Prologue
Devon
I’m sorry.
Darkness clouds the edges of my vision, the screen in front of me blurring. My thumb hovers for just a second, then I type out another message.
Please, hotshot. Talk to me. I’m fucking drowning.
Still nothing. No bubbles, no reply. Nothing but the text thread of my own fuck-ups staring back at me as they’ve done for ten months now.
If he saw me now, he’d hate me for this.
Hell, I hate myself for this.
The man behind me grunts out a command. “Get on the bed.”
I flinch, although I knew it was coming.
My motel room reeks of cigarettes and sweat.
The wallpaper’s peeling, a buzzing light above the sink turns everything sickly yellow.
My phone goes black, and for a second, my reflection stares back at me with bloodshot eyes and pupils the size of dimes—but not from desire.
No, that honor goes to the concoction of pills mingling in my system.
Another few moments, and I’ll be blissfully unconscious.
I set my phone facedown on the nightstand and climb onto the bed with mechanical movements. My “client” for the night counts out dollar bills, the sound of money hitting the dresser making me nauseous. Or maybe that’s the drugs. Either way, I want to puke.
“Just… Don’t talk, okay?” I mumble, gazing up at the ceiling. The cheap plastic glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up there mock me.
I used to love the stars. Now they make me sick. Every time I look at those fuckers, I’m reminded of all the times they watched me fall apart.
The man doesn’t speak when he climbs onto the mattress, which is good. Words would ruin this illusion that I’m somewhere else. Someone else.
When he lifts my legs and lines his cock up with my hole, those stars become the center of my attention. I pretend they’re not made of plastic and I’m not here. Pretend maybe someone who cares might actually answer my calls for once.
But even that temporary glow starts to fade, until it’s just me—and the feel of a stranger’s hot breath on my neck.
The sound of his groans churn my gut, his cheap cologne thick enough to make me gag.
I’m overwhelmed by the invasion of my body.
The pills must be kicking in because I barely feel the hand he wraps around my throat to choke me. I’m not even hard.
But I’m fucking flying.
I used to love the stars. Until their presence felt like hollow eyes designed to watch me burn.