Toxic (Ruin, #2)(21)

“Right.” I wasn’t surprised. I had a certain reputation.
“So,” she said, as a blush spread across her cheeks, “you can ride with me if you want.”
My body trembled, I was ready to puke all over again. I wanted to run, I didn’t even know where I wanted to run, but running never got me anywhere. Running still made it hurt.
I wanted to lose myself.
“How about…” I gripped her hand. “…we hang out for a bit and then we’ll decide when the riding takes place?”
Her eyes briefly widened and then her mouth dropped open as a hiss of air escaped. “Sounds… good. Real good.”
****
The club was filled with sweaty bodies grinding all up in each other’s business. It may have appeared to be my scene, but I was more of a classic rock type of guy, so hearing TI play over the loud speaker made me wince, but I tried to appear into it.
A techno track came on, the green lights started to flash with the pounding music.
“Wanna drink?” Cee-Cee asked.
Hey, at least I’d learned her name.
Even if I did kiss her first and then ask.
Not that she’d minded. She already had her legs spread when I got into the car with her — I didn’t take her up on that particular offer — at least not yet. I wasn’t drunk enough yet, not high enough, not pissed enough.
“Shots.” I licked my lips. “Let’s order shots.”
She shrugged and went over to the bartender while I just stood there and watched as people laughed and partied.
I used to party like that.
Hell, I used to laugh.
But after Wes’s surgery — things had changed. I’d been living a lie for half my life; how the hell did I somehow run out of strength to be the person I wanted people to see? It was like I was a burnt out actor, only it wasn’t a movie. It was my reality.
“Cheers.” Cee-Cee winked, her dark eyelashes fanning against her cheeks as we each did three shots without choking. She must be a regular. Most girls would be downing vodka sodas and asking about calorie content.
“Wanna dance?” She leaned in so close I could smell the vanilla perfume she wore. I fought the urge to push her away.
“Not really in the mood for dancing.” Instead of pushing her, I pulled her against me, ready to lose myself.
“What’s your story?” she asked above the noisy music.
“I don’t do the whole deep emotional talking and spilling my guts out onto the floor. so if you’re into that, screw off,” I snapped.
“Good.” She nodded in approval as she shoved her hands down the front of my jeans in front of everyone. “I don’t either.”
My body flared to life and I hated myself for it.
Without saying a word, I dragged her toward the back of the club.
“Wait.” She winked and then pulled a joint out of her slim black purse, “You want?”
“Aw, honey, you think I’m into that shit? I go big or go home.”
“I can tell.” She looked me up and down, her eyes settling on my arousal before she reached into her purse and pulled out a plastic bag full of white powder and a mirror. “You like?”
“Very much,” I lied and looked away. I knew how this scene would play out. I knew it like I knew the back of my hand.
I’d sneak her into the bathroom, she’d line up the coke for me to snort, we’d get high, we’d drink, I’d take advantage of her, she’d smell like cheap perfume. Her sweat would be all over me and I’d be caught up in the same damn trap I’d been caught up in years ago.
The only difference now?
Now, I was too numb, too indifferent to care.
You know you’re in some deep shit when doing drugs doesn’t make you feel — I felt nothing. I was empty. I lacked the energy to pretend.
I’d lost myself.
My identity had been music, and then her, and then I’d been happy just being Gabe, the happy little player with a heart of gold.
I was so damn tired of it all.
Cee-Cee’s eyebrows rose. “So?” She held up the bag and tilted her head.
“I’m gonna pass, but you have fun getting screwed by complete strangers. I’m out.”
“I thought you wanted to party,” she said in a condescending voice as I started walking away.
With a snort I turned back and glared. “Honey, one of my best friends died from a heroin overdose, a family friend bought me drugs when I was thirteen, I lost my virginity to an A list actress twice my age. Believe me when I say, there is absolutely nothing you could do that would shock me, or make me feel anything but dead inside.”
Her mouth snapped closed as her teeth ground together. With a jerk she walked off, her hips swaying as she made her way through the crowds.
I wanted to wake up drunk.
No, scratch that. I wanted to wake up and feel something — anything but the way I felt then — going through the motions, smiling and joking around as if I actually had something to live for.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I looked down at the text.
Mom: If he calls don’t answer. He wants money. Love you. Mom.
“Hello, final straw,” I muttered under my breath as I shoved my phone back in my pocket and walked over to the bar.
“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked as he mechanically shoved drinks in people’s faces and put tips in the jar in front of him.
“Whiskey.” I sat down and drummed my fingertips against the countertop. “And keep ‘em coming.”
Ten. The number of times I got hit on while getting drunk off my ass.
Three. The number of times a woman brushed up against me and tried to cop a feel.