Beautifully Broken 1: If You Stay

I had a therapist after my mom died, and even though I can’t remember what he looked like, I can remember that he prescribed me sleeping pills.  It helped keep the nightmares away.

All I remember now about the nightmares is that they were horrible.  Bad enough that I used to sneak down and sleep in the doorway to my father’s room.  He would wake in the morning and find me sprawled on the floor.  And I would wake not remembering my dreams.

My therapist told my father it was my mind’s way of protecting itself from the emotional trauma.  Well, my mind has done a good job.  To this day, I don’t remember the events surrounding my mother’s death.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I pick it up to find a text from my father.

You need to come sign your papers.

Fuck.  It’s that time already?

I toss the phone back on the stand, where it skids across the mahogany, coming to rest against the wall.  Every quarter, I have to sign papers for my trust fund, since it is fed by my mother’s family business.  I am technically the sole heir to her shares.  It’s a pain in the ass, but it’s a necessary evil.

I am on the way to the shower when my doorbell rings and I pause.  I’m not expecting anyone.  It had better not be someone trying to sell me religion or they might find their teeth knocked into their throat.

Because f**k that.

Glancing through the window of my door, I see Jill the bar whore on my porch, nervously shifting her weight from left foot to right.  I sigh.  I’m really not in the mood for her, but I open the door anyway.  I guess I feel sorry for the desperate look on her face.  She pretty much always comes to me when she doesn’t have money to buy from her dealer.

A b**w j*b for a line of blow.  It’s our running deal.  And the deal was her idea.  Who am I to pass that up?

Jill smiles as the door opens, revealing grayish teeth.  It’s a sign that she has been using harder shit, like meth.  I cringe.  Even I won’t touch that shit.  It’s the devil, or so I’m told.  One time and even the strongest user is addicted.  I don’t need that.

“In the mood to get your dick sucked?” she asks with a smile, her fingers jittery as they thrum her leg.  She’s agitated and restless, a sure sign that it’s been awhile since she’s used and she’s craving it bad.

“Not really,” I tell her honestly.  “I just woke up.  And to be honest, my dick is a little pissed off that you left me to die on the beach.  A stranger had to call for help.  You ran off like a chicken shit.”

Jill looks stricken.

“Pax,” she whines.  “I didn’t mean to.  I just can’t go to jail, you know?  I’ve got two kids.  I’m a single mom. I can’t be in jail.”

She’s desperate now, whining even louder and I stare at her in surprise.  Shocked horror, actually.

“You’ve got two kids?”

After all this time, a couple years, I didn’t know that.  She’s never said anything, never mentioned them even once.

She nods.  “Yep.  A girl and a boy.  Five years old and seven.”

All I feel is disgust now and I shake my head.

“Then what the f**k are you doing on this shit, Jill?  And hanging out in the bar all day and night?  It’s one thing to f**k up your own life, but it’s entirely different when you’re f**king up someone else’s.  You need to get your shit straight.”

I start to close the door in her face but she lunges inside, clutching at me.  Crying.  Wailing.  Panicked. I grab her wrists and hold them to prevent her from scratching me.

“Please, Pax.  I need it.  I’ll stop.  I promise.  But I need it one more time.  Just one more.  And then I’ll go get help.  I promise.”

Tears are streaking down her face in black streaks from her makeup.  The sunlight exposes the hardened lines on her face, the lines that nighttime hides for her. In the light of day, she looks hard and used.

Because that’s exactly what she is.  I sigh again.

“Fine.  I’ve only got a little.  I’m not going to use for a while.  You can have what I have left, which is probably only one line. And then you need to go get help.  Get your shit straight.”

She’s shaking now, her breath catching in her throat as she waits for me to lead her to the coke. It’s all she can focus on right now, so I shut up and save my breath with the lecture.

I lead her to my kitchen table, and cut up the one little rock I have left.  I drag it into a line and watch as she inhales it in two snorts.  She slumps into the seat and lets it take affect and when she turns to me, she is visibly calmer.

“Ready for that blowjob?”

She’s looking up at me, expectant, familiar.  And for a second, the thought of a blowjob does make my groin automatically react, shifting against the constrained crotch of my jeans.  But I shake my head.

“I’m not really in the mood, Jill.”

I turn around and pad across the stone in my bare feet, toward the living room.  She grabs my arm.

“You can’t give it to me for nothing, Pax.  I don’t feel right about that.  Besides, I feel bad for leaving you the other night.  Just let me pay for it.  Please.”

A woman is begging to suck my dick.  Oh, the irony.  And it’s particularly ironic that I just don’t want it.  My mind has been consumed with Mila Hill lately.  The thought of this bar whore frankly turns my stomach a bit now.

I shake my head.

But Jill shakes hers too, and now she leaning against me, running her hands over the bare skin of my chest, trailing her fingers down to my waist band and unzipping my jeans.  She bends and runs her tongue around my nipple and then she’s got me in her grasp. I’m instantly horny.

I inhale a little as she runs her fingers up and down my shaft, outside of my underwear.  Fuck.  I curse my testosterone.

“Fine,” I sigh.  As if getting a blowjob is a hardship.  I drop my pants and she sinks to her knees in front of me, taking all of me into her mouth.  And as I lose myself in the moment, in the pleasure of her lips forming a vacuum around my dick, sliding, moving, sucking, I stare at the lake.

As Jill’s head bobs, I watch the current and the waves, the occasional sailboat.  I watch the seagulls fly, I watch the sun.  And then Mila’s face forms unbidden yet again in my mind.  Hers is as different from Jill’s hardened face as it can possibly be; fresh and innocent.  I focus on it, then picture her lush tits with the pink ni**les that point to the sun.