I bit the inside of my cheek in order to stop myself from asking him why he drinks so early in the morning. I don’t think he’d like that much. In fact, I should turn around and march right back up the stairs because anything I say to this guy will likely piss him off.
“Okay, I’ll just call him,” I replied, lifting my phone and scrolling through my contacts.
“He won’t answer,” he retorted. I watched as he opened a tiny plastic bag and pulled out a bud of weed, breaking it up with his fingers.
Momentarily distracted, I watched him slip the granulated herb onto the rolling paper. He rolled the joint, stuck it between his lips and fetched a lighter from his pocket.
“Why?” I croaked, shaking my head, trying to break from my trance. “Why won’t he answer?” Dread churned in my belly and it took everything inside me not to revert backward and believe Jack bailed on me and my ugliness. That this morning, once he woke and realized how fucked I truly was, he headed for the hills. But I was there last night, and I couldn’t fool myself into believing that shit if I tried. Jack wanted me, he accepted me and in his own way he allowed himself to be mine. I needed to keep reminding myself of that.
Blackie ignored my question as he lit his joint, inhaling a stream of smoke, holding it for a few moments before he blew it out, puffing out little ringlets of smoke.
He turned, narrowing his eyes as I pulled my shirt over my nose and extended the joint in my direction.
“You want a hit?” He taunted, menace in his eyes.
I stared at the joint before dropping my shirt from my face and took a step closer. I carefully took the joint from his fingers, shocking the menace. Fuck you.
I lifted the burning paper to my lips and inhaled until my lungs felt heavy and the back of my throat felt as if it was on fire. I shoved the joint back in his face as I started coughing.
He rolled his eyes, ignoring me as I coughed up a lung, and took another hit.
That shit was potent. Or I was just an amateur. Probably a bit of both, I decided, pounding my fist against my chest cavity.
Blackie shook his head, clipping his joint with the tips of his fingers and sliding what was left of it into his cigarette pack.
“What did I do to you?” I asked, taking a deep breath, my lungs felt like cement.
“I didn’t twist your fucking arm,” he insisted.
“I’m not talking about that and you know it,” I said, as he snapped his head toward me and pierced me with a look. Scary bastard, this man was but something told me the old phrase you catch more flies with honey than you do vinegar wouldn’t work with a man like him. “You don’t seem like a man who’s afraid to speak his mind. So why don’t you stop being a bitch and tell me what your problem is with me?” I dared, crossing my arms as I leaned against the bar and narrowed my eyes at him.
“Don’t take it personal, it’s your breed I have an issue with,” he declared.
“Women?”
“Women like you,” he corrected.
I raised an eyebrow at the boldness of his statement.
“Women like me?” I repeated. I didn’t know if I was insulted or baffled.
“Yeah, women like you can destroy men like us when you get mixed up in our world, a world you don’t understand or know how to be a part of,” he seethed.
My cheeks reddened as anger engulfed me.
“It’s pretty bold of you to lump me in a category with all the women who’ve scorned you in the past. You don’t know me. It’s impossible for you to know me because I’m still trying to figure out who I am.”
“Need help? Let me introduce you to yourself. You’re a good girl, sweet even, never did a bad thing to anyone,” he started, leaning close to continue. “You see a broken man like Jack and think you will be the one to fix him. It doesn’t matter there were others who tried and failed before you, because in your head they weren’t you and only you can be his savior. You try it your way first, try to give him a piece of yourself, your morals, your values and you hope they will rub off on him. That don’t work, never does, and you start to see the ugly, the shit that tears at his conscience. You hate it, you hate what he does and can’t believe the man you fell for is capable of such horrible shit. But, it’s too late because by then you’ve already fallen in love with him, so you adapt to his lifestyle, or at least you try. He thinks he’s got you, that you’re his saving grace, an answer to a prayer, until it ends. Until you’re either lost in the transition, taken from him or find the courage to walk away. And where does that leave him?” He hollered the question, the veins in his neck pulsing as he stared at me angrily. “I’ll tell you where it leaves him. It leaves him worthless, struggling and more than likely handing his life to the devil,” he spat.
I stared at Blackie, hatred in his eyes, but it wasn’t for me, no his hatred was for himself. I felt sorry for the guy.
“Are we talking about Jack or are we talking about you?” I asked quietly.