A stalker, age-gap dark romance
Harley- She's a small-town girl, with a head full of ambiguous dreams that reach as high as the stars. However, after her world gets turned upside down by the murder of her brother and her boyfriend, she begins to spi...
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The all-too-familiar, excruciating sickness consumes my body quickly, jolting me awake from a drug-induced slumber. I bolt upright, sore as fuck and sick as fuck, frantically scanning the room, realizing I am in my bed. And I have no fucking idea how I got here. The last thing I can remember is being with him.
Brixton. What a fucking sexy name. It fits him perfectly, and I love how it sounds on the tip of my fucking tongue. He must love it too. Why else would he have fucked me like a goddamn animal the moment his name escaped my lips last night? What did he mean that what we did was going to change everything?
As I climb out of bed and away from the warmth of the blanket that has been wrapped around me, I try to think of an answer to my question. I only realize the blanket I was wrapped in is not mine when I drop to the ground to pick up my box. It's his. I would wrap myself in it and infuse my nose with his scent if I were not currently convulsing from sickness. I take out my works and start mixing a shot, almost spilling the mixture, when I hear a deep voice from behind me.
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"Well, I see you made it home. "I was curious where you were last night." Scotty says as he extends his hand to me with a mug of steaming coffee.
"I appreciate the coffee. And, to be honest, I have no idea how I got home or when I got in. I just woke up."
I take the coffee and slurp it down, oblivious to the burn the hot liquid causes as it slides down my throat. His eyes are troubled and his mouth is watering as he observes what I am doing. Without even saying anything, I break a piece of heroin off the chunk that Brixton gave me, put it in an extra spoon, and hand it to Scotty, along with a brand new syringe. He nods and smiles in appreciation before settling down on the floor next to me to mix his shit. My apartment has turned into a shooting gallery (a place where junkies hang out to shoot up and do drugs), which is something I would've never imagined. I went from being the prim and proper fiancee of a Marine to a hardcore junkbox, reckless and promiscuous. What a fucking shift, huh?
Scotty and I happen to hit at the same time, so the dope rush has us both nodding off instantly, needles still gripped in our hands. Fortunately, a sneeze awakens me from my slumber. Scotty jerks his head straight up and casts a bewildered look in all directions when I tap him on the shoulder to wake him up as well.
