Page 22 of The Bones We Break
Throwing the gun back down on the table, I leave Logan in a dead slump and make my way back up the stairs into the main warehouse to find Nico in the main office clicking away on the computer.
“Clean that fuckwit up that’s downstairs.” I order then turn away, leaving the small office in my wake without giving him a chance to answer. My feet glide across the floor as I stridethrough the warehouse, pounds of cocaine are being packed and shipped into wooden crates all around me. My workers part like the red sea as I make my way through the grey brickwork shell. Pushing the cold metal door open, the hinges creaking I exit the building, instantly breathing in polluted air, then slip my hand into my trouser pocket, wrapping my fingers around the sleek car key. My matte black McLaren GT roars to life as I press the key fob, the engine vibrating the ground beneath my feet. Pulling the door open, I slip into the sleek black seat, the rich scent of leather infiltrates my senses. Putting the car into drive I press my foot against the accelerator, the rear tires spin in the gravel, creating a grey dust cloud behind me. Gripping the leather steering wheel in my hands I fire the car out of the rocky terrain and head to my office building.
I need to release some fucking stress.
The hot secretary with the tight little body I hired last week bobs her head up and down underneath my desk, my thick cock hitting the back of her throat with every thrust. She gags around my length but I don’t relent. Gripping the strands of her blonde hair that remind me of my wife’s, I yank at the roots to push her face further down into my pelvis. Her small nose presses against my sweaty skin, the tip of my cock touching her tonsils. Pure pleasure fires through me, and I throw my head back against my leather chair, legs spread wide under the desk.
“Fuuuck.” I groan. “Play with my balls, sweetheart.” The good little whore does as she’s told, cupping my tense balls in her palms. Why can’t all fucking women do as they’re told like this? I probably wouldn’t have to lay hands on my wife if she would just behave for me.
I release my grip on the hot secretary and run both my hands down my face, groaning in my palms. The sloppy noises coming from her mouth drive me wild, the wetness of her mouth makesit easy for my cock to slip in and out of her face hole. I sit back up again and slide my hands into her hair, pushing her face down until she struggles to breathe. Her legs start to kick out from beneath her, her small hands pushing against my thighs for a reprieve against my choking but I hold on for a moment longer before hot ropes of cum fire down the back of her throat, the release sending shock waves down my spine, sending me into a state of euphoria that I almost forget about the chick choking on my dick. Lifting her up, I pull her face off of me, her skin splotched with pink, the black eyeliner spilling down her face mixing with a slimy concoction of cum and saliva coats her lips and chin. She gulps, taking in sharp rapid breaths whilst I tuck myself back into my trousers, the gold wedding band on my left hand catching the light from the office ceiling lights. Stretching my aching legs, I push my chair backwards to make room forsuck job secretaryto clamber out from underneath the desk. She rises up onto shaky legs, brushing a hand over her matted hair, attempting to pull herself together. She tries to take a seat on my lap but I instantly put my hands up to stop her.
“This isn’t that kind of relationship, love. You did your job, now get back to the job I’m paying you for.” I say, shutting her down with my words. Her eyes widen in shock at my comment, but I brush it off. What does she expect? I’m a married man. Scooting the chair towards the desk again, she spins in a huff before striding over to the office door and yanking it open, letting it slam behind her.
“Fucking women.” I grumble to myself, raking a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots before releasing it. My hands land on the desk to shove piles of paperwork that’s strewn across it until I find what I’m looking for. Gripping the small, clear bag in my hand, I rub the plastic between my finger and thumb before dumping what’s left of the contents out onto thedesk. Desperately, I scrape together three lines with a random credit card, all equal in length, then fish out a hundred dollar bill from my trouser pocket, rolling it in my fingers, creating a tube shape. Pressing the bill to my nose I snort up the first line of coke, then the second, and lastly the third. The buzz raced through my bloodstream like a live wire.
My skin burns and pulses under my shirt.
I can feel myself spinning outside of my body.
All sensations heighten with every inhale, the forbidden white powder mixing my cells. My blood is loud in my head, a throbbing sound perforating my ear drums. I slump back into my seat letting the euphoric feeling wash over me. The sound of my office door opening,without a knock,brings me back down to earth.
“Boss?” Nico’s voice breaks the silence. “Clean up is done at the warehouse. We also might have a tip on where the shipment is, I’ll send some of the lower ranks to check it out first to see if it’s legit.”
All the anger I felt before comes rushing back to me. The thought that someone could crawl around in my fucking territory and hijack my shipment has me slamming my fist into the desk, the wood splintering under the force. Pure fucking rage makes me rise from the seat, every movement feels much slower than it is but I know I’m speeding, my body unable to slow down like an impending car crash. Nico remains standing at the door, gauging my every move as I walk around the desk, running my index finger across the top, tracing the edges. The silence is deadly in this room, the tension thick as I plan my next moves, figure out who is fucking me over.
My eyes scan the room, zoning in on the metal baseball bat I keep next to the window. I’m not sure when I make the decision,but I stride over to it, already feeling an electric pull towards the object. Wrapping my hand around the smooth handle, the cold metal a refreshing sensation against my boiling skin. Picking up the weighted bat in my hand, I drag it against the floor towards my rather expensive desk.
“Boss? Are you feeling alright?” Nico says, his voice wary. I shake my head and chuckle to myself. My grip on reality begins to slip away from me.No. No. No. I’m so fucked right now. Or am I?“Why does everyone need to ask if I’m alright? Do I not look alright?” I reply, sarcasm dripping through my tone. “I’m more than al-fucking-right. I feel fuckingfantastic, Nico.” A sinister edge to my deep voice, one that even I don’t recognise.
I lift the bat again, gripping both my hands around the handle and swing. The metal bar comes into contact with the wooden desk, the entire contents that laid on top now flies into the air and across the room, the splitting noise of the wood bouncing off the walls.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
I don’t stop, I can’t. Hit after hit after hit, blow after blow, the desk takes all my rage and anger. I see red. Complete and utter red. My violent blows batter the once pristine desk, into shards of splintered wood. I can feel my chest heaving from the exertion. Launching the bat across the room, the heavy iron bounces off the floor before it rolls into the far wall.
Bracing my hands on my hips I let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding in.Who knew you could turn an office into a rage room?Both my hands leave my hips and grapple with my hair, brushing through the strands to force it away from my face before I grab my suit jacket from the back of the chair and slip it on, fastening the single button at the front. Stepping over the wreckage of the room, I make my way over to Nico who’s remained in the same place this entire time. Placing a firm handon his suited shoulder. “Get someone to clean this up will you, pal.” I tap his shoulder with my fingers. “I’ve got a wife to see too. Call me with any updates.” I say, then slide past his huge frame to leave the office.
The warm rays from the sun break through the small gap of the curtains, sending a beam of light into the muted room. My heavy eyes flicker open at the intrusion. I must have slept pretty heavily last night. Stretching out my aching limbs I spread my arm across the bed, finding it empty, a small sigh of relief escapes my mouth. I assume Ricky slept downstairs last night after getting black out drunk, or went back to the office. Either way, I’m thankful. I don’t think my mind or body could have taken another beating like the one yesterday. The thought makes me run my fingertips over the gash that marks my forehead, the dried blood now flaking away like chipped paint. My mind goes back to the harm I did on myself last night in the bath which has me lifting my arm to inspect the damage. Pulling the sleeve up of the white pyjama top, the slices stare back at me. The blood has crusted around the edges and, I run my thumb over the cuts, a stinging pain following its wake, but I welcome it. It’s a pain I can control. That I have the power over.
Lowering the sleeve, I pull the heavy cover off of my body before swinging my legs out of the soft fabric to stand on the plush carpet, the small fibres squishing between my toes. I make my way over to the small en suite bathroom that connects to our bedroom, turning the gold handle to open the door.The cold tiles send a chill up my legs causing me to shiver all over as I flick on the small light switch, the room is suddenly illuminated in a white glow from the overhead spotlights. The brightness caused me to wince, blinking my eyes several times until they were used to the light. Turning on the taps a sudden flush of warm water splashes into the marble sink, the droplets speckling on the surface. I cup both of my hands under the water, gathering it into my palms before splashing it onto my face, instantly waking me up, then I lift my head and come face to face with a person I no longer know. My dull eyes trail over my face as I watch the droplets of water race against each other down my cheeks and nose, then dropping from my chin onto the counter. Placing both of my palms flat onto the marble, the heavy diamond ring twinkling in the lights, I use the coldness of the sink to tether me in place. If only me from the past could see me now, would she be disappointed in me? Angry at me for getting myself into this situation? I know I’m disappointed because I should have known better, it’s drummed into us at an early age to be wary of men, to protect ourselves, to never walk alone at night, to always be aware of our surroundings. But what happens when a charming man with a killer smile easily dodges all those obstacles, a man who carries a weapon, a man who walks you home at night, is the one to hurt you the most. I was blinded by a false sense of security, a love I thought was so real that I gave up everything for it, because I felt like I deserved it. I know I didn’t deserve this, no one deserves this. I often ask myself what makes a person so cruel? What sends them on this journey of terror and hate? Is it in their nature, the way they were raised or is something wired not quite right. I could spend the rest of my life trying to find these answers, but I already know I won’t be granted them.
After properly washing my face and brushing my teeth, Iquickly clean the wounds on my arm then flick the light off and leave the bathroom. Making my way across the wardrobe that’s built into the room, I slide the heavy door open, finding the same wash of creams and whites hung up in uniform order from blouses, skirts, trousers and sweaters. The view instantly depresses me.
How long will it be before I finally go insane?
Before I succumb to the darkness. To allow it to infiltrate my mind like a deadly virus.
To allow it to take over my system.
I wonder if I’ll go insane?
I scan through the contents, sliding hangers side to side to find.. Something, anything. Landing on a button up cream blouse with long sleeves and a pair of simple trousers, laying the clothes on the bed, I step out of my pyjamas and throw them into the wash basket before turning to stand in front of the full length mirror, my empty eyes scan over every inch of myself. The pale, blotchy skin almost looks translucent, like a rabid disease lies dormant underneath, waiting for the chance to burst free in a bloody mess. The frail bones are starting to protrude under the strict diet Ricky still has me on, the thin skin stretching over the hard surface. My fingers gingerly brush over the array of purples, blues and fading yellows that cover my skin like an oil painting. Each mark is tender, causing me to hiss through my teeth any time my hands graze over them.
I feel broken, damaged and used.
Immediately, I look away from my reflection and get dressed, quickly covering up the imperfections before walking back to the open door of the wardrobe to grab my shoes, I notice the hold-all bag that’s shoved at the back, the one I’ve been secretly stashing with clothes, a pair of shoes, small toiletries, essentialsand a small switch-blade I swiped from Ricky’s home office. Everyday I make eye contact with it, to remind myself that I will get out of this prison. That I can give this life up and start fresh somewhere new, where no one has any idea of who I am. Tears start to well in my eyes but I push them back before they can even fall. I refuse to cry because I need to be strong. I need to be patient. I nod to myself before sliding the door closed again then slip my feet into my shoes, leaving the bedroom behind.
After cleaning the whole kitchen again for the third time today, my fingertips are tender and red from all the chemicals. I go to move onto the next section of the kitchen when the doorbell rings. The doorbell never rings. If we have any deliveries, they’re never for me, and all of Ricky’s purchases go straight to his office.
