Raw (RAW Family #1)(52)
Holding out a hand to me, I take it and smile genuinely. “I’m Lexi. Nice to meet you, Joe.”
Twitch rolls his eyes at the man. “Just get us a table, old man. We’re hungry.”
Elbowing Twitch, he mutters, “I’ll give you old man.”
Escorting us to our table in the back corner, away from the other patrons, I look around and thank God for the privacy. I want tonight to be the night we finally talk about more than just business. I want to know more about him, but I have to do this in a sneaky way.
I have to make him answer questions without it seeming like I’m asking any.
Picking up my menu, Joe snatches it out of my hand with a heartbroken look. “No, lady. No. It’s your first night with us, so I get the honour of choosing what you’ll eat.” My heart sinks. What if he chooses something I don’t like? This could be disastrous. Spotting my anxious face, Joe smiles. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ll like it. I promise.”
Looking across the small table to Twitch, he rests his elbows on the table, linking his hands together just under his chin. He lifts his brows in a way that says, “Don’t bother arguing.”
So I don’t.
Putting on a bright smile, I tell Joe, “That’s fine by me. But I should let you know, I don’t love seafood.”
Already walking away, Joe calls out, “Noted!”
Twitch utters, “Already told him about the seafood. And peppers. And peas.”
My brow furrows in confusion only a moment before I remember Twitch has a habit of watching me.
I blurt out, “Do you still watch me?”
So much for sliding the questions in there. My mind slaps its forehead.
Picking up a bread stick, he leans back in his chair and stares at me. Taking a bite of the carby goodness, he nods once. So I ask more gently this time, “When was the last time you watched me?”
Swallowing his mouthful, he sits straighter in his chair. “Today. You and Nicole did some shopping.”
I was not expecting that. Mumbling, “Okay,” I watch as he takes a packet of chocolate buttons from his pocket. Already open, he shoves a handful into his mouth and chews.
Distracted from my train of thought, I utter through a small smile, “I don’t get it? You don’t seem like the colorful chocolate buttons type.”
“Yeah, well, it’s better than going through a shitload of crack.”
That shuts me up. The smile falls off my face.
“I was an addict. I saw what it was doing to me and I quit. Cold turkey. Made Happy take me to the Kimberly’s in W.A., lock me in a cabin, and guard the door at gun point. I told him if I tried to leave, to shoot me.”
Happy? No way. I scoff, “That’s harsh. As if he would shoot you.”
Chewing another handful of chocolate, he barks a laugh. “Damn, girl. He emptied an entire clip around me, forcing me back in.” His smile fades, his face falls, and his eyes lose focus. “You have no idea what withdrawal is like. I swear I could’ve killed someone for a hit that first day. I spent three days puking, feeling as if I was dying, and clawing at my skin. I scratched at my whole body, opening wounds all over. It wasn’t pretty. I pulled a nail clean off just for the distraction. It was f*cked. But it’s over.”
My mouth gapes. “Are you telling me you performed a DIY rehab on yourself?”
He nods solemnly.
I can’t believe it. Most of the kids I meet on the street are addicted to something or another, and it takes intense rehab, sometimes for months to get them out of the habit. Some even go back to using. So hearing that Twitch forced himself to rehabilitate…
Its remarkable. Truly remarkable.
I’m beyond impressed with his self-control.
This is the most he’s ever told me, and while I’m on a roll, I ask on a whisper, “Why me?”
This question makes him uncomfortable. I know this from his sudden squirming, and for a moment, I wonder if I pushed too far, too early. That’s when he answers, “Because you’re you.”
He says this as if that should explain it all. But I’m not satisfied with that. I ask, “How long have you been watching me?”
Looking me in the eye, his stare intensifies, “A long time.”
Clearing his throat, he leans forward and says things I never expected to hear. “When you’re an addict, becoming addicted to things is easy to do. And that’s a bit what I’m like. I have an addictive personality. So I stopped drugs, but got hooked on candy. Then I started going to the gym once a week to work off the candy. But it became an obsession. I need to work out three times a day. Then with you…” His gaze softens. “I told myself I would watch you the one time…” He trails off. And although I don’t get it, I understand what he’s saying.
It should be making me sweat, not making my heart swell the way it is. “I’m an addiction?”
He responds quietly, “The worst one. There’s no cure for that addiction.”
I respond breathily, “Oh.”
Suddenly frowning, he states, “I’m not a good person.” Leaning away from me, he adds, “You think a person like me deserves your type of goodness? No. I’ll tell you right now that I don’t.” Seeming frustrated with himself, he bites his thumbnail. “The thing is, I’m selfish. And I don’t give a f*ck about what I deserve. All I care about is what I want. And I want you so f*ckin’ bad that I’d do almost anything to keep you.”