Jag (Pandemic Sorrow #1)

by Stevie J. Cole

  My throat tightened and I got choked up. Throwing the papers in the floor, I got up and pulled open my drawer, digging through it for some OxyContin. I swallowed back a few pills and sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor.

  I couldn’t stand it. The way she’d handled the entire thing pissed me off. I grabbed my phone and dialed her old number. I had no idea if she’d changed it, but I tried it anyway. The phone rang a few times and then someone picked up.

  “Hello?”

  I swallowed. “Stephanie?”

  There was a long pause. “Jagger?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I – I just wanted to ask you a few questions. About Layne.”

  Letting out a long sigh, she said, “Are you high?”

  Why was that always the first thing people asked? “No. Just thinking…” I lied. I mean, really, if you wanted to get technical, this wasn’t high. This was normal for me.

  “When are you gonna send those papers back?”

  I ignored her question. “My accountant said he got the account set up for him.”

  “Yeah. That was nice of you. You didn’t have to do that.”

  I wanted to scream at her, but I forced that urge down into the pit of my stomach. “Yeah. Well, I’m not as selfish as I guess you think.” I paused for a moment, hoping the pain pills I’d taken would hurry the hell up and make this torment disappear. “I see you named him after me.”

  “God, are you just now looking at those?”

  “Why’d you do that, huh? If I’m such a horrible fucking person, why name him after a piece of shit?”

  Grumbling under her breath, she said, “Oh, God. I thought you’d just sign the damn papers.” Her voice got louder as she continued. “You’re named after a drug addict, only seemed fitting your son be named after a few as well.”

  Shaking my head, I slammed my fist down onto my mattress, exerting a level of control I hadn’t in a very long time just to maintain my voice. “I wasn’t a drug addict when you left me.”

  Stephanie let out a long sigh. “No, Jag. You weren’t when I left, but you sure as hell were by the time I had him.”

  “When’s his birthday?” I mumbled.

  “What?” She sounded confused. “Read the damn papers!”

  “I said, when’s my son’s fucking birthday?” I stared down at those papers, anger ramming back up my throat again.

  “August 22nd’s his birthday.”

  Damn, that’s just three days after mine. “What’s his favorite color?”

  “Jag,” Stephanie huffed into the phone, “why are you doing this?”

  “Me? Why am I doing this? Nah, Steph, the question should be why did you do this to me?”

  “Jagger, I’m not about to –”

  I didn’t want to listen to any of her explanations about how I wasn’t good enough to be a dad, about how my lifestyle couldn’t fit some damn mold.

  “No!” I shouted, then lowered my voice, making it shake because I wanted to scream. “You want me to sign those papers, even contemplate signing ’em, and you’re gonna answer my questions.” I waited and after a few moments of silence, I said, “I mean, what have you told him about me? What do you tell him when he asks where his dad is?” I was just waiting for her to say that some other guy had stepped into those shoes long ago.

  She let out another huff. “What have I not told him, Jag? I think I’ve come up with every explanation I can think of.”

  “Why not just tell him the truth?”

  “He’s five! I don’t think a five-year-old could appreciate what I meant if I said his daddy was a self-absorbed, womanizing drug addict.”

  Letting out an angry groan, I jumped up from my bed and paced the floor. “Damn it! Stop that. There’s more to me than all that shit, and you know it. You – you…” I let out that scream that had wanted to come out since I heard her answer the phone. “You know, you left me. You left me. You made me promise I’d never leave you, but you left me. Without a damn reason, you just left, just like my dad. The damn devil has more of a fucking soul than you do! You had no reason to keep this from me. None!”

  I heard a little voice in the background ask, “Mommy, who are you talking to?”

  It sounded like she’d covered the receiver with her hand. “Nobody important, baby. Just somebody that needs a lot of help.”

  I started to hang up when I heard Layne speak again. “Then why do you look sad, Mommy?”

  “It’s just sad when people want something they can never have. Now, go brush your teeth.” Static came back over the line. “Just let me know when you’re done pretending like you care and are gonna send those to me,” she said, and hung up the phone.

  Chapter 19

  Every time I let something get to me, I’d end up with River. It most certainly wasn’t the fact that I could confide in her, but more or less the fact that I could take all my aggression out on her while having sex.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” River’s eyebrows furrowed, and she pouted those collagen-injected lips of hers.

  “Babe, I don’t know. You just – here.” I reached under her thighs and flipped her over, sending her blonde ponytail flying across my face.

  My fingers flinched into her hips, barely able to gather any meat as they wrapped around her protruding bones. I pulled her ass back against me and shoved my halfway hard dick into her before pulling out, then bit down on my bottom lip when I discovered I couldn’t get it back in. I drug my neck to the side and groaned. I knew a verbal assault was coming.

  A long, angry huff flew out of her. “Oh, my God, Jagger! Just lay off the damn coke for once, would you?”

  I flopped down on the mattress, pushing her away with my hand. “I haven’t done any coke. Shit, River!”

  She sat up and glared at me, her eye twitching as she tried to figure out if I was lying or not.

  Woe be unto the man who fails to perform for a woman. Hell knows no wrath like that of a fucking horny-ass bitch that can’t get off!

  “Really? Because this,” she grabbed my shrinking dick in her hands and squeezed so hard my leg jerked up, “this tells me you have!”

  Tossing the covers over my naked body, I shot her a smirk. “No. I haven’t. Maybe if you’d gain some damn weight I could get hard. Shit, eat something besides pills. How much do you fucking weigh now? Ninety-five pounds or something?”

  That pissed her off. She jumped up and stomped over to the side of my bedroom to grab her dress. “I fucking hate you!”

  “Really?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me before rolling them back in her head like that chick from Poltergeist. River was such a damn diva. Typical model: high maintenance, in constant need of reassurance, and constantly swallowing back laxatives with a bottle of wine.

  I propped my head up on my arm and slowly let the corners of my mouth curve into my trademark smile. “Nah. You don’t hate me, princess. Couldn’t if you wanted to. You need me too bad to keep up your image. Who else you gonna go to? You’re too proud to be with a band that hasn’t gone platinum.”

  I laughed and grabbed my dick, tugging on it a few times, then slapping it against my stomach. “And you know damn well no other guy’s gonna be able to fuck you into an oblivion the way I do.” I continued twisting my hand up and down, my dick growing harder with each stroke. I stood up and made my way over to her.

  She was still fuming: tight-lipped, red in the face, and wringing her dress between her skinny fingers. I combed my fingers through my hair, knowing she couldn’t resist it when my hair got all messy looking. “Now.” Pinching her hard nipple between my calloused fingers, I brought my face centimeters from her ear and blew a soft, hot breath that I knew would make her weak. “You’re gonna go lay your skinny ass down on that bed and spread your fucking legs open and let me fuck you until you’re raw. Got it?”

  My hand skirted down her side and around to her ass. Grabbing her cheek in my palm, I dug my fingers into her as hard as I could. I quickly ran my fingers underne
ath the curve where her ass met her leg and traced my fingers between her crack, sliding across the wet mess and only teasing to go inside her. River pulled in a surrendering breath, and I slapped her ass. “Go on over there and lay down.”

  Without protest, she glided across the white marble floor and sat on the edge of my bed. Her eyes locked on me, and she pulled one foot up onto the sheets that had already been torn halfway off the mattress, exposing her swollen pussy to me.

  My eyes fixed on her naked body in a predatory stare, and I knocked her back on the bed, fucking her as hard as I possibly could to get some of the pent-up aggression out of me. When she panted, “I love you,” I ignored it, fucked her harder, and just slammed my mouth over hers to shut her up. She didn’t love me. She loved the idea of me, that’s all.

  ****

  I was snorting a line off my bathroom counter when River stepped out of the shower. She rolled her eyes and sauntered out into my bedroom, dropping the wet towel onto the floor. I heard her opening my drawers, and I quickly walked out to see what the hell she was doing.

  I stopped in the doorway and glared at her. “Get out of my shit!”

  She continued rummaging through my belongings and pulled out an old Alice and Chains t-shirt of mine. She slipped it over her naked body, then she pulled the papers out and tossed them down on the dresser.

  “You gonna take care of that or what?” she snidely asked as she crossed her arms over her breasts and snapped her hip out to the side.

  I groaned and walked back into the bathroom to finish the other line I’d cut up.

  “Jag! I asked you a question. Are you gonna do something about that snot-nosed kid, or not? Because I’m not playing mommy to anyone!”

  I tossed the straw back down onto the counter, and it clinked as it rolled into the sink. I spun around to face her. “I’m not asking you to. And I don’t owe you an answer. Who the hell are you?”

  River leaned against the doorframe. “Your girlfriend.”

  I shook my head and rubbed the residue from under my nose. “No. You’re not. We’re not anything. I never said we were together, River.”

  “Really, Jag?” A psychotic-bitch glaze of rage smeared its way across her face.

  I stood there and stared at her, casting my eyes up her body. Her legs were so thin that there was about a one-inch gap between them when her feet were together. Every part of her face had been sculpted by a surgeon and plumped by Botox. Nothing about her was real; she had extensions, fake eyelashes, and fake tits. Her attitude was shit, and all we ever did was fuck and fight. I didn’t know what her favorite color was, her favorite flower. Come to think of it, I don’t know that we’d ever had a conversation that wasn’t centered around fame, fucking, or drugs.

  “Yeah, really. And if you thought we were, my bad,” I laughed.

  “I don’t believe you! You… you…” She let out an angry scream and stomped back into my room. “You are such a manipulative, egotistical, arrogant piece of fucking shit!” she yelled.

  Laughing to myself, I picked the straw back up and leaned over the counter. “Those are some pretty big words for you. Even know what the hell they mean?”

  Another angry shout came from her, and then I heard her jerking open drawers.

  “Hey,” I shouted, making my way to the bedroom. “What the hell are you doing now?” By the time I’d gotten there, she’d scooped every last pill bottle, bag of weed, and bag of cocaine up in her arms.

  When she saw me, she sprinted toward my living room, dropping one of the brown plastic bottles in the floor.

  I chased after her. “River! You better fucking put that shit back right now. I swear to God!”

  On her way across the room, she mumbled to herself. She ran out onto my patio and tossed all of my crap in the stone fire pit. She grabbed the lighter fluid and lighter from the glass table.

  I froze, terrified to make the wrong move. This bitch had lost her mind!

  “Don’t you fucking –” I screamed just as she squirted the fluid all over my drugs and placed the lighter to it. I watched in horror as the red and orange flames engulfed my stash.

  A primitive howl came out of me. My eyes widened, and my fingers dug into my sweaty palms. I really wanted to go over there and shake the shit out of her. Spinning around, I let out another scream and punched the side of my house. My knuckles split open, leaving bright red spots on the stucco. The pain did nothing to dull the anger. “You need to leave!” I panted.

  River glared at me, a wild smile flipping across her mouth. “So, Jag. We together or not?”

  Narrowing my gaze at her, I flung my arms up in the air. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a lunatic. Do you have any idea how much money you just set on fire? Hell, no!”

  She ran back in my house, and I followed her. She’d gone in the bathroom and dusted the remaining line of coke onto the floor. She was looming over the toilet, holding my silver straw. As soon as I stepped toward her, she dropped it and flushed the toilet. “Don’t fuck with me, Jag!”

  My eyes pulsed open. “Oh. My. God. If you don’t leave –” I roared. I knew I couldn’t threaten her. I knew if I tried to physically make her leave, she’d call the cops, and there I’d be with a domestic violence charge added to my record.

  I laughed. “You know, do you have any idea how many other girls I’ve fucked in the past few weeks? Some of them just a few hours before I fucked you? Hell, I’m surprised you couldn’t taste them on me.”

  Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. I was pretty sure that comment would be enough of a slap in the face to make her get the hell out. She went running out of my room. I followed her into the living room, and she headed toward the door. Thank God!

  Just as she passed in front of my couch, she made a sharp turn and went over to the side of the room where some of my awards were displayed. My heart leapt up into my throat, and heat traveled all over me. Every muscle in my body twitched. She wouldn’t.

  Grabbing my coveted MTV Moonman, she glared at me. “You remember getting this? If I recall correctly, I actually presented it to you. That was so damn cute, you know?” The corners of her mouth curled up into a vicious, vindictive bitch of a smile, and she lifted the Moonman over her head. “Well….” Hurling it down to the floor, she let out a scream. A loud crack echoed through the room. I watched the Moonman shatter, his head rolling across the floor as a large fissure splintered across my marble floor. “Fuck you, Jag Steele! Just fuck you!”

  She pranced past me, still wearing my favorite Alice and Chains shirt, and opened the door. I couldn’t move. My eyes were glued to my shattered award and my cracked floor.

  “I fuckin’ hate you!” she screamed at me, then slammed the door.

  Chapter 20

  I stumbled through the living room packed with sweaty bodies. I never did understand why Rush wanted so many fucking people, half of whom where complete strangers, at his house. There was a DJ, and the music blared through the various speakers so loudly it jumbled my thoughts.

  Hired waitresses with bottled water and shots of liquor glided through the sea of gyrating bodies. Rush “interviewed” the girls before he hired them. He took full advantage of his status. And why not? Rush prided himself in throwing stellar parties and thought that demanding each waitress wear black lace lingerie made the parties that much better. I’ll admit, it did add a nice aesthetically pleasing sexual touch to the atmosphere.

  My adrenaline was still up from the fight I’d had with River, and I was really in no mood to be at a social event completely sober. Screw sobriety. That was an institution I wanted no part of. I hopped over the roped-off area at the foot of the stairs and jogged up to the second floor. I made a beeline to Rush’s room and went straight into the bathroom, stepping over articles of clothing and empty beer cans on my way.

  “God, just get a housekeeper already,” I mumbled to myself as I flipped the light switch.

  I yanked out the first few drawers and rummaged through their conten
ts until I found his stash. In the middle drawer of the marble vanity, there was an overabundance of brown bottles filled with various shaped pills. I randomly selected one, skimmed over the name, Rush L. Wilder, and got to the important part, the identity of what was in the bottle. “Xanax.” That’ll do.

  I dumped a few out into my hand, swallowing them without a drink. I fished further back in the drawer and recognized the precious feel of a Ziploc bag under my skin. Pulling the bag out, I stared at the beautiful white substance. I dumped some onto the counter and took my wallet from my back pocket. I used a credit card to cut the coke up into several lines. Next, I opened my wallet and peered down where most people would stuff cash. River may have thought she knew all my hiding places, but she had no idea about this one. I dumped the metal straw from my wallet and it clinked against the marble, rolling to the back of the sink. I picked it up, holding it inches in front of my face, and remembered stuffing it into my wallet after I’d snorted my first few lines with James. This tiny piece of rolled metal was like an epitaph to the old Jagger. This was the bullet I’d shot through my own damn skull.

  Glancing in the beveled mirror, I said, “Rock god.” I nodded, clenching the straw tightly in my fist. “Rock god. Fucking rock god,” I repeated the phrase through gritted teeth. “Exactly what you always wanted,” I jabbed my finger at the reflection in the mirror, “to be a damn rock god. Well, you are – a drugged-out, arrogant, masochistic, lonely rock god!” Leaning over, I sniffed back the lines, one after another, because the way I felt at that moment, three wouldn’t be enough.

  I twisted the handles to the faucet and splashed some cold water on my face, washing the evidence from underneath my nose. Straightening myself up, I took one last glance in the mirror and walked out of the room. The loud bass rumbled through the curved stairwell as I descended. By the time I reached the landing at the bottom, my pulse had become erratic and that serene feeling of power had fueled me back up.