Leaning back into the wall, I state quietly, nervously, “I want to know how you work. How your company works. I want to know what you do here.”
His face turns hard. I have no idea what I’ve said for that to happen, but my palms begin to sweat. Running his tongue over his teeth, he sniffs, then nods to the guest chair beside him. “Sit.”
When I don’t make an effort to move, his eyes find mine and he says more firmly, “Sit, Lexi.”
Taking small steps on shaky legs, making sure I don’t fall, he pushes out the chair with his foot and I sit. Looking up into his soft brown eyes, he watches me, searching my face through narrowed eyes a long while before he states, “The company is a cover.”
My eyes widen as he continues, “Yes, we’re a plastics company. A successful one. Very successful. But there was only one reason a guy like me buys a place like this.” He states quietly, “And I think you know why that would be. You’re a smart girl, Lexi. What do you think we’re making and selling out of here?”
One thing pops into my head immediately, but I push it down trying to ignore the blood roaring in my ears. I think back to the other day when Happy helped me out of my car.
“You’ve been sitting in your car in an industrial area looking like an on-edge crack junkie wanting her next fix for about a half-hour. So either you’re here for drugs, or…”
Drugs. They’re making and selling drugs from the warehouse.
A twisted smile appears on his face. “She knows.”
My stomach drops. Disappointment and regret swirl through my rigid body.
I need to leave. As in, yesterday.
Standing and trying to avoid eye contact, I utter shakily, “It was stupid to come here. I’m sorry for intruding, Twitch. It won’t happen again.”
A hand on my arm halts my exit. “Stop.” And I do, but when he sees my obvious panic, he whispers, “Breathe.”
Sitting back down, I fight the shakes for a full minute before anger flows through my veins. I whisper, “Why would you tell me that? You barely know me.”
He doesn’t answer. When I look up at him, his face conveys his answer. That he knows me better than I think he does. I still can’t believe this. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
His eyes narrow; he searches my face lazily and says bored-like, “I ask myself that question every day of my miserable life.”
I allow his comment to slide off me. Now is not the time for sympathy. Feeling defiant, I state, “I could tell the police.”
Reaching forward, he runs his fingertips down my cheek. Breathing deeply, he replies on an exhale, “You could. But you won’t.” Closing my eyes, I lean into his touch, now trailing my jaw. “You won’t because you know what would happen to you, what happens to a squealer, don’t you, Lexi?”
My body tenses. I pull away from his too-inviting touch. “Is that a threat?”
Shaking his head slowly, his eyes never leave mine when he points out, “No. Just the facts.”
Staring him down, I refrain from telling him I know all about drugs. And none of that information came from being a caseworker, but rather from having to remove needles from my brother’s arm when he was too high to notice he hadn’t done it himself.
But that’s what living in our house did to a person.
My parents were never the type to win the parents of the year award. More like the hooray, your children are still alive award. Dad was an alcoholic and just plain mean. Mom was good at pretending things were okay while she worked long hours. Overall, I had two parents who weren’t parents at all. My brother found his way to escape the fact that we were never getting out of the hellhole.
Thinking about my brother always makes me think of that line from the song Me, You and My Medication by Boys and Girls.
“We're all addicted to something that takes away the pain.”
There’s so much truth in that phrase.
My heart aches, suddenly taken back to a time long forgotten, bringing up memories long suppressed.
I’m brought back to reality when Twitch pulls me to stand in front of him. Spreading his legs, he holds my hand tight while I’m guided between them. Looking over me, confusion in his eyes, he states, “Think I’m ready for those lips now.”
His eyes drop down to my parted mouth and I shiver. His arm snakes around my waist, holding me firmly against him. My front pressed into his, my tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip. Wanting that kiss so badly, my voice sounds weak, even to me. “You’re manipulating me.”
Reaching up with his free arm, he fingers a strand of my hair and admits freely, “Yeah.” Leaning forward, his lips brush against mine for the briefest moment before he whispers into my cheek, “You have no idea how big a gift my words are. But you will.”