Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Look at me,” he demanded, tilting my chin up so I was looking into his eyes. “There are no old junkies, Doc. You either make the decision to stop inviting it into your fucking veins or it kills you.”
“I…I know,” I stammered, staring up at him through a curtain of my own dark hair. But I just don’t care.
Preppy pushed the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear, and trailing his fingertips over my cheek in a sweet gesture that both thrilled and frightened me. I wasn’t expecting that, especially after what he’d just done to Dom.
Preppy sighed and withdrew his hand. “I need to point out that letting the H kill you is the same as leaping off that tower, because it’s still you making that decision to die.” He trailed the barrel of his gun up my leg, from my ankle to my knee. The cool metal set my skin to prickles and made me shiver so hard, my teeth chattered. I sucked in a breath. Preppy’s voice slowly turned from an eerie calm to a violent rage. “You were going to use,” he said, but it wasn’t a question, it was an accusation. A fact.
I nodded, my eyes on his gun as he rested it on my thigh. “And you still want it?” he asked. I nodded again, too ashamed to speak the words out loud.
“Say it!” Preppy demanded, turning the gun so it was now pointed at me, but his finger wasn’t on the trigger. “Tell me you still want it. Tell me that you want to die.”
“It’s not that simple,” I tried to explain.
“Tell me!” Preppy demanded.
“Why?” I asked, trembling. I scattered backwards until my back hit the cold marble of the mausoleum, but Preppy crawled over the step and hovered over me before I could get any further.
“Because I’ve been holding back.” He leaned forward and grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking me up to him roughly, his lips hovering above mine, his cool breath on my face. “So I need to know if you give a shit about your life.” He pulled me up to a standing position by my hair, my scalp screamed in agony. He slammed me back against the wall. “Because the way I see it, is if you don’t give a fuck about your life,” he leaned in and ran his nose along my jaw and chuckled deep and dark, the sound vibrating to the depths of my soul, “then I don’t have to give a fuck about it, either.”
I looked over his shoulder, scanning the cemetery to see if there was anyone nearby. Anyone I could call to for help. No such luck.
Preppy must have been reading my mind. “Nobody’s here to save you. Nobody can save you, except you. So fucking tell me, Doc. Do you want to fucking die?”
“I told you! It’s not that simple. It’s just that I feel…” I started, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Tell me damnit!” Preppy roared, pushing his knee between my legs to better pin me to the wall.
“I feel like I’m fucking bleeding out!” I screamed. Preppy’s face remained hard and impassive as his eyes frantically roamed my body for wounds. But he wouldn’t find any, not on the outside, at least. “No!” I said, grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand still holding the gun to my chest, pressing it between my breasts. “Here. I’m bleeding out here, and I don’t know how to make it stop. You told me before that you could make the call. You said you could get me what I need. I need it. I need it so bad. Can you? Can you give me what I need?” I hated the desperation in my voice. I hated the weakness. One brief encounter with my ex-lover, even though I’d only watched her across the room as she seduced others, had me falling under her spell once again.
“Oh, I can give you what you need,” Preppy growled, pinning me to the wall with his hips. His erection hard against my lower stomach, taking me off guard. My pulse spiked with fear, then fell with disappointment. “But no fucking H.” He ground his hips against me, his hardness taking me off guard. I pushed against his shoulder, but I might as well have been attempting to lift a car because he only held me tighter.
“Why? Why won’t you help me? You can help me! You said we were friends. Friends help each other, right? And this is how you can help me.” His stare grew more intense, which infuriated me because he didn’t say a thing. Instead, he let me cry and wail and pound my fists against him. “Why won’t you help me!” I screamed. My throat was tight and sore. “Pleeeaaassssse!” My yell turning into a sob. “I don’t want it,” I cried, my head falling back against the wall. “I don’t.” I shook my head. “But I don’t know how to stop the bleeding and make the pain go away. I don’t know how to dull the edge that makes me want to scratch off my skin without running back to that house and sticking a needle in my arm.” I met his furious dark eyes. Preppy’s body as unyielding as his drilling stare. “So, pleeeeeaaassse,” I cried, bouncing slightly on my knees as I begged. I covered his gun with my other hand. “Please help me.”