Sweet Destruction by Paige Weaver
The shot glass slid from my hand, hitting the carpeted floor without a sound. My fingers curled, making fists that wanted a victim. The beast in me yawned and stretched, waking up. Coming alive.
I stood still, watching as Lukas dropped his hand, letting it linger on Sam’s bottom. Jealousy reared its ugly head, growing and turning into a giant of a monster. I wanted to kick Lukas’s ass for touching her. I wanted to grab Sam and haul her to a bedroom, pick up where we left off. That pissed me off. I had no right to feel this way. To want her. None. So why the hell did I?
I swiped a hand across my mouth, feeling the roughness of my five-o’clock shadow. I kept my eyes locked on the front door long after Sam and Lukas left, fighting the urge to take off after them.
I was still staring at the door when a guy bumped into me. Sure, the party was crowded but I was furious. Asshole shouldn’t have touched me. I swung around, a snarl on my lips, seeking an outlet for my rage. The guy cowered away, looking at me out of the corner of his eye with fear.
The demon in me was out. It wanted blood. It wanted action. It wanted someone beneath me.
I spotted Leah walking through the room, talking to a redhead. With swift strides, I cut through the crowd, my eyes locked on her.
She wasn’t what I wanted but maybe she could make me forget Sam. Maybe she could help me remember that I wasn’t good enough for a black-haired girl with lips like an angel.
I grabbed Leah and pulled her toward me, covering her mouth with mine, wanting to feel something for her.
But I didn’t.
All I thought about was Sam.
Chapter Fifteen
-Sam-
I called a taxi to take Lukas and me home. By the time it arrived, it was raining cats and dogs outside. I had calmed down, no longer ready to wring Walker’s neck, but I was still angry.
The taxi driver dropped Lukas off at home first. I didn’t want to watch him worship at the porcelain alter all night so I sneaked him into his room without his parents hearing and left, hopping back into the taxi.
A short time later, I paid the driver a handful of wadded bills and climbed out in front of my trailer, glad to feel soft, cool rain on my face.
I headed across the soaked yard, the ground spongy beneath my shoes. The porch light above the front door wasn’t working, but I could still see thanks to a flickering streetlight two houses down. Somewhere a dog barked and another answered. I heard a screen door slam then muffled yelling from the neighbors who had been visited one too many times by police for domestic abuse.
Digging in my small purse, I found my keys and stuffed one in the lock. I jiggled it a few times to unlock it, knowing it was about as rundown and useless as the trailer it protected. On the third attempt the door popped open.
Darkness greeted me as soon as I stepped over the threshold. The smell of mildew and stale cigarettes welcomed me with a warm greeting. I dropped my purse on the couch as I walked in, not bothering to turn on a light as I headed across the living room.
I was almost to the kitchen when I heard a whimper followed by a sniffled cry. I froze, glancing around. I was unable to see anything in the dark, just the shadow of the old couch and worn armchair nearby. But then I heard it again. A whimper, like someone in pain.
I took off running. My booted feet hit the thin carpet of the hallway, sending echoes through the house. I followed the sound of the cry, the blood rushing in my ears. In my mom’s doorway I slammed to a stop.
“Mama?” I asked in a hesitant voice, trying to see in the darkness.
When my eyes adjusted, I found her. She was leaning over the side of the bed, her head hanging down, one pale hand almost touching the floor. The smell hit me before I could prepare myself. It reeked of vomit, alcohol, cheap perfume, and sweat all mixed together.
“Mama!” I cried out, rushing into the room. My fingers grabbled to find the tiny chain of her bedside lamp, the one missing a lampshade. When I finally grabbed it, I pulled hard. Light flooded the room. The sight that greeted made me grimace.
Vomit covered the side of the bed and the floor. A vodka bottle had overturned on the bed, soaking the faded sheets and coverlet in a pungent smell. It was awful.
I pushed back a strand of my mother’s soaked, matted hair. The paleness of her face shook me. She looked dead, like a corpse I had once seen in the gutter down the street, a sad victim of a gang war.
I put my fingers against the pulse in her clammy neck, praying I would feel a heartbeat. Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. It was there but it was slow.
“Mama? What’s wrong?” I asked, glancing down her body for injuries.
Her eyes peeled open at the sound of my voice. She looked up at me with bloodshot eyes, her dry lips cracking into a wisp of a smile.
“Hey, baby girl.”
Pain hit my heart when I heard the drugged tone in her voice. She was high. With a heavy sigh, I put a hand under her shoulder and dragged her back onto the bed.
“Mama, what did you take?” I asked, watching as her eyes closed then popped back open.
She didn’t answer. Instead a strand of drool rolled down her chin from the corner of her mouth. She tried to say something but only a dull humming noise came from her vocal chords.
Fright gripped me. This wasn’t just a normal high. Something was wrong.
“Mama?” I said, shaking her shoulder, pushing the panic away.
She mumbled something and started gagging, choking on her own vomit. I jumped off the bed and grabbed a nearby trashcan stuffed with cigarette butts and overdue bills. I managed to get it to her in enough time for her to throw up inside it. I fought the urge to gag myself when the smell hit me.
When she was done, she fell back on the bed, passing out almost immediately. I sank down on the mattress, running my eyes over her room, looking for clues on what she might have taken. Getting up, I walked over to her dresser and started searching through the contents on top. Brush. Perfume. Condoms. A slip of paper with someone’s number on it. I moved everything, searching. I had seen my mother hung over, so sick out of her mind that she couldn’t function for days, but something was telling me this was different. I needed to find out what she’d taken.
I opened the top drawer of her dresser and started sifting through it, pushing the underwear and faded bras aside. Finding nothing, I started searching the rest of the dresser.
I was going through the third drawer when she started moaning again. Turning, I found her crawling to the opposite side of the bed, pulling herself along using the sheets as support. As soon as she got to the edge of the bed, she leaned over and threw up again, this time splattering the floor.
That’s when I decided we needed help.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and started to dial 911.
“Don’t,” my mom said from the bed, staring at me through half-opened eyelids as she wiped a shaky hand across her mouth.
“You need help,” I said, keeping the worry out of my voice.
“Don’t you dare call anyone,” she said with more force.
I sighed and dropped my hand, still gripping the phone tightly. “Mama, what did you take?”
She smacked her dry lips together and tried to force her eyes open but they immediately closed again.
“Answer me, Mama. What did you take?” I asked, my voice raising.
She pried her eyes open. “Doesn’t matter, Samantha,” she mumbled hoarsely, struggling to get the words out. “Never did.”
Tears welled in my eyes but I swiped them away, furious at myself for caring. Mad at her for doing this to herself and to me. I was always picking up after her. Condoms, empty bottles of alcohol, used needles. I didn’t matter – I picked it up. I was tired of taking care of her and tired of worrying, of being embarrassed of her activities. But I knew nothing would change. She would just find another way to damage herself.
“Mama, it’s important. I have to know. How many pills did you take?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Or was it something else this tim
She smiled a weak smile. “My pretty baby girl. You were always so perfect. You look so much like him. Like your daddy,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from all the Pall Malls she’d smoked during in her lifetime.
“Mama?” I said, taking a big gulp of air. “Mama, listen to me…”
Her eyes looked vacant, not really seeing me. She waved her fragile hand in the air, like she was brushing butterflies away.
“Beautiful. So beautiful. But I told him you would be,” she said.
My chest tightened as she continued to wave the imaginary bugs away. My mother had never called me pretty or beautiful. She never said anything nice about me. Instead I was ignored and shoved to the side, men or drugs taking my place.
I grabbed a clean blanket from the corner of the room and tucked it around her as she drew herself into a ball, trying to escape the violent tremors that shook her body. Panic gripped me seeing her this way. I didn’t know what to do or how to help. I was terrified.
I started to dial 911 again, but her voice stopped me.
“Don’t you dare call the cops, missy,” she said through teeth clenched against the shaking. “I’ll tell them they were your drugs if you do.”
I glanced up with shock, my eyes rounding. She was staring hatefully at me, her body shivering but her eyes cold.
“Mama, you need a doctor,” I tried to reason with her, not letting her see how much her words hurt me. “I think you’ve overdosed.”
“No, just got hold of some bad stuff,” she said, rolling her eyes away from me and curling deeper into herself. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
I took a step toward the bed, determined to be the grownup in this situation. “Where did you get it from?” I asked. “The drugs.”
“Mick,” she whispered around a cough.
My blood went cold. Pam Man.
“When did you start seeing Mick again?” I asked, dread washing over me.
“Don’t know. A few weeks ago.”
“What did he give you?” I asked, terror making it impossible to think straight. Pam Man had used my mom in the past, buying her with drugs and alcohol. I wouldn’t be surprised if he slipped her something lethal. Just because he could. He was just that twisted.
I reached over and gave her shoulder a firm nudge, cringing when I touched her sweat and vomit-stained pajamas.
“Mama, tell me.”
Her eyes popped open again. Instead of answering, she pulled herself to the side of the bed and puked, this time making noises that doubled my fear.
It was then that I noticed the disheveled sheets, the tell-tale signs of sex. A used condom was on the floor. Splatters of blood dotted the sheets here and there, evidence that what happened in here wasn’t pretty.
I wanted to puke. Pam Man was just here. I could almost sense him and feel his presence.
And the asshole had left my mother this way.
I pulled up my contact list and hit a name. I wasn’t calling 911; if I did it would bring Pam Man breathing down our backs since he was the police. I needed help but there was only one person I knew to call. My brother.
After a few rings, the call went to voicemail. Bentley’s voice rumbled through the line, telling me to leave a number and he would get back to me.
Damn!
I left a short, curt message and hit ‘end.’ There was no one else to call. Maybe years ago I might have called Walker but not now. Not after what had happened at the party. I didn’t trust myself around him and I sure didn’t trust him. He would probably not answer my call anyway.
I took a deep breath and did what I didn’t want to do - I started dragging my mother out of bed. I knew from experience one way to sober her up.
My nose wrinkled in disgust as she leaned against me, the smell coming off her almost more than I could handle. With an arm around her, I carried her out of the bedroom. We had to stop in the threshold for a minute when violent shivers hit her again, almost bringing both of us to our knees. I held onto the wall as she pressed into me, resting the side of her head against mine.
“I’m sorry, baby girl,” she mumbled, the words slurred.
“You and me both, Mama,” I said, tears starting in my eyes. I was so sorry that this life had been nothing but awful for her. From my dad leaving to the men using her and the addiction controlling her body, this world had handed her a terrible existence. But what she hadn’t realized was that it wasn’t what life threw at you that counted, it was how you dealt with it that mattered.
When the shivers passed, I pushed away from the wall and carried her the rest of the way to the bathroom. The two of us barely fit in the tiny drab room but I somehow managed to help her into the shower.
I propped her against the side with one hand and turned on the faucet with the other. Cold water hit us both, making goose bumps break out on my arms. My mother sputtered and hit at me, trying to get away from the cold spray in her face, but I held her tight, not caring if she left a few bruises on me. I just needed her to be okay.
After a minute, she calmed down and slid down the shower stall to sit on her bottom, her nightgown riding high on her hips. I stood above her, breathing hard and soaking wet, shivering from the cold water. Waiting for my mama to return to me.
Huge sobs burst from her chest, sounding terrible in the tiny bathroom. I fought it but my heart squeezed painfully as I watched her. She looked so pitiful. So lost. No one should have to see their mother this way.
I stepped out of the shower and sat down heavily on the closed toilet seat, watching as she cried. Despair and exhaustion overtook my body. My mother’s sobs continued, hurting me to hear. Reminding me that I could never let this happen to me.
That’s why I had to stay away from Walker. He was a weakness. A threat. Someone who could hurt me.
And I wasn’t ready to be ruined yet.
Chapter Sixteen
-Walker-
I woke up sweating, my heart hammering. My lungs worked hard to take in big gulps of air. The sheet wrapped around my hips was twisted and I was gripping a handful of it, my knuckles white with strain.
I let go of the sheet and scrubbed a hand over my face, wincing when I touched a bruise some motherfucker had gotten lucky and given me tonight.
Three hours ago, I crawled home from the party, shitfaced drunk and out of my mind with rage. I remembered only bits and pieces after Sam left with Lukas. Enough that I wished I couldn’t remember anything at all.
After I saw the two of them leave, all reason had left me. I was jealous but more than anything I wanted to wipe Sam from my mind. I screwed Leah in the bathroom, fast and hard, refusing to kiss her. I didn’t want her on my lips after Sam had been there. The thought just disgusted me.
Afterward, I got in a fight with some guy over stupid shit. He was just there and I was pissed, mad at myself for the guilt that sleeping with Leah had caused. One of us had ended up on the floor bleeding and crying like a baby. Let’s just say that it wasn’t me.
It was the first time in months that I lost control, drinking myself into oblivion and letting the twisted part of me out.
Now here I was - hung over, hurting, and shaken awake from a nightmare.
And that’s what woke me up. A nightmare about Sam.
~
She had been tied down in my dream, just the way I liked to fuck sometimes. Yeah, I said I was twisted and I meant it.
I had stood over her, running my hand over her lily-white, unblemished skin, feeling every inch of her. I took my time, making her shiver as I touched her everywhere. She was withering with need by the time I climbed behind her, laying my body on top of hers and nestling myself against her ass.
She moaned as I grabbed a handful of her hair, wrapping my fingers around the black strands tightly.
“Beg and maybe I’ll be nice,” I said between clenched teeth, pulling her head back to whisper in her ear. I wanted to use her and abuse her, take out my frustration on her. But first I wanted her to submit to me
She whimpered, sounding like a needy little kitten. Good, that’s what I wanted to hear. But when I saw her face, I knew I was the one that was lost.
She was crying, tears running down her cheeks, leaving red streaks on her perfect skin. I immediately loosened my grip on her hair.
“Sam?” I whispered, shattering when I saw the pain on her face. It sent fear through me. I didn’t want to hurt her. I just wanted to give her pleasure. Guilt leaked into me, wrapping around my heart and squeezing.
“Cole, I love you,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners of them. “Don’t do this to us. Please, don’t do this. Love me. Just love me.”
I felt another pang in my heart but the cold part of me ignored it. I couldn’t let her get to me. This is who I was.
“Love you? Like this?” I whispered, touching her shoulder with my lips. I nudged her legs apart and pushed against her, my cock hard between us. Reaching down, I grasped myself.
“Or like this?” I asked with a growl, positioning myself at her opening. With one thrust I was inside her. Heaven - pure unadulterated heaven washed over me. She was wet and I was hard. It was perfection.
“Yes, like that,” she whispered, groaning as I filled her.
I pulled out and thrust into her again, making her cry out. I did it again, harder this time, going as deep as I could. She struggled against the rope binding her wrists, her bottom arching up to meet me.
I touched my lips to her neck and spoke encouraging words against her skin as I pulled out and thrust again. I ran my fingers up her arms, touching her like she was breakable as my body pounded into her violently. We moved together, her hips meeting mine. Her cries only fueled my desire. I wanted to slow down and experience every moment, every second inside her, but I was frantic, craving release.
Feeling the need build, I grabbed the rope around her wrists and pulled. The rough binding cut into her skin, making her cry out. I felt another pain tug at my heart, reminding me to be gentle, but I ignored it. The need to come was overtaking me, making me lose my mind and control.