by Daya Daniels
Griffon’s gaze is on me.
I exhale.
He shifts.
“It’s because of what they lack that can create a powerful interest.” I purse my lips. “A connection. A desire. The realization that you will be understood by that person. And when it becomes apparent that you will be…BOOM. You’re addicted, fiending for them like a junkie does on the street corner for blow.”
Samantha’s expression is intense.
“It must be amazing to be someone’s addiction,” I whisper. “To be loved that way.”
Griffon’s eyes narrow.
“No one loves me that way,” I admit.
Doctor Azad clears his throat. “No one loves you, Ryker?”
“No, not like that,” I deadpan, still looking at my hands and the scars that decorate my wrists, thinking of every single time I cut, how I admired the blood that trickled from them. Each one date and time stamped with the pain I felt when I’d put them there.
“I believe in that sort of love,” Samantha says softly.
Without looking up, I speak. “I don’t have much to offer.” I stare at my hands. “But I can give the little I have.” I lift my head and make eye contact with everyone in this depressing circle.
“In exchange for what?” Griffon asks.
“In exchange for love,” I say simply.
Doctor Azad gifts me with a steely expression.
I ignore it.
The room falls silent.
“I do anything for a piece of someone’s soul,” I confess.
Griffon pulls his hood over his head. Inhaling sharply, he gazes over to Doctor Azad, then slouches so low in his chair he’s practically lying down.
Doctor Azad looks hopeful for a moment.
“My mother, Giulia, was a waitress at a popular diner on 9th Avenue.” Griffon stops, breathes angrily, holds my gaze. “She’s been gone for ten years now. I miss her. Everyone remembers her for being a kind, loving person and the woman who made the best coffee cake on the block.” He lowers his eyes, stares at the floor. “We were close.”
The room is so quiet, I swear I can hear every single heart in this room beating.
Griffon exhales. “A month after my tenth birthday, she was diagnosed with Stage 4 pancreatic cancer. No symptoms. No warnings. And just like that…” He snaps his fingers. “She was dead.”
Doctor Azad stares intently at Griffon, then scribbles down a few notes as he always does. Notes for now? Notes for later? Scribbles for our files? Jokes about what freaks we are. Who knows!
I keep my eyes on Griffon, curious.
“I’m really sorry, Griffon.” Samantha touches his arm softly.
Griffon flinches as if he fears she’s just infected him.
“My parents are second-generation immigrants from Napoli. My grandparents are dead—my mother’s and my father’s. My parents had no siblings and as a couple they kept to themselves outside of the church community they were a part of. So, my parents were my world.” He sucks his teeth. “This might sound strange but when my mother died my father died too.” He huffs. “When my mother died, I lost everything.”
My heart beats, beats, beats for this beautiful boy.
Doctor Azad remains expressionless. “What do you mean by that, Griffon?”
“My father was never the same after she was gone. He works hard, barely making ends meet. He goes home every night. Sometimes I even hear him crying before he goes to sleep. Especially on her birthday and their anniversary. That’s when it’s the worst.”
Doctor Azad frowns.
“I guess we just got lost after she died,” Griffon whispers.
“Is that why you use, Griffon?” Doctor Azad questions. “I mean, there’s never any one reason why someone becomes an addict. It’s a multitude of things, but do you think that’s part of why you do it?”
Griffon doesn’t answer, only exhales so loudly his chest expands with the action. “I don’t want to blame my addictions on life circumstances that couldn’t be helped, Doctor Azad.”
“Good, good, since self-pity never helps.” Doctor Azad nods.
“The blow always made me feel powerful and accepted. It made me into the guy I had always wanted to be. I was handsome and charismatic and charming. Not this…” He lifts his arms gesturing to himself. “Not this lonely, closed-off human who prefers to be alone and to not talk to anyone about anything.” The disdain he carries for himself spills from his lips like poison.
It’s something I fully understand.
The reality that the drugs make you someone else. A person who you begin to believe is better than the real you. For me, the drugs made me calm, less combative, less angry. More tolerable. They transported me to another place where I didn’t have to worry about anything. Not my circumstances and certainly not my sad fucking life story.
The drugs become a panacea.
The magic bullet that murders your pain.
Your vice.
And Griffon hates himself for that, just like I hate myself sometimes.
No, all the time.
I clench my teeth.
“I hate doing this, Doctor Azad.” Griffon gives the good old doc a hard stare as if he’s about to pounce on him. “I hate this more than you know.” He shakes his head.
“This is a part of the process, Griffon. I’m sorry but this is a part of the work you must do to understand yourself better. You must be open.”
A line of head nods follows Doctor Azad’s whispered words.
“So, when you told me you hated your mother…”
“I don’t know why I said that, Doctor Azad. I don’t hate her.” Griffon frowns.
“So, Griffon, the story about her always smelling like cologne?” Doctor Azad waits for a response.
Griffon smirks. “My mother never cheated on my father, I’m sure of it…They were in love.”
A tiny laugh vibrates my chest.
“And the story about the TV?” Doctor Azad squints.
Griffon laughs. “Yeah, that was true.” He keeps his head low. “But, I do miss Giulia every single day. I miss her for me. I miss her for my father. But there’s no going back, right? Once someone is dead that’s it. It’s curtains. Lights out. You must move on without them.”
“What’s your relationship with your father like?” Doctor Azad asks.
“It’s strained. We don’t talk much. We grew apart after she died.” His knee jumps uncontrollably. “Are we done?” His thick dark brows shoot up.
“Yes, Griffon, for today we are done.” Doctor Azad’s mouth twists into a grim line.
“Good.” Griffon rockets from his chair and stomps from the room.
An easy smile spreads across my face.
Across Doctor Azad’s too…but the second he faces me, it disappears.
I stay in my seat, unable to move and too broken over Griffon’s truth.
Are we done?
Griffon’s pissed-off question resonates in my head.
We are far from done.
In fact, forever away from it.
It appears our story is just beginning.
GRIFFON
AFTER THE EXTRACTION A few hours ago, my temples are throbbing.
With my head lowered, I stare at the half glass of water in front of me resting on the counter and the two pink pills next to it.
The large nurse, Mary, lingers in front of me, giving me a grumpy face.
I stare at the pills for much longer than necessary pushing away the thought that I wish they were something else when I spot the tiny letters etched into the chalky things telling me they’re just acetaminophen for the painful invasion in my brain.
Mary guards the pills like they’re plutonium as if I’m going to do something dangerous with them like blow up the universe. I look around for the bottle that they came out of, but of course it’s been packed away, put back in its vault.
The ticking of the clock on the wall reminds me of how late it is and how annoyed I feel about what had happened e
arlier today. I don’t even know why I did it, not really anyways. At this point, I’ll do anything to get out of this place as soon as possible.
“Are you going to take them?” Mary’s voice cuts into my miserable thoughts.
I snatch up the pills and toss them into my mouth, chewing them quickly then throw back the water, swallowing it all in one go. I slam the plastic cup down like I’ve just done a shot and open my mouth when Mary gestures showing her that the medication has gone down my throat.
“Good.” She smiles. “Have a good night.”
She doesn’t mean a word of it.
“Yeah, you too.”
Neither do I.
I head away from her and down the wide white hallways, listening to the slap of my flip-flops against the tile. I walk slowly, embracing the silence.
I stop when I make it to Doctor Azad’s office. The door is cracked. He’s sitting to his desk typing away. I debate if I want to go inside. I think he’s picked my conscience enough today.
Do I really want to be mind-fucked again?
No, thanks.
I keep walking.
“Hey, Griffon, dude.” Mason rushes to catch up with me. “You okay?”
I look at him, say nothing.
He fakes a laugh and walks in stride with me. “You know twice a week the guys meet in the rec room and play pool. I thought maybe it would be nice if you joined us sometime.”
“No, thanks.”
“You don’t play pool? Maybe we could play something else then like poker, checkers or chess.”
“I only play sports in the winter.”
His mouth is gaped open. “What?” When we make it to his room, he remains just outside the door. “What the hell does that mean, Griffon?”
I keep walking.
“Okay, Griffon!” he calls out. “Next time then.”
Yeah, sure.
I’m exhausted as hell.
Passing a small room where the telephone is, I stop. I don’t know how long I stand there for just staring at it, accepting I have no one else to call really besides Giovanni and my boss who makes it a point to call here once every week and ask me how things are going which I’m grateful for.
I find myself walking once more for a long while. The ache in my head eases slowly until it’s gone completely. See, little pills work wonders. I smile a bit.
The bang of the lights shutting off makes me flinch.
Hallway by hallway and room by room they go out, casting Spero into nightlight shade, allowing the moonlight outside to shine down through the windows.
When I make it to my room, I grab the cold handle, punch in my passcode and push the door open.
My breaths leave me ragged and rapid.
I’m stuck to the floor.
It’s one of those moments…when you think you’re in love. And then when your pounding heart skips a beat, you’re pretty sure you are.
“Close the door.” The deep familiar voice skitters through the cool air in here.
Why are we always meeting like this?
Ryker sits on the edge of my bed, his face highlighted by the moonlight that creeps into the room. It dusts his forehead, the bridge of his nose and his beautiful mouth silver.
Pearl Jam’s “Alive” echoes from the iPod dock resting atop the desk in the corner.
I shut the door slowly waiting for the click.
Secondly, how did he get in here?
Ugh.
It’s useless to wonder.
Standing in front of the door, I spot the book on the bed—Richard II.
“I want you to read it.” Ryker taps two fingers on the leather cover.
“Oh, what makes you think I want to?”
He smiles. “You will.”
Motherfffff…
I arch a brow.
“I don’t have to encourage you much to do the right thing.” He grins. “It’s refreshing.”
My face falls while I wait for him to finish his annoying words.
“To know that someone is listening to me—that I’m heard.”
I remain still.
“Thank you.” He tips his head in my direction. “But I suspect you won’t be saying the same thing back to me.”
Biting my lip, I gaze out the window at the endless trees, then look back at him. “No, I think I will actually. Thank you.” The words leave me slow as I accentuate them. “Because now Doctor Azad tells me that with a few more private sessions I’ll be able to leave.”
He stares at me blankly.
“So, thank you,” I repeat.
Ryker’s smile is weak as if he wants to stop his lips from forming the shape. “You’re very welcome then.”
Walking over to the bed, I stop in front of him, peering down the line of my nose at his form. The closeness affects me. He gazes up at me, big blue eyes beneath messy dark hair.
“I’m not your bitch.” I shove my fingers into his hair, letting the strands slip over my fingers, admiring the hue of them against my pale skin.
Ryker stares. He breathes. But he doesn’t say a word.
I ignore the pounding in my chest and the heat raging up the back of my neck. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” I stroke his hair softly, debating if I truly understand what I’m saying and, honestly, I’m not sure if I believe it. “I’m not your bitch.”
“Of course not.” His hand slides up my left thigh. I don’t move, only allow his fingers to drag over the thin material of the lounge pants I’m wearing. He stands slowly and leans in, dragging his nose along my cheek, my jawline, my lips, teasing me.
I open my mouth a little, still frozen, breathing in the crisp scent of his skin, falling into the feeling of his warmth mixing with my own and his minty breath.
“I’m not your bitch.” The words leave me in a desperate breath.
“Tell me you love me, Griffon.”
What?
His blues suffocate me. They beg. “Tell me you love me?” His warm breath puffs against the shell of my ear as his hand slides up the back of my sweaty neck. “Tell me.”
Rigor mortis has set in.
I’m stiff, literally!
When Ryker backs away, I search his face.
He’s completely fucking serious.
“Tell me you love me, Griffon.”
“I—I—love you.”
His shiny teeth nip at my chin. “Say it like you mean it.”
“I love you.” This time it comes out with more assurance.
Smiling, he cups my face by the sides, peering into my eyes. “I love you too.”
Okay.
Before I can explain or ask what the fuck we are doing, his mouth slams into mine and we’re locked in a soul-altering kiss. Our tongues tangle, wet and sweet. Our tastes mix. Our breaths are shared. Hands everywhere. Chest to chest, lips to lips, two exploding spirits. I pull him close, controlling the speed and depth of the kiss, pushing my tongue as deep into his mouth as it will go hoping to taste his heart.
Quaking, we hold onto each other, trading strength, desperate to have more.
And in this moment, he-is-all-I-want.
A billion times over.
Him.
I
want
this.
We back away from each other breathless, panicked, hard as fuck.
Ryker wipes his wet mouth just as my eyes skitter down to spot that huge erection of his hanging a right in his sweatpants. The same one that had made my mouth water before. He smirks when he catches me looking at it.
I nudge my own, attempting to relieve the discomfort and stop the leaky stain from appearing at the front of my pants.
Ryker rushes me again.
His mouth slants over mine hot and wet. I groan when the force of his body presses me against the wall and a shocked squeak leaves me when his hand cups my junk. It rubs. It squeezes. It drags over my swollen length.
He sucks on my top lip, teasing the tip of my nose with his own, impairing my ability to breathe
; “I love you, Griffon.” Moaning, he dips his head down and buries it in my neck, licking, sucking, and kissing along the skin there.
I squeeze my eyes shut reveling in the sensation of his body against mine. My hands go everywhere. They slide over his shoulders. They run along the chiseled line of his jaw. They pull him close. They push him away.
We war.
Our bodies winning.
Because my good sense had lost this fight long ago.
A whine spills from my lips when his warm hand wraps around my cock. It’s freed with the same desperation and excitement as when a kid unwraps a lollipop for the first time, anxious to have it, to taste its sweetness.
I heave for breath under his fiery blue gaze.
His thumb circles around the head and takes all the precum slathered there and smooths it over the rest of my dick.
Breathing heavily, he presses his nose into my cheek.
I slump deeper into the wall, my body bowing when he runs his open palm over my heavy balls. I’m nailed to the wall, planted there like art under the gaze of a conscious observer. This guy sees everything me.
I’m not your bitch.
I’m not your bitch.
I’m not your bitch.
Growling, he takes my bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, just as he does on my dick.
Soon, he’s stroking me, stealing away everything I know I shouldn’t give him.
“God, Griffon, I’m going to make you come.”
I believe him!
“I love you,” I hiss, having no clue about what the hell I’m saying but feel the words slip from my lips with ease as though I’ve been waiting to say them to this boy all my fucking life.
RYKER
WITH MY OTHER HAND, I tear his shirt away like it’s a fashion faux pas.
It falls to the floor at our feet.
I give him a second to breathe, breaking the kiss and burying my face in the crook of his neck, licking along his smooth, salty skin. He writhes against me, breathless and tearing into my skin with his fingertips holding me tight, the way I need to be held.
The music still plays, our colliding bodies cast a shadow on the wall to our left.
I keep my head low, gazing down at the sight of his thick, long, wet cock in my hand and the protruding vein that runs down the length of it to the swollen head where it drips and drips and drips like a faulty tap.