Page 15 of Find Me

I was wondering when he was going to bring up the bills he saw in the kitchen. “It’s nothing.” I try to deflect.

“What, still haven’t figured it out since Mommy and Daddy stopped supporting you?”

His comment threatens to crack open a Pandora’s box of emotions locked inside of me, and a part of me wants to unleash the internal dialogue I have almost daily. I want to tell him how it’s so much more complicated than them not supporting me, how worthless I feel after they cut me off without a second thought, and how I still feel the sting of their words when I read their email. I want to show him the self-doubt that comes with every decision I make, but also how my love for painting makes me want nothing more than to continue on this path in life, a path that doesn’t make me miserable.

I close my eyes, willing the emotions to stay below the surface, unable to share them with Rhett just yet.

“They haven’t ever supported me in the way I need Rhett, but if you’re talking about my apartment then no, they also have never paid for it,” I answer simply.

He nods, clearly thinking about what I’ve said.

“So, if they’ve never supported you, have you always had a bunch of overdue bills sitting on your counter, or is this something new? I find it hard to believe that a trust fund baby is having money issues.” He smirks.

I give in. “Fine, if you must know all the details, my parents were helping me with school, but I’ve always been responsible for my other bills. When I dropped out, they cut me off completely, leaving me with a bunch of outstanding bills. Without a job right away, I got off to a bit of a rocky start, but I’m working on it. And Rhett?” I say, pausing. “While I might have been a trust fund baby, I was never allowed to touch that money. Not all of us have Daddy’s credit card,” I snip.

He takes another drag of the joint, looking thoughtful after my speech.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling for cash?” he asks blatantly.

I pause, sighing audibly.

“Because it’s embarrassing, okay? It’s embarrassing that I don’t have my shit together enough to pay rent or afford all the groceries I used to eat, and that I was counting pennies after a shift at a diner to see if I could afford my bus fare home. And it’s embarrassing that my entire family wants nothing to do with me anymore. I guess a part of me worried that if you knew the extent of what was going on, knew just how broke I was, you’d realize just how much I don’t fit into your life, and you’d feel the same as them.”

He smiles, the mischief flickering behind his eyes again.

“Well,” he says, putting the joint out on my nightside table, “it’s a good thing I’m not here for your money.” He winks. “How much do you need?”

“I appreciate the offer, I truly do, but I don’t want your charity, Rhett,” I say, my cheeks flushing at the embarrassment of this whole conversation, shame creeping into my chest.

“You might not want my charity, but it sounds like you need it.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

I look at him pensively, momentarily confused as I’m unable to read the look behind his gaze.

“I’m happy to lend you some money. We could even come to some sort of arrangement, so it doesn’t feel like you’re getting a handout,” he suggests lightly.

I stifle a laugh. “Oh, like I clean your apartment on the weekends or something?” I say jokingly.

“Something like that.” He smiles.

“I’ll consider it. But I’m not wearing a maid outfit,” I joke, attempting to change the topic and lighten the mood.

“I’d prefer if you don’t wear anything at all… whether you’re cleaning my apartment or sitting on my lap.”

His eyes smolder as he pulls me in close to him, pressing his lips to mine.

“I think we’ve done enough talking for today,” he says as he gestures to my shirt, “let’s get this off of you.”

He pulls the shirt up over my head and the sensation of it skimming against my skin causes a shiver to run down my spine, the coke causing my nerves to feel like they are on high alert. Even though I’m not even slightly in the mood for this now, I want nothing more than to change the topic and this is a distraction that will do just that for both of us.

He brings his mouth to mine again, his hands roaming my body, each touch feeling more intense, more real. His shirt is next to come off, and he throws it onto my dresser before flipping me so I’m underneath him on the bed.

His hands trail down my body, leaving a path of tingling sensations in their wake. Pleasure starts to wash over me as I watch him undo his belt buckle, an intoxicating mix of anticipation, desire, and cocaine making my heart race. He pulls down my pants and I shimmy out of them, wrapping my legs around him as he unbuttons his jeans, his hard length springing free. Foreplay is forgotten as he enters me in one thrust, and I wince at the sharp sting within as he quickly sets a relentless pace.

Even though I struggle to keep up with his thrusts, I am too busy surrendering to the high I am on to find the need to care. I stretch back beneath him, tilting my head up and closing my eyes, getting lost in the sensation of everything I am feeling. His heavy breathing and grunts fill my ears, and the smell of his sweat is tangy in my nose.

But try as I might to enjoy this moment, beneath the haze of pleasure, pain, and drugs, a nagging thought tugs at the corner of my mind. It whispers reminders of consequences, of risks taken recklessly in the name of euphoria. I push the thoughts aside quickly, wanting to live in the present moment, and chase the happiness that seems to be within reach, at least for now.

CHAPTER 9

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