ForEverAfter
Ex-Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jan 16, 2012
- Messages
- 2,836
Evening
It’s six o’clock in the morning and my head is fucked. The empty tram stops, in the middle of fucking nowhere. She sits opposite. Our knees touching. Her heavily shadowed eyes on me. I look around, annoyed, at the surrounding vacant seats. But she doesn’t care. My privacy is not a major issue. She’s sexy; the sort of beauty that demands attention. Her black lips curl up into a little grin. She’s young. Too young. And I’m tired. Too fucking tired for games. I let my head hang down, like a disused puppet. My eyes betray me, climbing the fishnet ladder from the tip of her knee to her inner thigh. Dead thoughts rattle around in my head. Numb lust. I realize I’m staring up her skirt.
“What are you on?” she says, her sweet voice penetrating my sour disposotion. I look up at her, my eyelids half open, my head buzzing like a hive. Her skin is snow white. On either side of her black lips, looped piercings protrude like fangs. I want to fuck her in the face. Grab her by the ears and cum down her throat. The thought disgusts me. I can’t be trusted. This girl, she shouldn’t be anywhere near me. I’m one of those men. A rapist. A paedophile. Dormant. I let my eyes close.
“Hey,” she leans forward and whispers – I can feel her breathing on me. “Can you get me some weed?” Sure, I think. I’ve got some in my pocket. I sell weed. I sell fucking everything. While I’m at it, might as well get her a bit of MD powder, some DMT, half a gram of meth and a point of smack. Teach her to IV. Fast track her education. I hate the way teenagers look at me. Like I’m something to aspire to. Reminds me of my own drug mentors, back in the day.
My older brother, he used to tie off when my parents were asleep. He’d always warn me. If I ever find out you’re doing this shit, blah blah blah. It’s fucking poison, mate, blah blah blah. And then he’d be fucked. And we’d talk, all night sometimes. He told me incredible things, my brother. There were no secrets between us. Those nights we spent together, they were the first time I’d ever heard anybody speak – really speak. He had this power. Like he was able to cut through all the bullshit. He had this deep psycological awareness, of everybody and everything. The world made sense to him.
After a while you can’t hide it. The truth, it becomes a permanent fixture of your personality. This girl, she could see it in my eyes. Everything my brother ever said to me. She wants it. She wants to know the truth, to see the inside of the machine. Nothing I can say to her will change that. It’s poison. It’s no fucking good for you. Take my word for it, blah blah blah. I don’t even bother trying to convince people to say no. What’s the fucking point. This little girl, dressed up like she wants to fuck, hitting me up for drugs before the sunrises: there’s only one future for her.
“Well?” she says, touching my thigh. I open my eyes to see her black fingernails tracing the denim lines of my jeans. I want to take her home and fuck her. Give her all sorts of drugs. Induce a bad trip, a fucking nightmare. Scare her straight. Rip holes in her little fantasy.
A long-sleeved black lace gown hangs down from her slender wrists. Her tits are small. They hardly make an impression. A-cups. Probably half bra. I linger on them briefly, on my way to her face. I look into her eyes. She licks her lips, her curly black lips. “I have money,” she says.
My face is blank. “I can help you,” I say. “But, you have to come back to my place.”
*
I tie off first. She watches with nervous excitement as the pick pierces my bulging vein and blood spills into the chamber. Seconds later, I am pacing back and forth across the carpet, my arms flailing about like live wires. I start talking to her – really talking – telling her about every depraved thing I’ve ever done. Telling her about the time my heart stopped. About the time I pissed on a police woman. I tell her about waking up in vomit. About breaking my ribs. Punching holes in walls. I tell her about waking up in strange places and having unprotected sex with people I’ve just met.
Her veins are hard to find, but she doesn’t mind me poking around. I pin-cushion her, pushing it in and out of her arm up and down her veins. She keeps smiling, her eyes bright and unaffected. As the blood rushes into the chamber, a chill goes down my spine. I push the plunger in, emptying a point of speed into her bloodstream, and quickly remove the pick. She starts coughing. Then she stands up, and walks backwards – rapidly – into a wall. “Holy fucking shit,” she says, then she vomits onto the floor. “I’m sorry, fuck. Do you have a cloth or something? I’ll clean it up.”
The initial rush is wearing off. I settle into an armchair and pack a bong. “Don’t worry about it,” I tell her, sprinkling some DMT crystals on top of the cone. She’s charging around the room looking for a rag, touching everything, examining mouldy dishes and broken photo-frames.
I smoke, carefully. The tryptamine crystals bubble. I can taste it – that burnt plastic soap flavor – as the room melts away. I am floating in the cosmos, surrounded by constellations. Nothing remains of the real world. A celestial figure – a woman – is throwing comets across the universe. She is beautiful. Stunning. Like some kind of Goddess. Then reality comes flooding back. My little emo girl is rubbing something into the carpet, cleaning up her vomit. “I found this t-shirt,” she says. “On the floor. You were, like, on another planet or something. I figure, it’s better the shirt than the carpet. Sorry if, like, um, that’s not what you wanted me to do.”
After a minute or two, I hand her the bong. “Here,” I say. “Smoke this.” But she doesn’t know how to smoke. I explain. “You put your thumb here on the shotty. Hold it down tight. I’ll tell you when to let go. Okay. Inhale slowly. That’s it. Now fast, and… let go.”
She starts coughing violently. Her eyes are watering. It looks like she can’t breathe. She’s freaking out, walking backwards again. This time she backs herself into the couch, scrambling over it and falling onto the floor on the other side. I can hear her coughing and gasping, as she rolls around on the carpet. I chuckle to myself. It’s so perfect. Her first bong, and it’s fucking DMT.
I crack open another fit pack and mix myself up a shot in a plastic baggy. The pick is in my arm when she crawls back over the couch. The red dragon swims through the chamber, and I release it back into my bloodstream. The rush is so intense I have to scream to release some of the energy. It startles the fuck out of her. I’m back on my feet again, jogging in circles, jumping up and down, my head rolling around on my shoulders, my tongue flicking against my teeth.
“You want to suck my dick?” I say. “Of course you do. A little slut like you. I bet you fucking love it. Your fishnets and your lace. Come here.” I start undoing my belt. She wanders over, blinking erratically like a robot on the verge of meltdown. “Get down on your knees,” I tell her.
I drop my pants around my ankles. I’m half erect. She starts laughing hysterically. I don’t know what the fuck she’s laughing about. The little bitch. I grab her by the shoulders and push her down onto her knees. Tears are streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes are crazed, her black lips hooked into a maniacal grin. “Suck it,” I tell her. “Now.”
*
We’re lying together in a sweaty heap. Used syringes scattered around the room. A broken glass bong lying next to a vomit-soaked t-shirt. I stand up, awkwardly. My legs are weak. I haven’t slept in at least five days. Maybe ten. You lose track after a while. I look down at her. She rolls onto her back and says, “I love you.” Her tits are so small they are basically just nipples. Her pubic hair is thin and whispy. There is blood between her legs; blood on my cock. I experience post-ejaculate terror, the adrenaline subsides enough for me to realize what I’ve done. Like someone who’s just committed murdered. I stare down at her body, at the crime scene.
“Did you hear what I said?” She repeats it: “I love you.”
I explode into a rage. “You don’t even fucking know my name, you dirty scrag. What the fuck is wrong with you? Haven’t you got any pride? You don’t love me. You don’t know what love is. You’re just a fast cunt. Like fast food for sex. You pick up strange men on trams and seduce them. That’s what you do. You manipulated me into fucking you. With your fishnet stockings and your black cock hungry lips. Touching my leg. Flirting with me for drugs. You make me sick.”
“Evening,” she says, rubbing her hands up and down her naked body.
I search through the rubble for a cigarette. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“My name,” she says. “It’s Evening.”
The tip of the cigarette ignites, the burning embers look like lava. I imagine a volcano, destroying a small village. “Evening? That’s not a fucking name.” I puff furiously. It’s beautiful; a beautiful name for a beautiful girl: I love her; Evening, I think she’s the one. But that’s just the drugs talking. I don’t love her. I have to remember that. I don’t even know who she is.
“What’s yours?” she says, getting to her feet.
I leave the cigarette between my lips, and mix up another shot. “My what?”
“Your name.”
The cigarette bounces as I speak, littering ash on the carpet. “Why the fuck do you want to know my name? It doesn’t make any fucking difference. I’m just some guy that you fucked. You got high and had unprotected sex with some scumbag you met on a tram. You don’t need to know my God damned name, alright? My name is Rapist. Filthy Child Rapist. That’s my name.”
She walks across the carpet, carefully stepping around the pieces of broken bong glass. Her long black hair hangs straight down over her shoulders. “You didn’t rape me,” she says, taking the cigarette from my mouth and puffing on it. “It was consentual.” She over-articulates the word, making it sound like, “con-sensual,” and places the cigarette softly back against my lips.
I pierce the baggy with the pick. It starts leaking onto the floor. Tears escape my eyelids, as I suck the speed up into the chamber. “I was trying to teach you a lesson. I was trying to educate you. I didn’t realize you were – how old are you? No, don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter, I’m a piece of shit.”
I suck the leaked drugs off my fingers and put the baggy in my mouth.
Evening wraps her arms around me.
I re-use the same injection site I always use.
The gaping hole, I fill it with drugs.
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