5. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Xena
I wonder if he ever thinks about me. Bet the bastard forgot all about me. It’s been ten years, but I still can’t let him go. Why can’t I move on? I stare at my chipped black nails—the same color I’ve always painted them, like holding onto something that no longer exists will anchor me. Everything’s changed since then. I’m thinner, strung out, selling my body for pills. But inside? I’m still stuck in the same place, replaying those memories, clinging to the wreckage.
I can’t even walk into my room without breaking down. This house is full of ghosts, suffocating memories, but it was the only real home I had. The only family. It’s also where I watched everything, I loved fall apart. Senior hung himself in the shed, his body bloated and swinging like a grotesque warning. Mom? She overdosed on this very couch. If I hadn’t been so high, maybe I could’ve saved her. But I didn’t. I failed her, and now months later, I’m still hiding from the truth, still numbing myself with these damn pills.
The Christmas lights strung around the window flicker, their fake cheer a cruel contrast to the mess of my life. The room stinks of stale cigarettes and cheap booze, but those stupid lights cast a cozy glow, like they’re trying to cover up the rot. Jimmy—my dealer, occasional fuck buddy, and constant reminder of how far I’ve fallen—sits across from Marcos. Both of them look like knock-off versions of gangsters, straight out of Malibu's Most Wanted —scrawny, tatted, buzz cuts. Wannabes.
They aren’t even close to Roman. Not him . They’ll never be him. Because, despite everything, I still love Roman. Pathetic, right? I can hear them talking, probably about me, but I couldn’t care less. I’m already slipping, waiting for the fog of the pills to pull me under, where nothing matters.
When it finally hits, it’s like slipping into warm water. The edges of everything blur, the pain dulls, and I disappear. I don’t matter anymore, not here, not now. The numbness wraps me in its hollow embrace. The Christmas tree’s soft glow fills the room, its flickering lights reflecting off the stained, torn couch beneath me. The tree looks out of place—too clean, too bright for this broken, filthy room. But it’s an illusion I cling to, something pretty to distract me from the wreckage of my life.
Jimmy stands, his movements sluggish in my hazy state. I see his hands at his zipper, pulling out his cock like it’s a goddamn prize. Marcos doesn’t move—he never does. He sits in the corner, watching, always watching. I know he enjoys this. The way I’m laid out, vulnerable, high as a kite, is exactly how he likes it.
"Xena, let me feel that pretty pussy around my cock," Jimmy says, smug and low, like he thinks he’s in control. Maybe he is. I’m too far gone to care. My body isn’t even mine right now. It’s just a means to an end—a transaction for the next fix.
Jimmy climbs on top of me, his weight pressing me deeper into the couch. His hands are rough, impatient as he yanks my Hello Kitty shorts down. The fabric snags on my knee, but he doesn’t care. His fingers dig into my thighs, spreading me open as he positions himself between my legs. He mutters something about how hot I am, fumbling with a condom—finally learning after he gave me chlamydia last time. Small victories, I guess.
When he pushes inside, there’s no real pain. He’s too small for that. It’s just uncomfortable, dry friction that stings as he forces himself deeper. His thrusts are frantic, desperate. I can feel Marcos’s eyes on me, that twisted fuck, getting off on this. I let out a half-hearted moan, more out of habit than anything. It speeds things up. Jimmy’s grip tightens, his movements growing sloppier, and I know it’ll be over soon.
I focus on the Christmas lights, blinking in time with Jimmy’s erratic thrusts, their colors shifting from green to red to gold. I let their rhythm lull me into a trance, away from this. I used to dream of a different life—a better one—but now? Now I can’t even remember what that dream felt like.
Jimmy grinds into me, his breath hot and ragged in my ear, but I’m somewhere else. Somewhere far away. My mind drifts back to the Christmas ten years ago, the one that changed everything. The house was decorated just like this, but it wasn’t warm or festive. It felt cold. Sinister. Roman had found me that night. Claimed me. The blood, the terror, the way his eyes burned into mine—it’s all still there, seared into my memory. I’ve been chasing that high ever since. Trying to feel something, anything, that compares. And failing.
Jimmy’s voice pulls me back to the present. "You alright, Xena?" he asks, more irritated than concerned. He doesn’t care, not really. None of them do.
But it’s not him that haunts me. It’s the memories. And no amount of drugs will ever wash them away.
I glance at Marcos, who’s now leaning against the wall with a smirk on his face. He’s here for the same reason Jimmy is—pussy. They don’t see me as a person; I’m just a means to an end, a way to get their fix. Marcos must be eager tonight because he doesn’t wait long. Jimmy takes his time fucking pussy, but I guess Marcos is eager.
"Open up, whore," Marcos growls, rubbing his slick cock against my lips. I let my mouth fall open and close my eyes as he shoves himself inside. In moments like this, I always think of Roman—how he taught me exactly how to please him. It would probably kill him to know that the things he showed me are the same things I use to survive now, the same things I sell.
But even in the wreckage of my life, with Marcos fucking my face like I’m nothing, I can’t help but smile at the memory of Roman showing me how to milk a man. And as much as I hate what I’ve become, I have to admit... that skill still serves me well.
Marcos thrusts harder into my mouth, his cock hitting the back of my throat as Jimmy fumbles, trying to fuck me. I close my eyes, letting the sensation blur while Roman’s face drifts to the forefront of my mind. It’s almost instinct now, a way to cope. As I choke on Marcos’s thick cock, Roman’s lessons come back to me. He taught me how to please, how to control a man through his desire. Marcos isn’t the worst; I can handle him. But Jimmy? That’s a different story. Jimmy’s just a means to an end—he supplies the drugs, and I have needs.
As Marcos slams into my mouth, I find a twisted satisfaction in the act. It’s not about them. It’s about control. Roman taught me to take their pleasure and turn it into power. The taste of Marcos is salty, bitter, and familiar. It’s the taste of survival.
Jimmy’s erratic, his breathing turning desperate—he’s close. Thank God. I thought he was sober, but given how sluggish he is, it’s obvious he’s as high as I am. He’ll be out soon, and Marcos will get what he really wants. I welcome it. I’m no victim. I take what I need from them, not the other way around. My body, my choice, even in this. The money’s for bills, not my next fix. I know the game, and I play it well.
Jimmy finishes with a grunt, stumbling off, his chest slick with sweat. I watch him walk in slow motion toward the hallway, probably heading for the bathroom. My guess is right moments later, I hear the water running. He’ll be out for the night. Marcos looks at me, and I know what’s coming next.
"Ready for some real fun, some real dick?" he says, stroking himself. I bite my lip and spread my legs. Not sure how else to respond. I’m still high, but not as out of it as before. This fuck is for me. It’s a means to an end, sure, but it’s also for me.
Marcos grins at me, his hunger palpable. I lie back and open my legs wider. He goes down on me eagerly, though he’s not very skilled. I focus on the Christmas lights and the half-assed decorating job I did. Christmas is the worst time of year for me. It reminds me of everything I lost because of Roman. I should’ve known his jealousy and possessiveness would lead to this. I toyed with him, expecting mind-blowing, painful sex—not him killing Steve. But you live and learn.
I push the thoughts aside and try to focus on Marcos’s tongue lapping between my folds. His eagerness is laughable, but in a pathetic sort of way, it’s almost endearing. As he continues, I trace the outline of a silver tinsel dangling over us. Almost ten years.
It's been nearly ten years since that night, and soon Roman will be out. I wonder if he ever thinks about me. The thought starts to consume me just as Marcos replaces his tongue with his cock. Thank God he's wearing a condom. He slips inside me with a groan, pulling me back to the present.
"Fuck, this pussy feels good," he mutters, pounding into me.
Marcos’s thrusts are hard and fast, devoid of any finesse. But they get the job done. Soon, I feel that familiar spark kindling low in my belly. As Marcos huffs and puffs above me, my mind drifts back to Roman. Christmas Eve with him, covered in blood as I took everything he dished out. I miss that. Not the part where he went to prison for killing someone, but the depravity that matched my own. I miss us.
My mind plays that night on an endless loop: Roman’s ice-cold gaze, the unyielding strength in his grip, the scent of coppery blood and pine needles in the air. It was brutal, raw, but it was real. I felt alive. Looking at Marcos above me, his eyes hazy from the drugs, I realize how empty this is by comparison.
Marcos pushes into me again, hitting that sweet spot, and a moan escapes my lips. I close my eyes, but all I see is Roman. And those green eyes with golden flecks—just one look, and I come hard, almost violently. The pleasure roars through me, consuming and vicious, like a wildfire raging through the dry forest of my soul. Marcos grunts above me, content with his small victory, and I let him have it. He collapses beside me and falls asleep instantly.
The drugs finally take full effect. Instead of the usual numbness, I feel a strange sense of clarity. Even as Jimmy and Marcos use me, I remember the night Roman claimed me. I vowed never to let anyone truly control me again. Tonight, the Christmas lights are a bitter reminder of that promise, a cruel irony in the midst of my misery. The pills dull the pain, but they don’t erase the memories. And as I lie there, I know one thing for sure: no matter how much I try to bury the past, push the memories down, they always resurface to drag me down. I can never truly escape them .
My thoughts drift back to the Christmas when Roman and I were teenagers, our parents having gotten together.
It was Christmas Eve, and I had few clothes. Roman, noticing, gave me a black hoodie. It was a simple gesture, but it meant so much. I remember the warmth in his eyes and his rare smile as he handed it to me. It was a fleeting moment of kindness in a world that felt so cold.
But that was before everything went wrong. Before Roman’s jealousy and possessiveness led to actions that left scars.
With Marcos asleep beside me, my mind remains consumed by Roman and the past that won’t let go. The Christmas lights flicker above, cruel reminders of everything I’ve lost. The pills may dull the pain, but the memories remain.
And as the night stretches on, the past blends with the present. Those flickering lights are a reminder that the cycle of pain and memories is far from over.