Chapter 7
?
Ilay in bed listening to the sounds of the birds chirping outside my window as the hot sun streams into my room, summer finally taking ahold of the city. The repetitive routine of work and Rhett has made the days blur together, and time passes quicker than I can fathom.
I roll over, pulling the sheets up around me as I do, unable to believe I’ve already been working at Poison Ivy for two months. My first week behind the bar was a bit of a blur as I learned everything it took to bartend, but the money I made in tips motivated me to learn quickly and try my hardest. By the end of my second week of bartending, I had called the diner and quit, unable to sustain only four hours of sleep between my shifts, and choosing to keep the job that paid the most. I’ve found my confidence at work, having discovered a rhythm behind the bar that lets me make drinks quickly and chat up customers with ease. I’ve also managed to get on good terms with a few of the dancers. My conversations with them help slower shifts go by quickly and help me make more money, their customers coming straight to me for drinks and tipping generously afterward.
Even with the stability of my job and the pride I feel every time I deposit money into my new bank account, I’m still barely keeping my head above water, paying off bills just as the final notices are arriving. On top of that, I find myself feeling as though I’m living two different lives, trapped in a weird limbo, unsure of who I truly am. I spend my days at home, usually in track pants and a T-shirt, sleeping off the exhaustion from the night before. Sometimes Rhett comes over on his way to work, starting his day with a quickie and bringing me coffee and a joint to help me start my day off right. On the other hand, I spend my nights wearing barely any clothes, pouring drinks, and surrounded by naked women and intoxicated men. The loud music and smoky air make me feel like I am living in a different universe, one that’s worlds away from my life at home. The stark difference between my life at work and my life at home is undeniable.
I stretch and my muscles groan with resistance, sore from my shift last night. The club was busier than usual and I feel as though I ran a marathon in my heels, every muscle aching as I move in my bed.
It hasn’t been hard to keep news of my job quiet, as the only people I talk to outside of work are Rhett and Sam, not that I see her much now that I work at night and she works during the day. For a while I debated sending a text to Garrett, but knowing that he probably wouldn’t respond, I decided against it. Slowly but surely, the hurt of losing the constant presence of him in my life began to lessen, and now our relationship feels like a distant memory.
I let out a sigh. I’ve been trying not to think of my family, but it isn’t going so well. Even though we were never close and even though our relationships would be considered tumultuous at the best of times, there is a void in my life without them in it; the holidays now left uncelebrated and my inbox quiet. A part of me can’t help but wonder how disposable I truly am if everyone who I’ve known since childhood is willing to wash their hands of me in an instant.
I get out of bed and head to the bathroom to take care of my needs before I walk to the kitchen to make a coffee. My paintings have started to pile up around my apartment, stacked in the corners and propped up against the walls. While I have been busy creating more artwork, I can’t remember the last time I tried to sell a piece, too exhausted after long nights working. I put the kettle on as I grab the instant coffee and an empty mug, sitting it on the counter beside a pile of bills. I look around my bare kitchen; coffee and Rice Krispies the only food on the shelves. I make a mental note to reach out to some galleries this week.
I try not to think about how different my life might be right now if I had listened to my parents. If I had stayed in law school and kept my trust fund, never knowing what it meant to struggle to pay a bill. I can’t help but wonder what I would do if I could go back in time. If I would trade my happiness and passion for art for a life of comfort and stability.
A knock on my front door startles me from my thoughts.
I hop off of the counter and walk to the door, my feet padding lightly against the warm wooden floor. When I open it, Rhett is standing in the hallway holding two coffees and looking a lot more energetic than I feel. I usher him into my apartment and can’t help but feel self-conscious in my track pants and oversized shirt compared to his polished outfit. His dark jeans hug him in all the right places, and his polo shirt defines his muscular arms even more than usual.
“Hi,” I say, a nervous smile on my lips.
“Hey, babe,” he says as he walks past me, kicking off his shoes before setting the coffees down on my counter.
I see him pause for a moment, his gaze on the stack of bills stamped with final notice on my counter.
He turns to me without saying anything, pulling me towards him and kissing me deeply.
“Let’s go to your room, I have something to give you.” He smiles.
“I’m sure you do,” I say wryly, knowing exactly how our mornings typically start.
He laughs in response, following me towards my bedroom, both of us sidestepping a stack of canvasses at the bottom of the stairs.
“You should do something about these,” he says. “It’s starting to look like an episode of hoarders in here.”
I roll my eyes as I climb the stairs to my bedroom. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, like the yacht club or something?” I counter.
“Okay, I deserved that,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. He’s following me so closely I can feel his breath on the nape of my neck, his hands skimming my hips, and I imagine they’ll be elsewhere in a few minutes.
We reach the top of the stairs, and he makes himself at home, sitting on my bed, fishing a joint out of his pocket, and resting it between his lips.
“Thanks, but I’m too tired for a joint this morning, I have a coffee downstairs to wake me up,” I explain apologetically.
He smiles in response. “Oh babe, trust me, this will definitely wake you up.” His blue eyes sparkle with mischief, and I can tell he’s up to something.
I stare at the joint in his hand. It looks exactly the same as the one he held last time he came over. My curiosity has peaked, and I join him sitting on the bed.
I take the joint from his lips, studying it carefully between my fingers before placing it between my own lips delicately.
I study Rhett as he looks for his lighter, and it’s true he looks like he could be on the cover of a yachting lifestyle magazine.
Like all the men I grew up around, Rhett’s appearance just screams old money. In the time we’ve spent together, it’s become very clear how he’s used to navigating life. Between his southern charm and his black AMEX, I don’t think he’s ever been told no before, as there’s not much he can’t get if he wants it badly enough.
“Okay, I’ll bite. How will a joint wake me up?” I raise an eyebrow.
He doesn’t answer me, but instead leans forward, bringing the lighter to the end of the joint, the flame flickering so closely I can feel the heat. I puff on the joint a few times before inhaling deeply, holding the smoke in my lungs for as long as I can before exhaling to a chorus of coughs.
The high hits me quickly, and it’s different this time. Mixed sensations flood my body, and soon I’m met with an overwhelming feeling of calm mixed with a spike of energy.
Still looking at me he asks, “How is that? Still tired?”
“What is this?” I ask him tentatively, warning bells ringing in my head. What did he give me, and why won’t he tell me what it is?
“Just a special concoction Tanner, Bryce, and I made together last weekend,” he says, naming some of his friends. He takes the joint out of my lips and places it between his own. Inhaling deeply, he continues, “This babe, is a cocopuff; the perfect combination of weed with a sprinkle of coke on top.” He exhales, and I swear my heart stops.
“Coke?” I say, louder than I mean to, as I stand up in front of him. “You gave me cocaine?”
I’m definitely awake now, anger replacing any sense of calm I was starting to feel.
“I just got used to the idea of smoking weed, and now you’re giving me coke? Come on, Rhett, even you have to admit this is fucked up. Coke is on a completely different level.” I clench my fists in frustration, pacing in front of him, unsure of what else to do, and seriously considering punching him in the face.
“Babe, settle down. It will be fine, come here.” He gestures to me.
“The last thing I feel like doing right now is settling down.” I hiss in response.
He sighs, taking another puff of the joint.
“Just do me a favor and take a breath before you give yourself an aneurysm,” he chides.
I do as he says, but only because I am starting to get dizzy walking back and forth so quickly.
“There. That feels better, doesn’t it? You have to admit that it feels good,” he says smoothly, placing his hand on the small of my back and drawing me closer to him. He looks at me as he strokes my sides with his hands.
“In all the time that you’ve known me, have I ever done anything to hurt you?”
“No… But this is—”
He cuts me off. “Have I ever broken your trust?”
“No, but Rhett this is—”
He interrupts me again.
“Babe, I’ve got you. Trust me.” He smiles. “Now, since you’ve already taken a hit, why don’t you just try to relax and enjoy the ride?”
I roll my eyes at him, caught in an internal struggle. I want to be mad at him, and I am, but I also want to give into the high that’s trying to work its way through my body. As much as I don’t want to agree with him, I have to admit it is starting to feel pretty nice.
I exhale, my shoulders dropping in surrender.
“Fine, but never do this to me again. I don’t do hard drugs, okay?”
He raises his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine,” he says nonchalantly. “Now, since we’re already here, why don’t you have another puff and see how you feel. Then try telling me you’d still rather have your coffee.” He laughs.
I hesitate for a second, before reaching forward and taking the joint from his hands, inhaling cautiously. I hold the smoke in my lungs until it feels like I’m drowning, my exhale providing immediate relief from the burning sensation in my chest.
“Okay, I’ll admit it does feel good. But this is a one-time thing, got it?”
“Got it.” He nods, taking the joint back and smoking it while I sit on my bed, letting the high claim my body. I feel invigorated, my heart pumping in my chest, yet I’m strangely calm. It’s an out-of-body experience as my face is starting to numb while the rest of the nerves in my body come alive.
Can something that feels so good really be all that bad?I wonder silently, and for a split second, I don’t know if I’m talking about the drugs or Rhett.
I look at him, still smoking the joint in front of me, too preoccupied to notice I’m staring. Surely someone who claims to care so much for me couldn’t lead me astray.
My thoughts are interrupted by a giggle, a telltale sign that the weed has hit my system, but instead of feeling relaxed this time, I’m feeling aware and alert, courtesy of the cocaine, I’m sure. Rhett notices me staring at him, and I notice the hunger behind his eyes as our gazes meet. He starts rubbing his hands up and down my sides again, his touch soft yet forceful. The primal surge of energy I get is unnerving, and I move towards him, straddling his lap.
“So,” he starts, his voice heavy, “tell me about your money issues, babe.”
I was wondering when he was going to bring up the bills he saw in the kitchen. “It’s nothing.” I try to deflect.
“What, still haven’t figured it out since Mommy and Daddy stopped supporting you?”
His comment threatens to crack open a Pandora’s box of emotions locked inside of me, and a part of me wants to unleash the internal dialogue I have almost daily. I want to tell him how it’s so much more complicated than them not supporting me, how worthless I feel after they cut me off without a second thought, and how I still feel the sting of their words when I read their email. I want to show him the self-doubt that comes with every decision I make, but also how my love for painting makes me want nothing more than to continue on this path in life, a path that doesn’t make me miserable.
I close my eyes, willing the emotions to stay below the surface, unable to share them with Rhett just yet.
“They haven’t ever supported me in the way I need Rhett, but if you’re talking about my apartment then no, they also have never paid for it,” I answer simply.
He nods, clearly thinking about what I’ve said.
“So, if they’ve never supported you, have you always had a bunch of overdue bills sitting on your counter, or is this something new? I find it hard to believe that a trust fund baby is having money issues.” He smirks.
I give in. “Fine, if you must know all the details, my parents were helping me with school, but I’ve always been responsible for my other bills. When I dropped out, they cut me off completely, leaving me with a bunch of outstanding bills. Without a job right away, I got off to a bit of a rocky start, but I’m working on it. And Rhett?” I say, pausing. “While I might have been a trust fund baby, I was never allowed to touch that money. Not all of us have Daddy’s credit card,” I snip.
He takes another drag of the joint, looking thoughtful after my speech.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling for cash?” he asks blatantly.
I pause, sighing audibly.
“Because it’s embarrassing, okay? It’s embarrassing that I don’t have my shit together enough to pay rent or afford all the groceries I used to eat, and that I was counting pennies after a shift at a diner to see if I could afford my bus fare home. And it’s embarrassing that my entire family wants nothing to do with me anymore. I guess a part of me worried that if you knew the extent of what was going on, knew just how broke I was, you’d realize just how much I don’t fit into your life, and you’d feel the same as them.”
He smiles, the mischief flickering behind his eyes again.
“Well,” he says, putting the joint out on my nightside table, “it’s a good thing I’m not here for your money.” He winks. “How much do you need?”
“I appreciate the offer, I truly do, but I don’t want your charity, Rhett,” I say, my cheeks flushing at the embarrassment of this whole conversation, shame creeping into my chest.
“You might not want my charity, but it sounds like you need it.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
I look at him pensively, momentarily confused as I’m unable to read the look behind his gaze.
“I’m happy to lend you some money. We could even come to some sort of arrangement, so it doesn’t feel like you’re getting a handout,” he suggests lightly.
I stifle a laugh. “Oh, like I clean your apartment on the weekends or something?” I say jokingly.
“Something like that.” He smiles.
“I’ll consider it. But I’m not wearing a maid outfit,” I joke, attempting to change the topic and lighten the mood.
“I’d prefer if you don’t wear anything at all… whether you’re cleaning my apartment or sitting on my lap.”
His eyes smolder as he pulls me in close to him, pressing his lips to mine.
“I think we’ve done enough talking for today,” he says as he gestures to my shirt, “let’s get this off of you.”
He pulls the shirt up over my head and the sensation of it skimming against my skin causes a shiver to run down my spine, the coke causing my nerves to feel like they are on high alert. Even though I’m not even slightly in the mood for this now, I want nothing more than to change the topic and this is a distraction that will do just that for both of us.
He brings his mouth to mine again, his hands roaming my body, each touch feeling more intense, more real. His shirt is next to come off, and he throws it onto my dresser before flipping me so I’m underneath him on the bed.
His hands trail down my body, leaving a path of tingling sensations in their wake. Pleasure starts to wash over me as I watch him undo his belt buckle, an intoxicating mix of anticipation, desire, and cocaine making my heart race. He pulls down my pants and I shimmy out of them, wrapping my legs around him as he unbuttons his jeans, his hard length springing free. Foreplay is forgotten as he enters me in one thrust, and I wince at the sharp sting within as he quickly sets a relentless pace.
Even though I struggle to keep up with his thrusts, I am too busy surrendering to the high I am on to find the need to care. I stretch back beneath him, tilting my head up and closing my eyes, getting lost in the sensation of everything I am feeling. His heavy breathing and grunts fill my ears, and the smell of his sweat is tangy in my nose.
But try as I might to enjoy this moment, beneath the haze of pleasure, pain, and drugs, a nagging thought tugs at the corner of my mind. It whispers reminders of consequences, of risks taken recklessly in the name of euphoria. I push the thoughts aside quickly, wanting to live in the present moment, and chase the happiness that seems to be within reach, at least for now.