Chapter 16: : Chapter 16

And Sum 41 now reminds me of Han and LSD night.

Everything reminds me of her. She’s seeped her way into the forefront of my mind. I can’t seem to stop thinking about her. I think the fact that I know nothing drives me to need answers. She’s the unfinished story I’ve been craving to complete. The words, right there, yet I can’t even open the fucking book.

Weeks roll by painfully, each day a sickening and silent reminder that I’m living in a future unknown. She’s gone again and I’m left with nothing.

It was stupid of me to ask her to stay after our night together. Stay for what? For me? Who am I? It’s clear she isn’t into commitments of any kind. She floats freely through her life, never tied down by anything that will constrict her wings. But how lonely it must be to fly alone all the time, lost in deep thoughts that pull you down.

Will I see her again, or was that it? The thing is, I never know. Will I ever escape this disgusting torture?

I need my fix. Her giggle, my high; her moans, my come down. I’m itching for another hit and with every day I don’t see or hear from her, the need to dull the ache in my heart and my mind becomes necessary.

I’m falling for this chick, someone I don’t even know or understand.

I texted her the day after her birthday. I sent a picture of Casper the ghost with three words beneath it. “Don’t do it.”

But she did. She ghosted me. She opened the message, but never responded.

I get the urge to just show up at her place, break open the door, hold her up against the wall by her neck until she admits she has some sort of feelings for me. She’d fall apart in my hands the way she does, realizing and becoming fully aware of the shit that’s consistently lingering between us.

The way our bodies seem to come to life when we’re around each other, the way her touch lights my fucking skin on fire and makes the world around me blurry—she’d fall right into it. Admit what’s happening is more than just sex alone. Our eyes would connect, and I’d see it again. That look that tells me everything she’s withholding. That she feels it, too. That in some fucked up world, we were supposed to find each other. For whatever reason, it may be. To heal? To learn? To save?

But that would be wrong. Right?

Jesus, I’m really thinking of choking out this chick until she says she likes me. I’m a fucking weirdo.

I’ve played all of my video games, I’ve surfed Instagram for what feels like hours, I’ve jerked off twice to porn. A girl who looked oddly familiar. The short black hair, and the choker did me in. Fucking creampies got me sad as hell now. Who cries while masturbating? Not me, not ever me. But I felt a sliver of sadness pierce through my skin and I can’t seem to get that bitch out.

Aimlessly pacing back and forth in my room, I look out the window and see Cole outside on the patio.

I make my way down the stairs, finding her in the back of the house, planting some flowers into the new pots she bought. She’s really done a great job of making this place a home. She warms the space, filling it with love, and it shows.

“Whatcha working on?” I ask, sneaking up behind her.

She gasps a little, then smiles, clearly not hearing me walk down the stairs.

“Oh, hey Kid. Just bringing some color back here. What are you up to?” She stands upright, wiping the tiny beads of sweat off her forehead, holding her gardening gloves in her hand while she does it.

“Just wasting time,” I sigh, taking a seat in one of the lounge chairs.

It’s Saturday afternoon so no work for Hawke and me today. Apparently, he’s out searching for some new furniture to furnish one of the newly renovated properties. He and Cole made plans to take a boat out for a sunset dinner later. They invited me to come along, but let’s be real, they aren’t committed to this threesome, and I got money to be made.

“You should find a hobby,” she says, almost surprising herself with the idea. “Yeah, we need to find you a hobby.”

“Joining the knitting club isn’t going to keep me from popping opiates, Cole.”

She glares at my attempted joke.

“I just feel like there are so many opportunities for you to dive into here.” She places her hand on her hip, tapping her lip with the other while deep in thought. “That’s it. Diving!”

“What?”

“Diving! You should take the scuba course Jo teaches.”

“Han teaches a scuba course? What the actual fuck?”

“Sorry, my mind has been all over the place lately. I totally forgot to mention it. It’s her primary source of income.”

I can picture it. Down she goes. To the bottom of the ocean, when life above ground consumes her. Seems fitting.

“When were you going to tell me this?”

“When you were bored enough for a new hobby, I guess. She only does it part time. Makes great money hustling stupid tourists and rich pricks.”

“Damn Cole.” I shoot her a surprised expression at her unfiltered statement. I love when she keeps it real.

She shrugs, her lip pulling into a grin. “But, seriously, that would be fun for you. I’ll get you her card if you’re interested.”

Her card? Really. I’m only worthy of a business card. Even Cole knows how tightly bound that book is.

Scurrying away from me suddenly, she disappears into the house as I’m left standing there, somewhat blown away by what just transpired.

Scuba diving, huh? I can barely breathe above ground. I don’t know how well I’ll fare beneath the surface of the ocean, but if Han’s teaching it, I’ll gladly find a way to drown in her presence.

Later, after Hawke and Cole leave for their date, I grab my phone, answering messages left and right.

Tarah is still hot on my ass. Guess the rumors circling about what a great fuck I am have reached her. Yay.

Boss opportunity?

Silas must’ve given a sample of my stash to his guy here, meaning I’m either in a world of fucking shit by bringing new supply into their market, or they want to bring me in.

Coming to Cali was supposed to be an end to my dealing, but unfortunately for me, being in a new place means new opportunities to sell. My guy back home wants me to keep pushing his product out here on the coast, so depending on how this goes, I may be a very rich man or a very dead one.

But, hey, you only live once, right? Might as well live it up.

Later that night, I pull into the shady parking lot of some sort of run down strip club. The neon sign that says the club’s name, “Lusty Lady”, is partially burnt-out reading “Lust Lay.” No one here seems to mind. It’s clearly not slowing down the action inside. I can only hope that the interior—women included—is a bit better looking than the exterior. The crumbling, concrete parking lot that has endless weeds growing through every available crack shows the lack of care, and yet, another group of bikers pulls up to enter the bustling facility. Guess business as usual here at the ol’ Lust Lay.

The club is dark and filled with the musky smell of old velvety curtains and cigarettes. Three different stages beg for my attention near the front, the one in the middle with a pole. One dancer is currently swinging around it by her thigh alone, the other squatting down near the edge of the stage near a small crowd of people, twerking her voluptuous ass while a man slips some cash in her thong.

“Kid, you made it,” Silas greets me, patting me on the back as he looks on at the dancers.

“What’s up, man? Nice place,” I say, cringing slightly, making conversation.

I eye his shifty appearance, noticing he’s wearing some new chains tonight, some diamond knock off piece that’s entirely overdone. He has some flashy, white Timberland boots that contrast with his dingy denim jeans. He’s trying too hard, that much is obvious.

The place feels somewhat like a medieval theater filled with jesters about to rob you blind. I guess, in a sense, that’s what strippers do. They dazzle you with fat asses and bouncing titties, just to squeeze that cash out of your wallet before you can even think about touching them.

“You should see the back,” he grins. “They got private rooms here.”

Jesus. Not what I needed to hear. I think Silas spends a lot of time here at the Lust Lay by his expansive knowledge alone.

He grabs a cocktail waitress that’s passing by, one who looks elated to see him, and orders us some drinks. It’s clear he’s a regular just by the excitement on her face. At least he must tip well.

I turn back to face the stage, peeping the hottie working the pole. She glides through the air, spinning around before effortlessly dropping to the floor. She does the splits, bouncing her ass for the crowd as a group of rowdy guys stands and begins throwing dollars at her.

I can’t tell if I feel bad for the stripper or for the patrons. I mean, honestly, who’s winning here? This chick shakes something for a nice chunk of change while these guys lap it up, unable to touch, only look.

Mind you, I’m a visual guy. I love seeing ass and titties just as much as the next freak, but feeling is where it’s at. I wanna grab that shit and put my face in it. If I wanted to watch a girl shake her shit in my face, I at least want to be able to fuck something, or be able to have my dick in my hand while I watch it, in the privacy of my own home, with tissues on standby.

“C’mon man, Dario is ready,” Silas announces, bringing me back to reality.

I follow him towards a curtain in the back, walking through it into some sort of makeshift dressing room for the dancers. A few women look up, shooting me a narrow-eyed expression as they’re changing, not even attempting to cover up, because why would they?

We continue walking through their changing area until we’re met with a solid metal door. Silas bangs on it four times as a tiny window opens up, revealing a red-haired man with a huge, elongated, curled mustache.

My eyes dart wildly to Silas, then back to the door.

“Who rang that bell?” The ginger asks Silas with a unique peanut-buttery sounding voice.

“Silas.”

“One moment.”

He disappears, closing the small latch as Silas looks around anxiously, taking in a deep breath and blowing it out while rubbing his hands together in front of him. He bounces back on his heels, then rocks forward.

It’s the first time I’ve realized he seems nervous. If he’s nervous, then I definitely should be. Who the fuck are we meeting?

The little paneled door opens again and Ed Sheeran wannabe pops his head back out at us, causing me to cock a brow at his strange demeanor. “Room 11 is ready.”

Room 11?

Silas lets out a quick breath, nodding as he turns, looking for me to follow. We walk down a dimly lit hallway, passing a woman with long black hair and a tiny two-piece sequined outfit.

I get the feeling I’m heading towards the sex rooms by the noises leaving the doors I’m passing. Lots of moans, groans, and body slapping sounds happening behind these closed little spaces.

Silas and I stop in front of a door with a steel eleven nailed to it. The door opens as two stunning women, both scantily dressed with heels almost as long as my dick, usher us in.It’s a tool of measurement, a good nine for quick reference.

We walk into the room that smells like a combination of cigars and sex. Deep electronic music plays in the background, the bass from the stripper stage rumbling against the back wall. We approach a large, metal wingback chair that’s on top of a small stage with three stairs leading to it. If the room were to be a theme room, it’d look as if it was some Game of Thrones knockoff. This is where you come to suck off the queen.

Atop the chair is a guy who looks anything but a queen. The way his shirt stretches to accommodate his extremely muscular build, paired with his dark-toned skin and darker-than-black eyes, has me imagining how easily he could snap my tall ass in half.

He sits casually in the chair, one leg outstretched before him, the other bent up, while he leans back into it, an elbow propping his fist to his jaw. His face doesn’t move as we walk before him, only those dark, dead eyes.

Silas talks. “Dario, thank you for—”

“Where did you get this?” Dario interrupts in a deep voice, the kind you feel reverberating within your chest.

He’s directing the question to me while holding up what looks to be a few grams of cocaine—my cocaine.

Silas swallows, looking at me nervously, waiting for me to answer his direct stare.

“I don’t know what that is,” I answer, cocking a brow while shrugging. “Or whose it is.”

My mama didn’t raise no fool. A fuck-up? Sure, but a fool? Hell nah.

Dario stares at me in silence. What feels like a minute passes before he blows air through his nose. Then again. He chuckles.

“Taste it then.” He tosses me the tiny baggie and I quickly catch it against my chest, staring straight at him the whole time.

I know he’s a dangerous man just by his gaze alone. His eyes are wide. The look, it’s direct. Almost too direct. As if he sees your future before you do. He’s the kind of guy who makes the rules wherever he goes.

Dipping my pinkie in, I sample it. I know my shit and it’s good shit. It’s definitely mine.

I look back up at his awaiting face.

“I’ve got a guy.”

“Don’t they all,” Dario responds, standing from his seat on the throne and walking down to approach me.

I pique his interest. He can pick up on my vibes easily. He’s good at reading people. Fuck, he has to be in this line of work.

Silas shifts in his position as Dario approaches, but lucky for me, I’m naïve to who the hell this Dario cat is. My dumbass isn’t intimidated…yet.

“You can go now,” he says, standing before me, staring into me with those cold, dead eyes.

I give a quick, tight-lipped smile. You know, one of those “ope, ‘scuse me,” grocery store moments, raising my eyebrows as I turn towards the door.

“Not you, him.”

Silas and I look at each other in confusion before we both snap our heads back over to this Wesley Snipes, Blade-wannabe, our expressions mirroring one another’s.

“Bye!” He yells aggressively with a wide-eyed smile, shooing Silas away.

His men come up from by the door, ushering Silas out. His shoulders drop in disappointment. Clearly, he thought he’d be a part of this, when in reality, he was just the mailman delivering the package. Me, I’m the package.

I turn back to face Dario, arching a brow in confusion. I don’t know who he thinks I am, but I’m just a guy who happens to know a guy who happens to have some premium shit.

“Kid, was it?” He asks, turning his back to me and walking back up the stairs to his throne, having a seat while the women crowd him again. One of them rubbing his shoulders, the other at his leg with her long, acrylic nails circling his thigh.

“Kid.” I nod, tipping my head back, my eyes narrowing as I study him.

He sits back as the ladies continue rubbing him, smirking at me while he eyes me up and down.

“I’ve got a bit of an opportunity for you, if you’re interested in playing a hand.”