“Two will be enough?”
“With how much I’m putting—fuck yeah.”
“Hurry up, then. I’m fucking scared.”
“Just hold him down. Grab his arm.”
Owen tries to scream through his gag, but he can barely make a sound with the weight on top of him. Joe raises Owen’s bound hands, holding them firmly until the needle slides into his flesh. It burns badly, but it only lasts a few seconds.
Joe moves to stand, leaving Owen panting on the couch, his clothes stuck to his sweaty skin. He shouldtry to sit, but his body feels heavy. His pain, though, is less severe now. His heart is beating slower, no longer sprinting in his chest. With his cheek on the couch, he watches the white wall in front of him turning from white to pale yellow.
Carlos taps the back of Owen’s head, telling him to enjoy the ride. But how can he enjoy it if underneath the sensation lies the dark realization that he’ll be dead soon, left to OD alone in the woods?
“Estúpido,” Joe says. He’s sitting on the table, watching Owen as he lies quietly. “Don’t ever be a hero. Life ain’t no fucking movie.” He asks his brother, “When’s the second shot?”
“In a minute.”
Owen’s brain urges him to fight and scream, but it’s clearly overestimating what his body is capable of. His muscles feel like liquid, his bones like rags.
“Hold his arm,” Carlos says, his voice far away.
Joe leans closer and raises Owen’s bound arms. The needle slides into his flesh again, not hurting like before.
His restless brain chants,Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The brothers speak about dragging him back into the van, debating where would be the best place to leave him. Before they can decide, they stop mid-sentence, or maybe it’s Owen’s ears that have stopped working. He doesn’t trust any part of his body anymore.
Carlos speaks—yells—at Joe, and they move aroundthe house as if searching for something. Owen watches through narrow eyes. His skin begins to burn as if it’s catching fire. It reaches his lungs, making it harder to breathe.
Fuck, fuck, fuck,goes his brain.Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“We can’t let them inside!” Joe shouts. “I told you it was a mistake!”
Seconds later, Carlos shouts as well, “They’re coming from the garage!”
It all sounds exciting, but Owen is a flame, burning on the couch. He shakes and growls, the zip tie cutting through his flesh. His veins are melting. He tries to crawl away and ends up crashing to the floor, though he barely notices the impact.
Got to stop the burning.
His heart is a bomb, exploding again and again. His throat is a narrow straw that can’t provide enough air. There’s a tornado raging in his head, and the only thought that comes through is—this is death.
Thunder cracks. Owen would have jolted if he wasn’t convulsing on the floor. Another crack of thunder, and then another. People are yelling.
He uses the last traces of clarity he has to pray for all of this to stop. If death is the only way out, then let it claim him.
Let it claim him right fucking now.
*
The music is too loud at this party, but he likes it. Young men dance all around him, hugging and kissing. Most are shirtless, with a few in their underwear. It’s an underground party, which makes it easier to buy and sell drugs.
Unfortunately, Owen is broke. He’s been sleeping on couches at people’s houses, but he has overstayed his welcome. Earlier, he got a pill from someone whose name he didn’t catch. They danced and kissed before drifting apart like strangers. This club is packed with faces he recognizes, but all are strangers. He doesn’t need them to feel good; he just needs another pill to keep his spirit up and stop the nagging voices from resurfacing.
The voices call him a loser, taunting him for throwing his life away. One more pill is all he needs to silence the voices, then he can find someone to spend the night with. And he’s hungry. The pills make it easy to forget, but he hasn’t eaten for many hours.
Hands on his hips. Someone is grinding against his ass. It’s rude yet acceptable in this sort of party. Owen turns around, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of Lee.
“Hey, Big O!” He hugs Owen, his pointy hair scratching Owen’s cheek. “You look good, man. Why are you dancing all alone?”
