The Addict's Gamble

1. Meticulous Me

Chapter one

Meticulous Me

NOAH

Bodies won’t last forever.

Eventually, everyone decays down to the bone. Our bodies are buried beneath the ground or burned to ash and then we are simply forgotten.

Hearing that makes some people uncomfortable. To know that one day, the world will exist without them in it.

Doesn’t bother me, though.

The negligence I placed my body through never truly concerned me. Because this form was only temporary.

I leaned up against the wall of the bar for a smoke.

I knew it was a bad habit and a potentially dangerous one at that.

The rush of nicotine always seemed to calm me when the stress and chaos of life bore down.

It was my only form of escape and relief from reality.

I wouldn’t have traded my little pack of wonders for the world.

My philosophy: Who cared what was going on inside my body as long as the outside looked good?

I shifted my feet and lifted myself from the wall. Using my thumb, I flicked the burning ash onto the ground, took one last deep drag, and then pitched the bud to the asphalt, smashing it into the pavement with my foot.

I wanted another one.

I grabbed the pack of smokes from my shirt pocket and shook it a couple of times before pitching it to the ground next to the dying embers of its kin. Empty.

Luckily, I still had a special smoke to finish off the night with a bang.

I dug in my shirt pocket and pulled out the blunt.

Nothing fancy, just a little weed with dust to help pick me up.

I trailed my nose along the paper wrapper, smelling it before igniting the end with my lighter.

I placed it in my mouth, inhaled deeply, and savored how it consumed me completely.

I held my breath for a moment before returning to lean against the outside of the bar, waiting for absolutely nothing.

Just existing. Barely.

Darkness had already begun to spread through the city, and I watched with some odd satisfaction the puff of grey smoke filling the night air above me as I exhaled, drifting up into the blinking neon lights of the billboard sign above my head.

The bar’s name “Shorty’s” stared back at me through the fog.

Surrounding me, windows of businesses all glittered in the night, tiny lights flashing from within.

I wondered who lived in those little condos?

Were they looking down at me as I observed them from below?

Could we trade places?

I inhaled again, enjoying the tingle and soon after the burn, knowing my lungs were screaming at me to stop.

I didn’t.

It’s true that I’ve always enjoyed smoking, and being high.

Weed was my typical go to because it’s cheap with quick effects.

Kind of like me, I thought, inwardly chuckling at my own joke.

I was a stereotypical pothead: dreaming in colors, living for the highs but dreading the fallout from the crashes and lows.

If I was being fully honest, drugs were the escape from my shitty existence.

I used them to feel release, constantly, and removal from the world and the responsibilities that came with it.

I wished I could just live at the peak of my crossfaded buzz.

I sighed and turned back to face the bar, indecisive about whether I should stay for another drink. It was my favorite little shit hole, as it had all the beverages an alcoholic like me could ever wish for.

The staff didn’t card there, which made my world simpler. Not that it would have mattered really, because half the time I didn’t pay for anything; the drinks were constantly purchased for me. It was as if the women couldn’t resist, and I’d be damned if I ever turned the ladies or the shots down.

As if on cue, a small group of females strutted past the alley, seeing me with my smoke perched between my lips.

They giggled, stopping their stride momentarily to wave.

I gave a little nod, “What’s up?” I said, the joint hanging loosely between my sly grin, my body shifting to face them, hands in my pockets, looking irresistible.

They squealed and departed faster than they had arrived.

My cell phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I rolled my eyes, already knowing who it was without having to look.

If my older brother wasn’t breathing down my neck 24/7, I might have seen if those girls were interested in hooking up. I reached into the back pocket of my jeans and counted the condoms between my fingers. 1…2…3. Just enough for all of them.

I smirked at the idea. I hadn’t had a good lay in a minute. I was, in fact, a sex machine, one that shouldn’t be tampered with unless you wanted a good time, of course.

The go-to tool, Noah Hansen, available for their enjoyment.

Suddenly, the back doors to the bar burst open, and a petite blonde waitress came rushing out.

There was nothing truly special about her, but she had a decent body with a nice rack.

I remembered her staring at me the whole time I was inside drinking.

I was in the process of checking her out from behind when she spun around hastily in my direction.

Upon seeing me, she blushed and took a startled step backwards.

I smiled, meeting her bewildered gaze. I knew my obsidian eyes completely caught her off guard. They were one of my most alluring attributes.

“Can I help you?” I purred. I melted back into the cool brick, tilting my head sideways to gaze at her.

She gushed and fidgeted, nervously twirling a piece of hair around her perfectly manicured finger.

Ah, high maintenance. Just how I liked them to be, before I tore them down.

“Umm, you left a wad of cash on the t-table,” she said so quietly that I almost didn’t catch it. I continued to watch her shuffle nervously and took a long drag from my blunt.

“Uh...” she thrusted the money towards me when I didn’t say anything. “Here.”

Though a small amount of fog covered my brain from the drugs, I took a few steps toward the timid young woman.

I knew in a few more minutes, my joint would have me soaring above the clouds, King over the underlings in this God forsaken city.

I reached out as if to take the money from her, but only let my fingers brush the top of her hand.

“But I left this for you,” I finally answered. “It’s a tip.”

Her face grew a unique shade of crimson from the contact. “N-No sir, this is way too much money for a t-t-tip...” Her voice trailed off.

I shrugged and winked at her. “This is a fabulous place. I only tipped the amount I felt was worthy.”

Yeah, right. “Shorty’s” was the definition of dumpster trash, composed of the types of people I affiliated with: drug addicts, sex fiends, and brawlers.

What those idiots didn’t realize was that I blended right in with them, even though my outer appearance and upbringing didn’t fit the usual description.

I desired the same as they did. To fuck, to drink, and to feel amazing while doing it.

The blonde continued to stare at me and I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t in the mood to play fake prince charming.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking for a woman to screw.

What better way to spend my money than on a poor, working girl who would fuck me afterwards?

Life got boring as a wealthy member of what society considered an “upper-class” family.

I was a Hansen, after all, and in my family, there wasn’t room for fun or error.

All these fucking rules and expectations of me were tiresome.

The money, however, was abundant. I couldn’t give a shit about how my mother and father preached “the value of a dollar” all my childhood.

My family was prominent because of their contributions to crime fighting in the city, and this reputation allowed them to build and sustain wealth.

So, how could I be blamed for wanting to spend the only thing in my life that was constant?

The girl kicked some dust with her shoes, still persisting to hand me the money. “Umm, please take it.”

Now, I was annoyed. “Why do you keep insisting on giving this back to me?” I quipped. Her voice caught in her throat at my tone. I stared at her for a moment before taking a finger and pushing the wad closer to her. “I don’t want it.” I stated firmly.

And then she snapped.

“I will not be giving you anything special for this money, sir!” she shouted, her form trembling.

The comment took me off guard. I hadn’t expected her to have such a fearful reaction to me. That was indeed unusual. I scrutinized her. What a boring girl. She looked as though she was going to run from me any moment.

I scowled inwardly. I would never force a woman into sex. I didn’t need to be aggressive, I had other ways of getting what I wanted. And I got what I wanted.

Always.

Usually the women in these establishments recognized me and saw the large tips as kind gestures. Then, they fell into my lap with ease. This one, I ventured, was either terrified or playing a game of hard to get that I was not interested in.

I sighed and reached out to gently touch the girl’s shoulder. “Hey, listen,” I spoke softly so as not to scare her. “I only wanted to spend a little extra tonight. I don’t expect any services from you, okay?”

She was quiet, but nodded slowly.

A few moments passed.

Was she still standing there?

I blinked at the woman. She still looked very uncomfortable, and yet, was not making any move to return back inside the bar.

“Listen,” I tried again, “if you think the money is too much, then I will take it back. Will that make you feel better?” I extended my hand out to her, palm up, waiting for my return.

Slowly, she fingered the cash between her pretty hands, studying it and my outstretched gesture. After a moment she finally replied, “Well, if you’re sure it wasn’t for something else–”

“It’s not,” I cut her off, lowering my arm.

It could have been, but you’re a boring bitch.

“Then...I suppose I’ll keep it.” She let out a sigh of relief and in that same breath I made up my mind that I was definitely not returning inside the bar to deal with her for another hour.

“Fine with me,” I muttered, taking another drag. My heart began to pound, and ever so surely, I found myself feeling much lighter, less interested in anything other than that pretty, blinking sign above me.

I waited for her to leave, but just like sugar attracted colonies of ants, here she stayed, staring at me, still glued to my fucking side like I knew her.

What does she want?

“What?” I inquired, trying to keep my irritation at bay. I gestured towards the blunt. “Want a hit or something?”

“Uh, no,” she mumbled. “I just– sorry for the trouble.”

“No problem.”

Go away, you persistent female. Christ.

“And, um, thank you.”

I waved her off, dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

She took a deep breath and turned her back to me. For a moment, she stood still, perhaps contemplating on returning back to converse with me, but then she walked briskly back into the bar.

Thank God.

I knew it was rude to wish that people would disappear, but that woman got on my last damn nerve. She was indecisive and overly confident, when really, she was a 5/10 at best. Me and my joint made the decision to leave the area before she considered coming back.