Mike opened the bathroom door and walked out before I could give it anymore thought. Before I could dwell on the fact that I was his supplier and he was now my new client.
“Sweet!” he said, sitting beside Austin on the raggedy couch, eyeing the drugs spread out on the table, like a kid in a candy store.
The only response I was familiar with in the room.
“Austin, what pills do you want?” Mike asked him.
Silence.
“I’ll take an eighth of weed. Two of those bad boys.” He pointed to the Ecstasy. “And like ten of the Percocets.”
Austin just sat there blankly staring at me, not saying a word. I reached into my backpack again, pulling out some empty plastic bags to fill Mike’s order.
“What’s the damage?” Mike asked, pulling out a wad of money from his pocket.
“Four hundred even,” I simply stated, exchanging his bag of goodies for money.
“On that note.” Mike stood, throwing some weed on the table. “I’m going to head out. Pleasure seeing you again, doll. I’m glad I kept your card. I’ll be in touch.”
I nodded, unable to form words, only plaguing thoughts.
“Austin, I’ll see you later.” With that he turned and left.
Leaving us in the silence that was deafening in the room.
Austin grabbed the cigarettes off the table in front of him, pulling one out. Looking around the room, patting his jeans for a lighter. I reached into my backpack again, throwing him some matches instead. He caught them mid-air, still not saying a word to me and lit his cigarette.
He took a drag and blew the smoke out toward his left, the furthest away from me. I never told him I hated the smell of cigarettes, but somehow he already knew that. I learned right then and there that Austin could read people as well as I could.
That wasn’t an innate skill.
That was survival.
“So,” I announced, breaking the uncomfortable silence that echoed all around us. “What’s your poison?”
He narrowed his eyes at me before glancing back to the table, pointing to the Percocets with the cigarette in his hand.
“How many?”
“All of them.”
My eyebrows raised and my mouth parted, immediately taking in his scars. Just as I predicted the night I met him, there were several scattered around his chest, and back.
In that moment, in that second, I wanted so fucking badly to ask him what had happened to him, to reach out and ease his pain.
Instead I just grabbed the bag, handing it to him.
He reached into his wallet and for some reason I couldn’t explain, I looked away from him, taking in the room.
The place was a shithole. Most people rented this room by the hour. It’s where whores turned tricks and junkies OD’d.
Austin wasn’t one of those people. I knew that, I was sure of it.
Why was he staying here?
As I took in my surroundings, I noticed there was a dirty, tattered up duffle bag leaning up against the crumpling wallpaper in the corner of the room. The boots placed beside them looked like they had seen better days. The soles were ripping underneath them, and the shoelaces didn’t match.
There were clothes scattered throughout the room, drying over the air vent like he’d just washed them in the shower with him. And the jeans he was wearing were thin, old, and had stains.
He wasn’t one of those people at all.
Austin was just broke.
“How much?” he asked, pulling me away from my thoughts.
I looked deep into his vibrant blue eyes. It was then that I noticed it was like looking in a reflection of my own truths.
“It’s your lucky day.”
He frowned, pursing his lips, confused.
“We’re best friends now, remember? I don't charge best friends,” I chuckled, wanting to break the tension between us.
The truths all around us.
His.
Mine.
Ours.
“There’s a shitload of pills here, Briggs.”
Hearing him say my name made my belly flutter again. It had the same effect on me at the door when he first said it.
I shrugged, smiling.
Silently hoping he would catch my expression in the air and place it near his heart, like he did when we first met.
He didn’t.
I shook off the sentiment, picking up all the bags and putting them away in my backpack.
“At least let me smoke you out,” he offered, setting the cigarette on the corner of his lips to grab the weed Mike left behind. He started rolling up a joint.
“I don’t get high off my own stash. Drug dealer 101.”
He grinned, glancing over at me with mischievous eyes before returning to his task at hand.
“But… umm… I can stay… I mean for bit... you know? Hang out.”
We locked eyes.
“I mean if you’re not—”
“I’d like that,” he interrupted, nodding toward the seat next to him.
I sat down. His fresh, clean scent assaulted my senses with a mixture of smoke, weed, and something else I couldn’t quite place.
Austin.
My body instantly burned all over, remembering how in my dreams his hands, his tongue, his body were all over me. I had to look away, my face turning a deep shade of red.