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CHAPTER FOUR
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“So, how are you feeling?” Annette drinks deeply from the martini glass in her hand.
I hate flying–it makes me nervous. Before I met her, I had never even been on a plane, let alone a private jet.
She chartered it specifically for our trip; ‘her treat,’ she said, but really it’s only because she refuses to fly commercial, and she’s used to luxury at this point.
“Fine. The funeral was nice. Lots of people there.” I keep my answer short because I haven’t seen her since before Sam’s funeral, and this is the first time she’s bothered to ask how I’m feeling.
“Mm–Oh! Can I get another one?” She mouths, pointing to the nearly empty glass in her hand, to the flight attendant walking past us. “Excited for this weekend?” Her red lips curved into a sinister smile. It makes me feel more uneasy than the flight.
“Sure,” I shrug. My head isn’t in the right place–I haven’t stopped thinking about the funeral earlier this week. The get-together at the pizzeria was bittersweet. I didn’t tell Annette about it though, not that she would give a shit, anyway.
Her red lacquered fingernails grazed my thigh, making me flinch. “What’s wrong, baby boy?”
I shrug off the chill she caused and look around the cabin. Once I spot the flight attendant, I wave her down, and she walks over with a drink in hand for Annette.
“Sorry–can I get a whiskey? Neat.” She nods and walks to the back. That should help calm my nerves a bit.
I look over at Annette, and she’s busying herself with her drink and laptop.
She seems to care even less these days about me–our relationship is purely physical at this point.
Maybe I didn't see her true nature when we first started seeing each other.
I saw what I wanted to see and was blinded to her selfish ways.
She gave me so much attention when it came to school, my career, and molding me to be her submissive.
Now, when we see each other, she only wants one thing: sex.
That’s what this weekend is about. Showing me off to people I don’t know so they can see how much of a good boy I am. That’s her plan, anyway. Mine is to sneak off and find someone to have some fun with. I’m going to use this weekend to my advantage as well.
The club is massive and spacious. Private rooms line the outskirts of the building, and a dance floor surrounds them.
The bar is upstairs, along with a smaller, quieter lounge.
Despite the place being packed with bodies of all ages, it feels empty and cold.
Just like the look in Annette’s eyes this evening.
Before we left the hotel, I noticed some white powder residue on the vanity in the bathroom.
She’s never done drugs in front of me before, and I surely do not partake in that garbage.
It caught me by surprise, but that would explain her actions lately: absent, emotionless, scattered, and more controlling.
I’m no idiot–I know there are always copious amounts of drugs floating around clubs, bars, and the like, but I never thought she would take part in that lifestyle.
All I know is that things will only get worse before they get better. I’m not the right person to help her, especially if she doesn’t want the help. Instead, I’ll worry about my exit and move on. It’s what I do best, anyway.
My eyes scan the surrounding area, trying not to focus on the death grip Annette has on my thigh.
It’s like she knows I want to escape, but she won’t let me.
Or maybe it’s a control thing, and she wants to show everyone else that I’m her plaything.
That’s fine. After tonight she won’t be my problem anymore.
Laughter within the group catches my attention.
Then a second hand lands on my other leg.
The man next to me, whom I’ve only just met tonight, is talking over me to Annette.
I’m focused on his hand on me; it’s so big it covers my whole knee.
His name is Caleb, an associate of Annette’s, or so I was told.
They seem friendly, but in a different way.
He was the one who invited her here tonight.
Caleb is older than Annette–the graying hair on his temples doesn’t help hide his age.
He has a gold band on his ring finger. Wife at home, and he’s here flirting with my girlfriend?
Scumbag. My mouth goes dry when I think of them being together, but before I can gain the courage to get up and check the rest of the place out, Caleb hands me a drink.
I look at the drink, then at him before I take it. He has the same glossed-over look Annette had on the flight here. Cold, listless, and unnerving. I shift my gaze over to Annette, and her eyes are fixated on the drink in my hand.
“Well, go on! It’ll help loosen you up!” she giggles, and I can barely make out what she says over the booming music below us.
I take a sip–whiskey, but it has an off taste to it.
I can’t put my finger on it, but it could just be a brand I’m not used to.
The warmth of the liquor travels from my throat down to my stomach.
Annette was right; it is helping me relax, but not in the way alcohol usually relaxes me. My muscles become too lax, my mind goes blank, and by the time I’m finished with my drink, my vision is too hazy. It doesn’t take long after that for my entire world to go black.