Chapter 27 Crackhead #2
I continuously push on his back. Solely to annoy him. I step on the backs of his boots too. And also poke his sides.
He stops abruptly and I clash with his back. I play it off perfectly by wrapping my arms around his torso and just hugging him.
"If it makes you feel better, you're much cuter than that trucker guy," I bite back my smile. Figuring my best option would be to get away from him, I do, walking down another aisle with him following closely behind me.
He grips the back of my pants and pulls me flush to his front.
"Get away from me you crackhead," I tell him just as a nice lady walks by. She pauses and looks at me.
"Oh no! Not you! You're not a crackhead," I hope she's not a crackhead, "I wasn't talking to you, I promise!"
"I was talking to him," I point at the big crackhead that stands right behind me. Her eyebrows furrow and a concerned look takes over her face.
She takes a step closer.
"Do you need help? How about I give you a ride home?"
Oh gosh, she actually thinks he's some crackhead.
"No," I laugh, "he's not an actual crackhead. I just call him that. I promise he doesn't do drugs. I don't either. I like to say I do but I don't."
"His name is Grey," I point to him again. I can just tell he's looking at me with a 'I'm done with being in Target' face, "I'm Azalea."
"Oh!" I almost forget, "he's actually my boyfriend."
Was I talking too much?
The lady gives me a smile that says 'this girl is a total, actual crackhead' and she walks off.
"Look what you made me do," I turn around and rest my head on his chest.
"No one told you to call me a crackhead."
"What else would I call you? Grey? I think not," I scoff.
"Grey is your regular personality name. When you're being averagely rude. Sugar is your sweet name when you're being a sweetheart. Crackhead is when you're being ridiculous or whenever I feel it's fit, it's the 'etcetera' one too," I explain.
He looks unamused at the moment. I look to my left and spot a Capri Suns pack.
Uh, freak yeah.
I pick that boy up and haul butt out of that aisle. We pay, we drive home, we take a seat on the couch, I take one pouch out for him, and one for me.
He looks at it like 'what the fudge is this poop?'
"What the fuck is this bullshit?" he grips the pouch which looks too small for his big hands.
I was close to predicting what he would say.
It's actually not a hard thing to do. His vocabulary consists of every curse word, unhappy words, my name, and 'shut up'.
He speaks those words and every other words slowly, lowly, and almost always like he's bored, tired, or done with the conversation. Quite opposite compared to me.
I take off the straw and poke it through the hole. He watches me and grabs the straw. He sticks the straw through the whole thing, effectively making it poke out through the other side.
"You're doing great, try again," I hand him another and watch as his eyebrows furrow in concentration. More carefully this time, he pokes it through the hole and it doesn't come through the other side this time.
I smile wildly and lean forward, hugging him to me.
"I'm proud, you're so cute," I kiss his temple like he does to me. He can't even open a bag of chips without busting open the whole thing, I'm glad he can control himself long enough to get a straw through a pouch.
He takes the world's smallest sip of it and hands it to me.
"Drink more."
"I don't like it," he says.
"Because it barely hit your tongue, take a bigger sip," I hand it back to him.
"No."
"Don't think you're winning this argument, because you're not," I warn him. He narrows his eyes slightly. He slowly drags it back up to his lips and he takes a longer sip.
He still hands it to me.
"Don't like it."
He's just saying that to get on my nerves.
I drink both mine and his, plus two more. I sit back and watch as my stomach gets bigger.
The drink baby's name is Flitzengerald.
"Let's have a heart to heart," I propose. I need to know every little detail about him. Everything.
What's his favorite type of tissue?
What's his worst habit?
What's his biggest pet peeves? I'm sure he's got tons of those.
What's his favorite season?
What does he name his food babies?
Which is better? Trailer Park Boys or Impractical Jokers.
"What happened to your dad?" that too, but I didn't mean to blurt it.
"I don't know," he answers plainly.
"What was he like?" I try. He glances over at me.
"Why are we talking about this?" he questions, not so happy.
"I only want to know more about you," I answer.
"Asking about him doesn't have anything to do with knowing more about me," his jaw clenches, "he's got nothing to do with me."
"I just wanted to know about where you came from," I tell him softly. I don't mean to pry. He knows everything about me. Everything.
"You don't want to know where I came from, and I don't want to talk about it," a glare settles on his face as he fixates his gaze on the wall.
"You know I won't judge you, right?" I remind him, "I'll always be here for you. I really do love you."
"No one's said that to me before," he tells me honestly. No one?
"Is that why you don't think I love you?" I whisper. He looks down at our intertwined hands before giving me a soft nod.
"And so you've never said it to anyone?" I ask quietly and he shakes his head.
"But you wanted to fall in love with me?" I scoot a bit closer to him, gripping onto his other hand too.
"I'm getting old."
I throw my head back and laugh. Twenty-five is hardly old.
"And you're the only girl I've ever wanted to be around for hours at a time."
'Long periodically time'. Gosh, I love watching news interviews.
He doesn't know if he loves me because he's never loved anyone before.
Oh no.
"What if you only like me as a friend but you don't know the difference," I slap my cheeks, my face, not my booty.
"I ate yo-"
"And what if you're just sexually attracted to me but you actually don't have any feelings," I don't know why someone would be solely sexually attracted to me but whatever.
"Shut up," he rolls his eyes.
"How did I know you were going to say that?"
"Because you love me," he answers and I smile wider than I have in a long time.
"You're right," I nod, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on his lips. Bear whines from his position on the floor beside the couch.
I break away from the kiss and Grey continues his path down my neck.
"I love you too Bear," I pat his head, Grey stays on the spot right under my jaw and I play with the hair at the back of his head.
"Oh wait," I said suddenly, "I want another Capri-Sun."
"Of course," he mumbles and I slide off his lap. My foot rolls on one of Bear's bones and I go down like a dead weight.
I feel a slight tug on my hair and almost slap Grey for thinking it's okay for him to pull my hair when I'm falling to my death.
But the pulling doesn't stop. I sit back up and grip onto the pieces of that are being pulled. Grey holds the end of it trying to get my hair untangled from his zipper. The zipper near his main goody.
"Are you kidding me?" I grumble, getting on my knees in front of me. He stops for a second and looks at me.
"What?" I sigh at him stopping.
"This puts thoughts in my head," he licks the corner of his mouth. He moves my hair not attached to his zipper out of my face.
"You getting my god-forbidden hair unstuck from your zipper puts thoughts in my head so how 'bout we get on to getting on!" I slap the side of his leg. He only leans back and smirks at me.
"When I get unstuck," I warn lowly, "you're going to seriously get got."
The door bursts open and I almost pee my pants.
"Woah y'all," Sanfred's voice travels through the room, "do I need to come back?"
"Yes," Grey mumbles at the same time I'm saying 'No.'
"Oaklee, can you help me-"
"He's not coming near my dick," Grey grumbles and I turn to just pulling my hair instead of untangling it.
"I'm near it," I furrow my eyebrows.
"Oh 'cause you're you baby doll, he wants you always near his dick. He wants you on his dick, touching his dick, he wants to be inside you-"
"How 'bout shut the fuck up?"
"Am I wrong?" Oaklee chuckles and Grey doesn't give any hints to any sort of answer. My eyes start to water from the few last strands that are still stuck. It's not that it hurts so bad I'm gonna cry or something but it's just since they're little strands.
"What do you want?" Grey asks him as I pull away, rubbing the sore spot on my head now.
"C'mere doll baby, I'll rub it for you," Oaklee gives me a dimpled smile, waving me over. Grey grips onto my arm and pulls me down onto him.
"Did you lock the door after we got back from Target?" he grumbles. I smile and shake my head no. He scoffs.
"Well, there's another call for tomorrow in southeastern North Carolina. Trafficking," Oaklee takes a seat on one of the recliners.
Trafficking?!
"It's supposedly small but spread out around Tinesburg. So, multiple houses, each with a couple of girls," he explains.
"Oh, and me and you are riding together," he adds.
"I'm quitting my fucking job."
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Thank you for reading! I'm not even going to say anything about what I wrote because I think I'm on drugs. Have a good night y'all.
*Not edited*
Word count: 3711
-Ash Montgomery