Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(33)

I slid him a sideways glance. “Why do you do this to yourself? The drugs, I mean.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, the first time was just sheer curiosity. I wanted to know how it felt. Charlie and I had a shit day at work, and one of our buddies offered to share.”

“What is it, exactly?”

“Meth.”

“That’s a weird name.” The only drug I’d ever heard of was marijuana or “pot.” A few of the boys had been caught smoking pot in the woods, and were removed from our community that very night. “What do you do with it?”

“Smoke it, usually.”

“And what does it do?”

The concept of anyone using drugs was so foreign to me; I couldn’t help but be curious. I wanted to understand Porter, to know why he felt the need to alter himself to such a degree. Didn’t he see how appealing he was all on his own?

“It takes the pain away,” he said simply. “Until it doesn’t.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want him in pain.

“I feel strong,” he said. “I feel all this energy swoop into my body. I don’t think about my family or where I came from. I feel powerful and important. Like the best version of myself.”

“Until . . .”

“Until the comedown. Then it’s like all that power, all that energy and life, is being drained from every cell of my body.”

“Is that what’s happening right now?”

He nodded. “Bad timing, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“Have I seen you . . . you know, while you were on a high?” I hoped the answer would be no. I didn’t want to question the sincerity of our interactions in the past.

“No,” he said. “Honestly, I’ve been trying to get clean. Today I’m coming down, and I was coming down that day in the street. I was out of money and really wanted another hit. That’s why I was desperate enough to take your purse. I hit bottom that day.”

“Why?”

“I’d never stolen before. The people of our community don’t steal. You know that.”

I nodded.

“But this shit’s strong. When you come down, you don’t just want more, you need more, you crave more. You have to have more. It’s f*cked up.”

“Can you stop?” I felt nervous for him, and selfishly for myself. I didn’t know what the next comedown would bring.

“I’ve tried . . . a couple times. But being here, living with these guys, it’s never lasted long. Someone’s always got some, and I get wrapped up in it again and again.” He paused, turning so he could look into my eyes. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Porter asked, his eyebrows raised.

Lehi had never asked me what topics I’d want to discuss. In fact, I was pretty certain that no one in the Cluff household had asked me that question. And for that reason, I was stumped. I opened my mouth to answer, but then had no words. I could only shrug and give him a sheepish grin.

“Do you like music?” Porter asked. He jumped up from the bed and crossed the room to a large black box sitting on his desk.

“I don’t know. I only know the songs the prophet plays in the mornings.”

“I want to play something for you. It’s a bunch of songs that make me think of you. I burned it on my computer.”

How he could “burn” something into the shape of a flat metal doughnut, I had no idea, but his eyes were calm, his voice serene and genuine. And my curiosity was piqued.

“I’d love to hear it.”

“This is called a CD.” He placed the disk into the machine and within moments, the soft sound of a guitar filled the small room. Then a gentle voice began to sing.

Porter crossed the room and sat next to me. “I know I said I wouldn’t touch you, but would you like to lie down with me, just lie down and listen?”

I smiled and scooted my bottom down so that I was lying flat on Porter’s bed, my head resting on his fluffy pillow. Porter hopped into bed next to me. We stared up at the ceiling as I listened to the man sing. The song soothed my nerves and spoke to my heart. When the last notes played, I turned my head to Porter as a new song began.

“That was beautiful. What was it?”

“It’s called ‘Such Great Heights’ by Iron and Wine. I listen to it . . . a lot.”

“And this?” I heard the melodic sound of a piano and another man’s voice. This song was less muted, more intense. I was drawn to it, to the words, and to the tone of the singer’s voice. He sounded desperate, needy, and so very much in love.

“It’s called ‘Without You.’ It’s a really old song by Harry Nilsson. But it speaks to me. Ever since you came back here that day and demanded your bag, I can’t get you out of my head. And I’m sorry if that scares you.” He paused. “Does it . . . scare you?”

It probably should have. The intensity of the song made my heart thump within my chest, at the idea of Porter feeling this way about me. It should have made me run, to claim sanctuary in the house of Lehi Cluff. But it didn’t. It only made me want to kiss Porter gently on his lips.

And so I did. I leaned forward slowly and caressed his lips with a feathery kiss, then smiled as I inched away from him.