Bliss. That was how it felt. To just breathe without feeling like the walls were closing in on me at each intake of air I took. To smile without forcing it. To not have to fight with the demons inside me.
I felt free. Free of the intense pain that was constantly inside me. Free of the anger that made me want to rip everything apart. Free of the hatred that drove me into madness. Free of this godforsaken reality.
It was bliss.
Heroin is bliss. Fuck ignorance.
This was one of those times that I'd think, why should I have to give this up? Why should I have to live when I could keep on escaping? Why should I have to be in pain? Why should I?
We were all going to fucking die anyways. Why bother extending the deadline when it's just going to come? Why bother wait for it to come to you when you can get it yourself? Why prolong our suffering when we can end it any time we damn well wanted to?
Call me suicidal, a pessimist, a lunatic, an addict. Call me all of that shit and I won't care because you're right anyways.
See. The thing about life, to me that is, it was not worth living. It just fucking isn't.
As I lay here, underneath a ridiculous amount of bubbles in the hot tub, my unfocused eyes staring right through the well-crafted ceiling with my best friend by my feet, finger fucking herself, I decided, this might be the best way to die.
Andrea suddenly screamed, writhing under the water as she came. I contemplated on getting out of the tub to avoid having her bodily fluids sticking to me. But then again, we've fucked each other, and together, more times than I could count. So really, what's the point? Anything she had, I'd have caught it by now.
I placed the pipe between my lips and heated it up with my lighter, taking a long drag and filling my lungs with destructive fumes while I stared at the ceiling, wondering how high could you possibly be to finger fuck yourself in the presence of another person and not give a shit?
I wasn't shy about sex but I wouldn't go so far as pleasure myself in front of someone for no reason than just cuz I felt like it. Sure, maybe if I was trying to seduce that person and they had voyeuristic tendencies, I would. But then again, Andrea had the tendecy to not give a fuck about anything other than getting off and getting by.
She was once summoned to court for hit and run when we were in high school after she hit a parked police car while she was hurrying to get to class in the morning. When the judge asked her why she didn't stop, she said, "The car wasn't late for third period, I was. The car wasn't the one getting another detention slip, I was. Why should I throw away my education for a car, Your Honor?"
In her defense, she genuinely believed she had done nothing wrong but unfortunately, the judge didn't share her sentiments.
She was ordered to serve two hundred and eighty hours of community service, put on probation for six months, paid a hefty fine, got her license revoked, and had to attend a support group for troubled teens – which I was also attending due to conditions of my probation –. So it was understandable that she started cursing the shit out of the judge before spitting on the poor lady, which led to her being held in contempt and slapped with an additional twenty grand to her fine along with a two week stint in juvie. Her parents hired a driver slash babysitter for her and she did her community service more fashionably than Naomi Campbell.
There was no denying Alexandrea Louise Allen was a first class bitch and I adored the shit out of her.
"Babe," she panted. "Don't you just love having a pussy?"
I chuckled, leveling my head to look at her, seeing her golden locks sticking to her face while she heaved deep breaths as the aftershocks of her self-induced orgasm waved through her.
"Dicks are better," I countered. "You get to piss anywhere, and never have to go through period cramps."
"Yeah. But you have to get the tip cut. Like, why?"
I shrugged. "It's not a necessity. Some do it for religious reasons, others do it cuz it's part of their culture. Either way, dicks are awesome. I mean, how awesome would it be to shoot your cum all over a girl's tits, right?"
"Yeah..." She looked at her breasts, barely fitting in her palms as she cupped them. "That's pretty awesome."
"Uh-huh."
"I bet it would be way more awesome to have both. You can literally fuck yourself," she said, giggling.
"Wouldn't it be weird if you impregnated yourself though?" I mumbled, genuinely wondering.
"The kid would be all sorts of fucked up. It's practically incest."
"Incest is having sexual relations with a family member though."
"Yeah, but-"
She pursed her lips, looking at me. We just looked at each other for a few passing seconds, both of us high enough to take this subject seriously. And then we started laughing.
"This is fucking with my head!" she hollered.
I chuckled. "You started it."
She leaned over the tub, reaching for her cigarette case on the floor and taking out a stick. I flicked my lighter on, lighting the cigarette up for her.
"So, who's this new boy toy you're hanging around with?" she asked before taking a long drag from her cigarette.
"What?"
"I saw a magazine the other day. There was a picture of you and your new beau attending some fundraising event on the cover." She grinned, wiggling her brows suggestively. "So, who's the hottie?"
I blinked, sitting up. "He's Jude's friend," I stated simply.
"Oh... the good ones are always the freakiest," she said wickedly. "I can't wait to play with him. Call him up."
"We're not playing with him," I bit out, my words coming out harsher than I intended.
She quirked a brow, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.
"Someone's being selfish," she teased.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed the champagne bottle from the ice bucket on the floor.
"He's a good guy. You know I don't mess with good people."
She frowned, as if she didn't understand what I just said.
"So why are you-" She paused, tilting her head. "You like him."
I sighed. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," I said before taking a swig of champagne.
"Okay," she conceded and went on talking about the new album she was working on.
When we ran out of champagne and had enough coke to make our noses bleed, Andrea and I got out of the tub and I made us lunch while I listened to her as she worked on her music at the table.
She was trying to figure out a lick but she couldn't get the rhythm right. She kept doing it over and over. Fucking it up every goddamn time. If I heard another broken note, I was going to chuck her amplifier out the window.
"Play it on an F#m chord and bend on the tenth fret," I muttered as I flipped chopped chicken breast on the pan.
"Won't that throw the sound out of whack?"
"Not if you play it right."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
I rolled my eyes, tossing the mixed vegetables into the pan. "You're being too heavy handed and you mess up at the transitions, that's why the rhythm doesn't sound right."
"I know what I'm doing wrong, asshole. But how does throwing off the piece fix it?"
"Like I said, it won't if you play it right."
I poured a cup of soy sauce into the pan before covering it, letting the chicken simmer at a low heat. I turned to face her, folding my arms across my chest.
"You can use the pedal to manipulate the melody and extend the beat of the central note so you won't mess up the transitions."
"How?"
"I just told you, dumbass."
"No. You told me what to do, not how to do it."
"I can't tell you how either," I said, shrugging. "I just know what you can do to fix the rhythm. Beyond that, it's up to how you use your instrument. If you get it right, the transitions will go smoothly."
She groaned, holding up the guitar. "Just show me."
For a brief moment, I forgot myself and reached for the guitar. When my fingers brushed against the strings, I realized what I was doing and reared my arm back. I sent her a glare.
"Stop trying to fucking trick me, Dee."
She rolled her eyes, settling the guitar back on her lap. "When are you going to snap out of this musical celibacy bullshit anyway? You miss making music. I know you do."
"Of course I miss it," I said, trying to be patient. "But I can't do it anymore."
"You were literally just producing music, babe."
"That was different. I was critiquing you."
"How the hell is it different?"
"It's different because it's not me," I bit out in frustration. "Analyzing music is easy but I can't fucking apply it. I can't even make arrangements anymore."
I slammed a fist on the stove, causing the hot pan to fall to the floor. Cursing, I quickly flicked the dial off and picked up the pan, tossing it in the sink and letting cold water run over it. I grabbed a wad of paper towels and got on my knees, cleaning up the mess. Andrea came to me, crouching in front of me and taking my hands.
"Your burned yourself," she mumbled, kissing my fingers. "You can ruin every part of your body, but you can't ruin these."
"It's superficial. I'll be fine," I muttered before getting up and throwing the spilled chicken in the bin along with the paper towels. "You mind if we just order in?"
"I'm not really hungry."
"You haven't eaten since last night. You need to stay healthy or else your body won't be able to handle touring all year long," I chided as I washed the pan.
"You did not just preach to me about health."
I rolled my eyes. "Just because I have a destructive lifestyle, doesn't mean I promote it. I'm an addict, not an idiot."
I hung the pan in the drying rack and stripped off the apron I wore before turning to face her.
"My high's crashing. Order for me, yeah?" I said as I headed out the kitchen.
"Thai or Chinese?"
"Indian!"
I went to the bathroom and laid out some lines on the sink. I snorted them in quick succession and washed my face. I sighed, rubbing a hand down my face, pressing my temples, the pain threatening to break my skull open.
I haven't slept for a week. I couldn't. I didn't want to. I hated sleeping alone these days. It made the dreams worse. No one can stop them. No one pulls me out of it. It would just go on and on until I woke myself up by the sound of my own screaming.
The last I slept, it was with Rick.
* * *
I was sat on the floor, leaning against the floor to ceiling window while cradling a half empty bottle of scotch when I felt kisses on my shoulder, hot breath fanning my skin.
"No."
"No?" Enzo echoed.
"No," I repeated before taking a swig, my eyes fixed on the busybodies below, filling the streets of New York as it grew livelier by the hour in this God awful night.
Enzo slid across from me, as naked as his mother had once pushed him out into this world. He regarded me for a moment, his hazel eyes intent, while I kept my face emotionless, not bothering to meet his gaze.
Enzo was a man whom I fucked under a contractual agreement and was so far one of the handful of people I fucked because I wanted to, until Frederick Richardson came into the picture.
I cursed inwardly and took a swig.
The walls shook as the fierce concerto boomed from the stereo, each note compressed with tangible sexual tension that only grew more powerful and chaotic as the piece went on. It had been one of my compositions that I recorded for my second album that never grew into fruitition. Enzo was one of the few people I had given a copy of the unfinished album and it was only because he was the inspiration of one piece. The piece that was currently bursting my eardrums.
We had been fucking for days when I decided to compose it and finished it in one sitting all the while he was eating my pussy. By the time I came, I knew it was one of my masterpieces.
I heard Andrea cry out as she rode some guy whose name I didn't bother to remember, fucking on the bed of sins. It was our second day of celebration for the start of her tour and also for the fact that she had enough money in her bank account to live off on for the rest of her days courtesy to the new contract she signed with her label. Needless to say, she was living it up.
"Mon amour, what is it?" Enzo's smooth like velvet voice accompanied by an orgasmic accent came to my ears.
That used to have my cunt dripping. Now, it did nothing to me.
"Nothing," I repeated out loud.
"You've rejected me twice. How could that be nothing?" he said, feigning offense.
I rolled my eyes, sparing him a glance. "I'm not in the mood."
He tilted his head, raking his eyes over me almost calculatedly.
"Is it because of a man, my pet?"
I scowled, looking away from him. I wasn't going to admit it out loud. I had already admitted it to myself.
When Andrea and I had left her apartment and she suggested we came here for a good fuck, I was all on board, diving into it head first. It only took Enzo to strip my clothes off to have my libido crashing down and I hated the fact that it was because Rick was messing with my head.
It pissed me off. I wasn't some little bitch whose pussy he could own but truthfully, I felt more with one touch from him than a cunnilingus from Enzo.
I'm thinking too much.
"Mon ange..." Enzo called.
When I didn't turn, he crouched over me, grasping my chin and making me look at him.
"You look sad," he mumbled, brushing my cheek with the back of his fingers. "And angry."
"I'm always sad and angry."
"Yes... but you never show it," he said quietly. "But now you're showing everything."
I met his eyes, almost liquid bronze with a mix of gold, framed with thick lashes. I used to go crazy for that and always demanded for him to look at me whenever we were fucking. But his gaze, no matter how lustful, no longer had any effect on me.
"This man... you feel something for him, do you not?" he queried softly.
I took a swig from the bottle to delay having to answer that horrid question. But Enzo was never a patient man. Other than being a good fuck, Enzo has been a good friend of mine. Older and wiser. He had a habit of giving out life advice like he did orgasms.
"You hate feeling something for him," he stated and I rolled my eyes. He chuckled and sat beside me, our bare bodies pressed together. "Is he good to you?"
"I didn't say it was because of a man."
He smiled lightly. "Mon amour, only a man could make a woman sad and angry."
I scoffed. "That's just chauvinistic and presumptuous."
"But I'm right. This is about a man, is it not?" he said, tilting his head and regarding me intently. I rolled my eyes and turned away from him. "Silence means yes," he teased. "Is he good to you?"
I pursed my lips, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.
"Well?"
I sighed and nodded, refusing to speak out.
"Does he fuck you good?"
I chuckled, shrugging.
"Do you fancy him?"
I sighed, taking a swig from the bottle once more. He nodded on my behalf. Bless the man.
"Does he tell you you're beautiful?"
I scowled, glaring at him. He only laughed.
"He does," he said with humor. "Cherie... do not fight what you feel. It is so much better to just let things be, no?" he went on like the philosophical fucker that he was whenever he was high. "You are young and beautiful. Why should you deprive yourself of being with someone you want to be with? Embrace it, my sweet girl."
"I'm scared," I found myself saying, too high and drunk to hold back my thoughts from turning into words.
Enzo frowned. "How so? You are the bravest girl I have ever met. How could a man scare you?"
"He... he's..." I paused, pressing my temples. "He's... intense." A sly grin formed on Enzo's lips and I glared. "I don't mean it like that."
"Explain then."
"Maybe you should start braiding my hair before I go on running my mouth off about my fucking feelings," I quipped.
He sighed, gathering my hair and actually started braiding it.
"You hate that he makes you feel these things," he said and I really was getting fucking tired with him telling me what I was fucking feeling. "The more you fight it, the stronger it will be. What are you afraid of?"
A shitload of things.
"He's not like the others," I said, looking back out into the window, staring at the dark indigo sky. "He's... good. Too fucking good for me. I don't deserve him."
I felt Enzo's finger brush my nape and I unconsciously drew back from his touch. If he noticed, he didn't show it.
"Give yourself a chance," he urged softly while carrying on braiding my hair. "You're not as bad as you think you are."
I should just fuck this guy to get that prick out of my head but for some fucking reason, I could not. It made feel dirty, allowing other people touch me where Rick had and tamper with the phantom marks he'd left on me.
"You should see where this leads you," Enzo urged. "Just go along with what you feel and don't let your mind ruin what could possibly be good. Nothing lasts forever but that doesn't mean things have to end before they have even begun. You do not want to regret letting him go without even trying, don't you? Besides, I'm sure you won't be pleased if he was with someone else instead of you."
The mere thought of Rick fucking someone else, being with someone else, touching someone else, smiling that stupid smug smile at someone else, it pissed me off. It really fucking pissed me off that I was being territorial too.
"I need to go," I said as I got up.
Enzo frowned, wrapping a hand around my calf. "Why? Stay just a bit more."
"I can't. Jude's looking for me. He might think I blacked out if I don't get back."
He nodded, letting go of his hold on me. "Would you like my driver to take you home?"
"No. I can manage," I said, running a hand through my hair.
I had too much in my mind. I knew the right thing to do was to stay away from Rick. If he won't walk away, then I had to do it for him. I needed to protect not only myself but my family. My duty laid on them. I couldn't do what I wanted to do if it meant opening up the debauchery that filled our sick family. I refuse to ruin them.
I shouldn't have let it go on like this. I was letting my emotions drive me. I knew too well than to let that happen. I had a duty. I had to keep that in my mind.
It's better this way.