It’s a game to him, and I always play. The pushy,let’s-stab-some-more-buttons-to-see-if-we-can-get-the-other-to-snapgame.
It’s dangerous and exhausting. Especially with how persistent he and I are. Except he’s a psycho ass who picked my worst fear to use against me and decided to play off it.
“You might hate me,” he continues. “You might try to keep me out forever, and that’s your prerogative. But you can believe everything you hold near and dear to your fucking heart that I’llneverleave you alone, Bay.” He inches closer, stimulating my heart to beat faster in tandem with his next move. “I’m never giving you up. I’m never leaving you. You can be disgusted and full of hatred when you hear my name but that won’t be a Wildes child in your stomach. It’ll be a Morrison, a fuckin’ Stanton, but not a Wildes.”
“I’m a Wildes, dumbass,” I clap back. “Or did you forget that already?”
“You’re a Ryland. An Astor. You’re anything but a Wildes, Wildfire. As much as he tried to trap you and force that on you, we both know I killed his legacy from ever expanding. He can’t keep you. I already stole you away and took the only thing he had. And I don’t share.”
“You already have.”
“Ah, yes.” He smiles at me. “Well, maybe I do. However, it’s probably because I know what I’m capable of. I know every way to make your breath hitch. I know every time we’re in the same room…you can’t pry your eyes off me, and it kills you inside that I’ve sunken so deep underneath your flesh that I’m part of you. And you’re part of me. If you thought you were going to rid the world of what we’ve created, Bay Astor…I’d advise against it. The ocean was one thing…purposely killing something of mine is another. I might never forgive you for it. But it won’t make me give you up, only try for more of what you could give me.”
Then he ambles on his heels and begins out of the garage, where he leaves his promises with me.
The fucking dick.
If I didn’t want to be in the current situation I am now…I definitely feel it more now.
I never should’ve gotten involved with these boys.
But I can’t picture my existence in its entirety without them.
THIRTY-ONE
reeve
All good highsmust come to an end.
Especially when you find yourself in places you don’t know, with people you don’t remember, and your dick in some dude’s ass who looks like he’d kill your mother for his next line of coke.
I ended up in Chicago, spent a few nights there—I know, because the girls I was with kept mentioning it—and partied harder than I ever have in my life. My ribs and shoulders are colored in ink, one of random things I don’t remember picking or getting, but the shit’s not half bad, so I don’t spend too much time being pissed about it.
The goal as was simple as it’s always been—get so fucked up Bay Astor was a distant memory or if I got lucky, not one at all. The endgame was if I took enough Benzos, it’d give me some memory loss.
It didn’t.
I must’ve been given some slow-acting ones because I’d do whatever kind of drug I could get my hands on, just so I could reach the end zone I needed.
And my body was and is suffering from withdrawals like a motherfucker since I went cold turkey—thanks to Ozzy taking his sweet-ass time driving home—but I have to face the music either way.
I either die young or stay alive so my brothers don’t have to suffer the consequences of my bad decision-making.
The latter wasn’t one of my favorite ideas.
However, it didn’t mean I needed to go home.
Not until my motherfuckin’ back-stabbing dickhead of a brother from another mother decided to fuck around with my fun.
I might’ve been a little high on some sort of pills when he arrived, but I still remember what he did. No amount of drugs or pills was ever going to stop that from being a blinding reminder of what he took from me.
I could kill him.
Should have on the way home.
But I was in and out of consciousness because hestabbedme with a needle and told me to go to bed.
I’m not entirely sure what it was, but when I woke up, I was craving my next fix like a fiend.
