My Love, My Drug, My Release

Chapter 52: Junkie

Graphic depictions of drug use in this chapter, as well as explicit smut, which will have ** around it.

I'd gone over to Mick Jagger's place so many times, I started to wonder whether or not I was a heroin addict. Before, it didn't really cross my mind; I got fairly good grades, had friends (or at least acquaintances, two healthy relationships (if you left out the cheating part), and never missed a cheer practice. When I imagined junkies, I thought of men with rotten teeth and sunken cheeks begging for pennies on the street.

But now that illusion of a relatively normal life had officially shattered, I began to wonder if the drugs were to blame. Both relationships gone, my stepparent at each other's throats, quizzes left blank and homework overdue. That's not even counting Mr. Grant blackmailing me.

"How does that feel?" Mick asked, sinking the needle into a prominent vein in my ankle.

We were in his bedroom, naked, the scent of sex hanging heavily in the air as he gave me a refill, a fresh dose of numbness straight into my veins. A few hours prior, Anita stopped by to pick up a hat she'd left behind, and she didn't even flinch when she saw me. I wondered if she'd tell Keith about it and if he'd even care. I hadn't gone over to his place since before the party and I didn't have any plans to. He wouldn't give me drugs- I'd already asked a few weeks prior- and I'm sure he was pissed off at the way I'd treated him. 

"It's good." The word stretched out impossibly long as my arms and legs sank deeper into the mattress, my skin flushing with an almost unpleasant warmness. "I want you inside me."

**Mick chuckled, climbing between my legs, his cock already hard, and entering me slowly. He propped himself up in a push-up position, his movements less like thrusts and more like the rocking of a hammock, back and forth, back and forth. A hand reached up and squeezed my breast, the gesture oddly perfunctory.

My body had changed in the last few months too. At first, I didn't mind. I'd wanted to lose weight in my stomach for a while, but, recently, I'd started to look sickly. My tits and ass had shrunk, but also my arms, which were now widest at the elbow, my thighs shrinking, making me look bowlegged. Maybe that's why Keith and Mick were so skinny.

"I want to fuck you so deep my cock comes out your throat."

He followed through on that delightful statement by grabbing my left ankle and pushing it over my head. I immediately vomited onto my chest, but he didn't stop thrusting.

"Don't worry, that can happen sometimes."

I already knew that; it had happened several times before during sex and much more in the hours following. Sometimes I just dry-heaved- saliva and globs of bile dripping into the toilet- because there was nothing in my stomach to throw up. Food was so difficult to keep down, I barely ate anymore. I wasn't hungry most of the time anyway. 

He groaned and grunted as he grew closer to finishing. Sometimes he didn't- junk will do that to you. But today, he stampeded towards a climax shockingly rapidly. Pulling out, he scooched forward, sitting on my stomach and wanking off onto my chest, adding spurts of white semen to the disgusting pool of vomit on my boobs. **He didn't get off me for a while, staying on my belly. The singer didn't weigh much, so I didn't mind, though I'm sure we were a truly odd portrait. He mostly stared off into space, occasionally looking out the window, or down at me, running his tongue along with full lower lip in some indiscernible expression.

Eventually, he climbed off the bed, twirling around in a full length mirror, tugging on his cock, which hadn't gone soft yet, or examining his ass, before leaving the bedroom entirely. I could hear him talking to another person in the living room (possibly Billy Wyman), but I didn't get up or attempt to clean myself off. The smell of vomit and heaviness in my limbs and voices just out of earshot brought me back to waking up in hospital two years ago.

Except then, the voices belonged to Paul and Linda, and they weren't casually conversing, they were shouting at every doctor and nurse they saw, asking if I was going to die.

I know this is a short chapter, but I wanted to add this in to set up the next chapter which, by the time you are reading this, I will have already started working on, and hope to publish faster than my recent updating schedule. Thank you for your patience and continued support!!