Damien: whoreMature

When I wake up, my first thought is of needing a hit, followed by ‘where the fuck am I?'

And then I remember. I'm home. And safe. And the crack's just in the other room. If Kyle hasn't flushed it, that is.

I look over at him, still lying with me. I don't think he could do much more than breathe right now, to be honest. He looks fucking exhausted. Part of me's glad he's here. The other part just wants him gone so I can get a hit. Just a tiny little hit to make me feel halfway human.

I curl up into a little ball, sort of leaning into Kyle and pulling the comforter tight around me. He shifts a little, giving me a little smile, humming when I nuzzle his chest.

"How're you feeling?" he asks.

"Like I need a hit," I admit quietly.

"You don't," he tells me. I say nothing to that. I think you'll find I'm the one with the withdrawals, honey, not you. He looks kinda sad though, and I feel even more shit than I already do for being the reason for him being upset. I close my eyes, hoping to shut everything out. I hear him sigh a little, and that shitty I'm-a-bad-boyfriend feeling just keeps growing.

"Sorry," I whisper.

"Don't be."

"I am, though. I'm a shitty boyfriend."

"No you're not." I put my head on his shoulder, doing my best to stay put. He kisses my head, "What makes you say that?"

"Maybe the fact that I can't seem to manage staying off drugs? That when I'm on them I do really stupid things?" Like going in and totally losing my temper last night. I mean sure, it was actually kind of justified, but I didn't need to try and beat the shit out of him. Kyle stays quiet. "You're not worth losing over a couple of hits," I mumble. But even though I know this, it's still hard to keep that thought in my head when those cravings get a grip on me.

"I haven't given up on you yet, have I?" he asks. I open my eyes to see him smiling, but I can't seem to return it.

"I'd have given up on me by now," I mutter under my breath.

"Guess I love you too much for that," he tells me, giving me a little kiss.

I kiss back, "I love you too."

"I know it's tough, but I know you're trying. I've got faith in you, gorgeous," he says and I almost sniffle a little, thanking him. "I should probably try and explain what happened now, huh?" I nod. "This is why I wanted Cindy here, she knows more about it than me."

"Can't you get her back?"

"Not without going to the diner."


He sighs, "I'll do my best but I don't know all the details." To be honest, I'm not sure I want to know all the details. "Pervy guy... Graham... He's a pimp." I stare at him. I guess it explains why he's such a creep but... "And he kind of figured I'd be his newest bitch." I keep staring, unable to think of anything to say. I don't think I'd be able to speak even if I knew what to say. He bites his lip and I feel myself suddenly having to hold back tears.

"Please find somewhere else to work," I plead.

"I will, babe," he says, and I find myself kind of clinging to him. Words can't even begin to cover just how much I don‘t want Kyle to end up being a whore. He cuddles me, eventually speaking again, "How much do you have to pay for your methadone?" he asks quietly.

"It's about $500 a month," I mumble.

There's a pause, and then he gets out of bed. "Please don't hate me for this." Why do I really not like where this is going? I watch him, kind of apprehensively as he goes and gets something from his pants. He comes back over, biting his lip as he tries to give me a wad of cash. I just look at it.

"Where'd you get that?" I ask, not taking it from him. He looks at his hands, and I wait for the answer.

"I thought..." You thought what, Kyle? "I thought if I... then he'd leave me alone." You thought he'd leave you alone if you fucked him? Is that what you're telling me? Please don't let that be what you're telling me. I glance up at him, not entirely sure what I'm feeling. All I know is it's not a good feeling. Kyle doesn't take his eyes off his hands until he notices me getting up and pulling on some clothes.

"Where are you going?" he questions, biting his lip again.

"Out," I shrug.

"Damien, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," lie, "I won't be long, ‘kay?" lie, "I'm just gonna go to the studio, see how things are going over there." Lie. He just nods and I walk into the living room, picking up the bag of crack, "I'll get rid of this, too." Okay so that's only a half lie. He nods again and I pick up my wallet, walking out of the apartment. I have no idea where I'm going. All I know is I'm going. 


The End

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