Myocardium

Part 12

As soon as I enter the place I have not missed for even a second during the past two nights, I can already feel the drama and chaos cooking. 

I can smell it, it smells like hell. 

"Oh, look who's here! Mr. 'Hot guy asked for my schedule so he can come talk to me once I'm back'!" Stacy laughs as soon as I've set foot in the changing room. 

Oh no. 

Please don't. 

I seriously don't have the strength for this right now. 

"Uhm...what are you talking about? What happened?" I ask obliviously, with a faked smirk flashing on my face to get her to tell me more about the matter while I'm taking my clothes off.

My guts turn over, and every second seems to drag me down that deep hole of worry even further. 

Sometimes, I really wish I could simply disappear from this world.

"Well, Tuesday night, hot dude from the nights before came in and asked where you were...or, to say it in his word, where the 'young man with the silver hair and the cute outfits' was. So, I told him that you'd have the night off and that you'll be back tonight," she explains carelessly while shrugging her shoulders with dazed chuckle, lying on the bench with her head dangling off the edge, completely naked. 

Damnit, Stacy. 

"Did he say why he's looking for me? I don't get it. Fucking freak," I downplay the situation and try to get as much information out of her high ass as I can before being screwed anyway.

From this point onwards, I know that there is no way out. 

No escape. 

No calling quits. 

No changing my mind.  

"Hmm...nope, he didn't say anything," Stacy sighs, popping the 'p' provocatively in my direction and dragging out the last of her words unnecessarily long before continuing her speech.

"He just asked for you and left once he found out you weren't here. Silver, I am TELLING you, he didn't even want to fuck me. Hell, I wanted him to fuck me. Hell, I'd even peg him if that's what he's into or...let him tie me up or whatever. Man, do I love me some dominant men," Stacy drools over him and keeps babbling about all those things she would do for and to him, all while I try keeping my expression neutral and not show her the repulsion towards her words I am evidently experiencing.

Tonight's going to be bad, I just know.

While considering all the possible options I have to brighten up my dull world, I hesitate, debating about whether or not I should leave the room sober and eventually come to the conclusion that I definitely should not. 

So, in my cute-ass all-white outfit, I sit down and strap some piece of clothing I've found, probably somebody's thong or something, around my biceps as a make-shift tourniquet. 

The bruise keeps growing, by now it's turning yellow and green, with deep purple covering the innermost area of the crook of my elbow. Lately, covering the hematoma, including the bumpy spot on my skin where the little pinholes from the needles are, has become less and less easy.

 This alone should be a dead giveaway that what I'm doing is doing no good, except for killing me slowly. 

With skill, I ignore all these red flags and use another one of my sterile needles to suck up some of the obsidian-coloured liquid off a stained spoon Stacy handed to me, before watching carefully as the needle pricks my skin once again and I squirt the sticky poison into my system, feeling the burning, ecstatic relief immediately.