shut. My fiery, acid-based vomit covers the toilet seat. I hug the toilet a bit too tight as another wave of vomit erupts from my stomach. Ivy knocks then barges into the restroom.
“What the fuck, David? Everyone can hear you blowing chunks all the way from the reception desk,” she reprimands while her hands and arms shoot with force through the air.
“Can you stop fucking screaming at me? For fuck’s sake, Ivy, back the fuck off. And call your dude and get me my fucking fix. Now,” I order, hugging my legs while I lean against the bathroom wall. I need these symptoms to just stop.
“Get the fuck up, and let’s go to our room so I can call my dude,” she demands while she vigorously snaps her fingers at me.
When we reach our hotel room, in a moment of urgency, I burst past Ivy and trudge toward the bathroom. The oversized, immaculate bathtub lures me so I fill it with hot water and then add in hotel soap.
While I undress, a memory of my last bath invades my memories. Scarlet’s face solders a wrench into my heart. Scarlet, how did I get here? I grip the bathroom tile as I step into the tub, then adjust my knees before I surrender to allow the heat of the bath to cleanse my sinful soul.
The suds sting my eyes as I gaze from under the water, then my ears pop as my lungs hunger for air. I jerk and submerge in a flash from underwater and cause a splash of bathwater to soak the bathmat.
Steam floats from the tub’s surface, and I hear voices on the other side of the bathroom’s door. I release the tub’s drain then rush to dress myself. A steam-like fog joins me as I exit the bathroom. I stop fast in shock when I witness Ivy’s hands stroke and pet a stranger’s naked body.
“Ivy?” I interrogate in a harsh tone. The camcorder to my left draws in my attention. Ivy just has to record and broadcast it all. The tan female with a bodacious figure sits up to face me.
“Hi, David. I’m ‘The Dude’; it is a
pleasure to meet you.” Her voice is the equivalent of what warm butterscotch tastes like— thick and tempting.
“I hear you need a fix.” Ivy’s dealer taunts me with her tongue as she licks her lips. Her eyebrows shift in a suggestive manner as she tilts her face for me to come to her. Ivy’s brows gesture that I pay my respect, so I drop to my knees and face the unknown twat before me. Scarlet, please forgive my addictive sins.
“My name is Gloria,” she huffs out while my tongue works for my needed fix.
Gloria and Ivy make out, and my gaze fixates on Gloria’s fingers while they savagely dive in and out of Ivy. After several, “Ahh! Don’t stop…Yes. Yes. Right there,” Gloria smothers my lips and untamed beard with her hot cream. In a rush, I excuse myself to the restroom. My dick flinches for attention, but I ignore it and simply adjust myself. The familiar excitement before a long-awaited high pulsates throughout every inch of me.
“David,” I hear Ivy call from the other side of the door, so I hustle to join them.
“Baby, this is something special. Are you ready?” she questions from the hotel room’s desk area.
Gloria helps Ivy find a fresh vein on my leg. I adjust until I’m face down, anticipating the euphoric bliss that I’ve waited hours for. The new poison enters my system and immediately soothes every withdrawal symptom. The room dances around me while small dust speckles blink from miniature to fearsome, gigantic, menacing balls.
“Are you all right?” Ivy questions while her face distorts as her skin swirls like acrylic paint on a canvas.
I recoil and cover my face as I mutter, “Thisss…isss…Diff-er-ernt.”
“She told you it was special,” Gloria states as she uncovers my face.
I stare in disbelief at the cartoon figures before me; every naked detail of their bodies is defined. Gloria grinds her creamy twat against my dick, and without struggle, my cock hardens to an alert status.
The only active part of me is my dick. First, Gloria, and then Ivy have their way with me. Hours pass before they finally grow tired of using my stone-like, pulsating cock. They dismount from my dick and tongue, before I drift to sleep to the unlikely bedtime melody of Ivy’s tongue dominating Gloria’s twat.
An ache in my bowel startles me awake, and silence disturbs me as I adjust to sit up on the hotel bed. I’m alone in a light-proof room while the sound pollution from the highway teases at the window. My mind is a jumble of paranoid thoughts, so I relieve myself, wash my hands and face, then dress myself with a sense of urgency. Every step toward my backpack allows my mind to reason why I should flee. Leave. Leave if you ever want to see Scarlet again. But what if they return as I’m leaving?
I shake my worries away, hook my arm through my bag, then blast out of the door. Muffled television sets and inaudible conversations buzz from each hotel door that I pass. My adrenaline is in full effect, until my withdrawal symptoms remind me of my sinful indiscretions. I stumble into the elevator.
An infinity crawls by as I wait to escape from the hotel, then no one notices me while I charge through the reception area. The moment I exit the hotel, a bitter wind lashes at my face. I inhale what I can and ignore my threatening symptoms that have reduced my speed. Relief decreases my symptoms when I note the absence of the Tundra. This moment is the first that I’ve had away from Ivy.
Fear that I’ll be spotted induces a debilitating paranoia, so I conceal my face with my hooded sweatshirt. My muscles ache for my next fix, but I ignore the feeling and push myself to escape my captors. Before I make it a mile from the hotel, I hear Ivy screech my name as her truck slows down next to me.
“Where the fuck are you going?” she growls from the driver’s seat while Gloria shakes her head in disapproval from the passenger seat.
“Uhhh…” I hesitate, and without proper evaluation, my feet decide to bolt.
My heart accelerates to a fearful speed due to Ivy’s truck revving behind me. My out-of-shape body begs for me to stop, but I don’t. I keep pushing until I’m able to find a safe haven. For a moment, my freedom seems near. But before I’m able to find a place to hide, I stumble and crash into the pavement. Ivy’s truck’s undercarriage singes my exposed skin as she drives over me.
Pain emanates from my injuries, and I’m unable to move. The Tundra squeals to a stop, and Ivy’s exaggerated heels clink toward me.
“What does it feel like to fail, motherfucker?” she yells as she jabs her heels into my arms and torso.
“Fuck, Ivy! You’re an insane bitch!” Gloria shrieks as she rushes toward us.
Whispers hover above me until my injuries are intensified by more physical blows from Ivy.
“I’mma fuck him up,” Ivy screeches as she unleashes a fatal attack. One swift kick to my forehead, and my mind blinks out.
Scarlet
“Scarlet…Scarlet, can you hear me?” Dr. Blantz’s voice is near and yet too far. I drift on an open ocean before my mind awakes to reality, but I’m unable to move let alone walk. My mind is a swirl of lethargic thoughts, and my body is as rigid as a stiff dick. I shift to awaken my numb ass. I’m pretty sure my wheelchair has caused a bed sore or two.
A gentle spring breeze tickles at my face as my gaze lingers at my surroundings—DLC’s courtyard is miniature in comparison to my parents’ lush, plant-filled backyard.
“I’m…sorry, I must have fallen asleep,” I reveal to Dr. Blantz. A smile stretches the wrinkles on her lips. As usual, her jet-black hair is up in a tight bun, and I can barely admire her amber-colored eyes due to her light-adaptive glasses.
“Today’s such an amazing spring day and just the right weather for an outdoor nap…” Her voice wanders as her attention is distracted by our surroundings: Various DLC clients linger and enjoy the fresh spring weather.
“Do you feel up to seeing Dr. Greenburg?” she questions in a tender tone.
I exhale then roll my eyes before I’m able to focus my gaze on Dr. Blantz. One too many medications flow through my bloodstream.
“We’d like to evaluate your symptoms, post-treatment. Do you feel up for it?” Her gaze is tender and fixated on my face. I nod in agreement.
Recently, a nurse revealed that at the moment, I’ve surpassed DLC’s traditional inpatient stay. My parents declined Dr. Blantz’s offer to relocate me to a more well-equipped facility.
Scattered clients and psychological professionals pass us as Dr. Blantz pushes my wheelchair through the halls. Once we approach her office, she decreases her pace to make a smooth entrance into her office.
Olive, my day-time nurse, chimes in from behind us, “Oh, Dr. Blantz, I could have brought Scarlet to your office.”
“I know, Olive. It’s all right. Go on to your other clients,” Dr. Blantz says in a neutral tone.
A firm hand grips my shoulder before I see Olive’s muscular back continue down the hallway. Dr. Greenburg waits for us by Dr. Blantz’s office window.
“It’s just too beautiful to be indoors,” he delights in a boom from the window. He shifts to face us. Dr. Blantz shuts her office door and then pushes my wheelchair closer to her desk.
“How are you, my dear?” Dr. Greenburg questions, before he takes the seat facing me.
I blink, sigh, and then respond, “I’ve been better.” A polite but curt smile spreads across my lips.
Dr. Greenburg releases an infectious chuckle that makes his glasses shift on his nose. He pats at his silver, slicked-back hair and then retrieves a pen-sized flashlight and questions if he can examine me. I oblige and stay still as he checks my eyes.
“Have you seen Kate lately?” There’s no wasting time with this one.
I take a moment to consider his question. In January, I woke up from a long, drug-induced sleep. Of course, after I woke up, Klad—Kate’s male form—attempted to have his way with me again. Thankfully, nowadays, my medication keeps Kate—and all her forms—at bay. On our first appointment, Dr. Greenburg informed me that sometime after my attack in October, an unknown pathogen entered my system a
nd wreaked havoc on my cerebrum.
Several rounds of aggressive medical treatments eliminated the pathogen, but now, my mind and body are fragile like fine crystal. Olive and whomever else is on shift for nights have to tend to me like a mother to her newborn.
Dr. Blantz states that once I’m well, I’ll be discharged to the care of my family. On Violet’s last visit, she revealed that no one has seen nor heard from David since December. Even Dr. Blantz mentioned that David’s last email was from late December. Benjamin has made sure to visit every opportunity that he’s able to, but Elizabeth’s latest alcohol abuse relapse has kept him busy. He has struggled to keep her whereabouts from me, but last week I was finally able to get him to confess.
“There are only so many excuses I can give you,” he said as he stared at his hands. His face was thinner and riddled with wrinkles. The handsome man I’d claimed as my father was the definition of months’ worth of worry.
“Elizabeth’s last alcoholism internalization has completely severed our family. Jade and Adrian won’t even return my calls or emails,” Violet complained.
Jade and Adrian notified us, via email, that it would be best for their families and their careers to severe ties with us. I guess it’s true how some people don’t adapt to crisis as well as others.
Milton’s Fire and Ice Naples’ location has kept him consumed. According to Violet, he suggested that at the moment it would be best to postpone his and Violet’s engagement.
“I could never marry him or anyone without you there,” she admitted as she rushed me into a firm embrace.
Since January, Tim and Kim have visited once. Kim was a crying mess and Tim wouldn’t stop hugging me. Charlotte, Emily, and Anne have sent several “thinking of you” cards, but have yet to visit.
“Can you feel that?” Dr. Greenburg inquires as he jars me into the present. He applies pressure to my thighs. I nod in acknowledgement.
“How about now?” he questions while he pinches my arms.
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