When We Were Us

Chapter 9

*~*Jon - 3rd POV*~*

Jon sifted his way through the crowd to the bar. He was stopped multiple times by hands roaming his body, men calling out for a good time and sugar daddies showing off their goods.

"Hey there, lover boy," a voice called as he passed the bar. "You looking for some fun?"

"Maybe," Jon replied sizing up the balding guy who had placed his palm in the center of his chest, "What are you offering?"

The man gave him a wide, dazzling smile and pulled out a baggie of white pills with smaller bundles of cocaine. "Only the finest X and rock in Atlantic City, baby."

"What's your price?" Jon moved a little closer, running his hand up the arm planted on his chest and offering his best smile.

"300 a gram. Top shelf from Columbia," he replied, his eyes roaming over Jon, "I'll even give you a freebie for that sweet ass of yours and a purchase."

Jon ran his tongue over his teeth slowly as he considered the offer. With a bite of his bottom lip, he gripped the man's wrist and nodded toward the bathroom. The nameless man closed in behind him and Jon could feel the heat coming off him and his bulge brushing his ass cheeks as they walked.

Grunts and groans emanated from the bathroom stalls. The smell of sex, sweat, and drugs hung in the air like humidity after a summer shower. Men lined up along the counter to snort the fine white powder or else blow another for a fix.

His savior pushed him through to the smallest stall. He locked the door and asked Jon, "First things first. How much you want?"

"Enough to make me forget, handsome," Jon murmured, the itch taking hold under his skin at the promise of almost total oblivion for at least a few hours anyway.

His companion took a fresh baggie from his jacket and placed 5 grams and 10 pills inside. He smiled and held it up for Jon to see. Jon took out his cash and counted out 2000 dollars, folded it and handed the money over to the man.

"As promised," the man said and set up a line for each of them. He took one then stepped aside for Jon, unbuckling his belt and massaging himself.

Jon licked his lips and bent over the cistern as the unnamed guy quickly dispensed with his jeans. He inhaled the powder at the same time as he was being impaled by the dealer. The heady rush of coke hit him hard and numbed the pain, mental and physical, of being fucked by a complete stranger. It wasn't the first time since leaving David in the arms of his ex-wife and it probably wouldn't be the last.

David...

He was the one that had sheltered him from the aftermath of Richie's departure. He was supposed to love him, no matter what but he was cast out as soon as the first sign of trouble had surfaced.

David's face swam behind his eyelids, followed by Richie. Both looked back at him first with love then disgust, echoing the words 'betrayal of trust' and 'suppose to be my brother' before fading into a memory.

That's how he saw himself now...with disgust. He'd morphed into the person the paparazzi had portrayed him to be. A drug-fucked faggot.

Jon had let himself go in the past month because he couldn't find the reason to care any longer. His beard and hair were scruffy. Hell, he only washed his hair when he remembered to, which was about the same frequency in which he had showers these days.

It didn't worry the strangers he'd brought home or gone home with; his smile drew them in but it was his ass they ultimately wanted...and he was happy to oblige. And the only thing Jon ultimately wanted was the total oblivion that the drugs and the mindless sex afforded him.