Black Clouds of Cotton (In Vein #2) - C.M. Radcliff Page 0,1
room laughing at the game they’re playing. It’s like I’m disconnected from it all, as if I’m just an outsider, watching life continue while I’m still stuck in the past.
“What’s wrong, girl?” Sloane questions me, nudging me with her arm. “You look lost.”
Because I am.
Glancing at her, I offer her a completely fake, small smile. “I’m good,” I lie. “I’m just pretty beat from work today.” I’ve gotten pretty good at convincing everyone that I’m okay. All of it is a façade, but as long as I keep my mask in place, no one can see how broken I truly am inside.
I watch Sloane walk to the fridge, and she pulls a beer from the shelf. She turns around, twisting off the top with a smirk. “You know, Ryland has been asking about you a lot.”
Ryland is one of the guys who’s become a part of our group of friends that we hang out with. We met him last semester in one of our science classes. Although we’re both here for the nursing program, he’s at Red Rock for premed. He has high aspirations and a drive to be envious of.
I wasn’t in the mood for new friends when we first met, but he was persistent as hell. Between his messy brown hair and soft gray eyes, it was hard to tell him no after he tried for weeks just to talk to me. Behind the good looks, I quickly became friends with a decent guy. What you see with him is what you get. There aren’t any secret agendas or ulterior motives with Ryland.
And drugs. He wouldn’t dare to even smoke a joint.
“Come on.” I let out an exasperated sigh, rolling my eyes at her. “We’re just friends.”
That stupid fucking smirk is still on Sloane’s face as she raises her eyebrows. “And he just so happens to be interested in you.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I cut my eyes at her. “That doesn’t mean that I’m interested in being anything more than friends with him.”
“Maybe you should be,” she says with a shrug. Her face softens slightly as she walks to me and lightly grabs my arm. “Maybe it’s time to try to move on. He’s not coming back, girl.”
Swallowing over the lump that forms in my throat, I follow Sloane’s eyes as she looks back out into the living room. I catch Ryland staring at us and a smile forms on his lips as my gaze meets his. He holds his glass up to salute me and I nod in response as my hand is empty. Tilting his head back, he takes a slow sip of the bourbon in his glass.
He’s everything that Ander isn’t and maybe that’s exactly what I need.
2
Ander
Lying on my back, I stare at the stained ceiling above me. My eyes trace the brown patterns of the cracks etched in the paint. A small droplet of water forms from one of the darkened spots and drips onto my forehead. I wipe it away, feeling the weight of the drugs in my system weighing my arm down. It takes all the strength that I can muster to scoot to the side until I move out from under the water leaking from the room above.
The springs from the cheap mattress dig into my spine as I move across the firm surface. It’s hotter than Satan’s asshole in the small, stuffy room. The summer months here are always brutal, but an air conditioner was never in my budget and is the least of my worries. I’d rather die from heatstroke than go through withdrawal.
Even if I did buy an air conditioner, it would just end up at a pawnshop anyway.
Inhaling deeply, I slowly drag the tattered fleece blanket away from my body and sit up on the bare mattress that lies on the floor. The room spins as a whooshing sound rings in my ears, violently bouncing off my eardrums. My head drops into my hands as I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out any external stimuli.
The dizziness has been happening more frequently and I’m sure it has everything to do with the mass quantities of heroin I’ve been injecting into my bloodstream multiple times a day. That, combined with the other drugs I’ve been throwing into the mix, is a recipe for death. I’ve built up a tolerance to the shit, and it takes a lot more for me to reach anything close to the high I’m on a wild goose chase for.