Page 66 of Shamed
“What is it?”
Shrugging, she leans closer. “I’m not too sure. I just know that after taking it, I don’t give a fuck, and I feel really chill and loopy.”
“Loopy doesn’t sound good,” I mumble, eyeing the pill in her hand.
“I don’t mean like losing control of your senses. It’s more like feeling lightheaded, free.”
“But you don’t even know what it is?” Even as I stare at her hand with wariness, I can’t help the temptation snaking through me, whispering to take it and not feel so much. Just for one night.
Be free.
“No. But Sascha takes them, too.”
My eyes flicker to hers. “Is that supposed to be a winning argument?” I don’t know much about Sascha, except that she actually likes giving private lap-dances, and she’s been here longer than most.
The fact she gets requested a lot is probably something to be noted. She either takes whatever this is because she’s requested a lot, or she’s requested because she takes one of these pills and is more “free” with them.
Charity sighs, exasperated. “Look, I heard the private rooms were a struggle for you, and I just wanted to help, okay? I’m not some pill-popping junkie or a pusher.” She slaps her hand with the pill palm-down on my vanity. “You can think on it for a minute and take it or leave it. But if you’renotgoing to take it, you come find me and give it back. Those things aren’t free, you know.” She walks away, leaving the pill on the vanity.
It sits there like a little beacon of . . . what? Hope? Hope that I can make it through the night without breaking down?
Or is it hopelessness that it symbolizes? Will it be so amazing, so freeing, that I don’t know how to get through a regular night without one?
I grab the pill, open the drawer in front of me, and shove it in there before pushing back.
It’s a bad idea.
I can do this.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mase
Ipark down the street from the club, the engine rumbling softly under me as I sit behind the wheel for a moment before getting out.
Not for the first time, I question what I’m doing as I stare out my dirtywindshield.
Turning up here almost every night to walk a woman home that I hardly spoke to in high school—a woman who doesn’t even want me around, is prickly, and overall wary as fuck of me—is hardly normal.
But the thought of something terrible happening to her, like it could have the other night if I hadn’t miraculously appeared when she so clearly needed someone, constantly pokes at the back of my brain.
What would happen if they followed her again, and I’m not there?
That’s the main reason I keep turning up, night after night—or so I keep telling myself.
Pushing my truck door open with a creak, I jump out onto the worn road, then start my trek down the street on an even worse sidewalk. I walk past cracked windows and boarded up doors, past people resting on decrepit steps, hunched over and lost in their fucked-up minds.
It’s depressing in these early morning hours, but I can’t imagine it looks much better during the day when the sun is shining.
I’m fortunate enough not to have to start work at the gym until noon and can usually sleep in, so while my late nights have left me a little more tired than usual, I’m not struggling to get up and get to work. I’m perfectly able to concentrate on my clients, which is important when working with weights.
Resuming my usual position of leaning against the uneven brick wall, I pull out my phone, scanning over the texts with Neil from earlier. He’s expecting his second child with his wife, Sienna—Jason’s younger sister, of all people—sometime soon, but that’s not what he texted me about.
Neil: I’m not sure if you’ve been keeping up to date on things, but Jacob is being released soon. A few months ahead of time due to good behavior.
Me: Why are you telling me this?
Neil: I just thought it would be good to know.
