Page 4 of The Addict

Admittedly, he’s been a part of my life longer than I can remember. Even though we had a four year age difference, we coexisted in the same societal habitat, performing similar duties regarding responsibility and constantly saving face for our family reputations. Granted, Silas was more in the public eye than me. I sort of found it easy to fall into my brother’s shadow, him being twenty six and significantly more mature than me. Silas, on the other hand, had no siblings. He was an only child and his upbringing was … complicated. I sized him up in the darkness, noting how formally dressed he was, wondering what he was doing down the back alleys at this hour, with company like me.

Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to his ambiguity. Our paths kept intersecting. I yearned to unmask him and his secrets. Sensing the thickness in the air around us, I considered if he was interested in unmasking me too.

“Hansen,” Silas affirmed with a sharp nod. He reached out and took my hand, slowly guiding my fingers with the joint up to his mouth. His lips enclosed around the near finished bud and he took a drag without bothering to remove the joint from my grasp.

I watched as he took the hit, a look of satisfaction on his face that I surely displayed also. Silas’s hand still encased mine, dexterous in nature, holding a history of calluses despite his privilege. Someone of Silas’s affluence would be thought to have smooth hands, silky, those of the unworked and overpaid. But I was aware of his track record of fighting. He too, had a knack for getting into trouble, and perhaps, this is why we both got along, despite our families’ being at odds with each other.

“Put a bit extra in this one, did you?” He asked with a raise of his brow, knowing full well that it wasn’t rolled with just good ole MJ.

“How are you?” I countered, deliberately dodging his question. I brought the smoke back to my lips, noticing how Silas’s fingers lingered on my hand longer than they should have. I took the puff, knowing I had met my limit. I shouldn’t have many more. The blend of weed and cocaine in addition to my earlier drinks were a dangerous combination. My vision was already starting to blur, one more and I’d be rolling. Blackout.

Probably not a bad idea to forget this night all together, I contemplated. How boring and uneventful the evening had been.

Until now.

“I’ve been better,” was the answer Silas provided. I chuckled and handed the joint over to him to finish it off.

I observed him take his fill. The street lamp illuminated his face perfectly as he turned back to me. Our eyes deadlocked, and he released the smoke around us both, the second hand flowing so freely into my face, that I couldn’t help but part my lips to take in more. The hit sent me.

There we go. I was fucking flying now.

I secretly admired his attributes while the darkness shaded the direction of my prying. Silas was tone, and devilishly handsome. His shoulder length, flowing, chocolate hair was bound loosely in a bun, the color contrasting beautifully with his pale skin. His angelic colored eyes were the most defining quality about him. Deep pools of the finest sin and lies.

Silas shifted, placing his hands in his pockets. “Work shit, you know,” he continued awkwardly, trying to fill the silence.

I didn’t know, actually, because unlike him, I hadn’t held a job for more than a few days. Compared to Silas, I remained blissfully unaware of working responsibilities. I intended to remain that way.

“All that’s on my plate. It’s fucking suffocating me,” he huffed, and I watched as a strand of hair drifted down his face and past his jaw. I couldn’t really focus on anything he was saying at the moment. I was awestruck by him in the midst of my high.

“What?” he questioned my scrutiny. His nerves were elevated. I couldn’t recall a time when I saw Silas expose his emotions, so I knew I was making him uncomfortable.

I kind of liked it.

Ever since our teen years, I understood that Silas was different. Though unspoken, it was known. Silas was orphaned at a young age and essentially adopted by his uncle. As we grew older, we both resorted to drugs, alcohol, and sex to get by our fucked up lives. I never judged. Who was I to judge, honestly? I could relate. In fact, if I had an autobiography, the title would read as such: The Incredibly Fucked Life of Noah Hansen.

Speaking of fucked up, I was exactly that. I burned for touch and was ready to rock the boat. Regardless of the source, sex was sex in my mind. On the other hand, I was highly aware of what Silas preferred. For the longest time, I had suspected that the proper Mr. Thorne had a thing for me. Even if it were true, I knew he’d never admit it. At least, in public.

So here we were: Alone, except for the two idiots that Silas brought along, nobody else here to bear witness to what I was about to do.

I released a shuddered breath. Our eyes never broke contact, and I decided to test the waters.

“And what do you think would make you feel better?” I asked, tentatively fingering the buttons on his shirt.

Silas’s eyes shifted to the idle pace of my wandering fingers, his eyes igniting. “What the hell are you thinking, Hansen?”

I licked my lips. “You tell me.”

Silas was struck silent, staring at me. I observed the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His hands twitched before clenching together tightly at his side. He did not protest my touch. My hands slid down his shirt slowly, from button to button, stopping where the shirt met pants.

Silas tensed. “What are you doing?” he nearly whispered. His eyes glanced sharply upwards into mine. They sparked with curiosity and lust.

And…what else was that in there?

Fear?

I met his stare with my own, half lidded, and a little cock of my head. “Do you want me to stop?”

Silas growled and roughly grabbed my hair, yanking my head upwards to crush our lips together. His switch flipped so fast, I didn’t even have a moment to process that he was actually kissing me. I stumbled into his grasp, unable to fight him off even if I wanted to. My hands cupped his face, and I pushed open his mouth with mine. A strangled moan rewarded me and his tongue dove between my parted lips. The sweet fragrance of weed still stained our breath as we pressed together.