Free Monster by Jessica Gadziala Page B

good cause,” she tried lightening the mood.
    “Doll, you
dying... that ain't a good cause.”
    She looked away from
me, taking the smack and slipping it into her boot, ripping the
lining slightly away from the ankle to push the baggie between the
lining and the leather. Easy access, but hidden.
    “Alex,” I
called, watching her look blankly across the room.
    “What?” she
asked, her voice distant.
    “Look at me.”
    She exhaled sharply and
turned her head. And there was just... nothing there. No sadness. No
horror. Again, just her grim resignation to her fate.
    “Come here,”
I said, stretching an arm across the back of the couch.
    “What?” she
asked, brows drawing together.
    “Come over here,”
I repeated.
    “Why?” she
asked, but her body had turned slightly. Even without knowing why,
her body wanted to be closer to mine.
    “Because I am
going to show you one of the many reasons you should be upset about
not being alive to keep experiencing.” Her eyes held mine,
seeing my intentions, and weighing whether or not she was going to
submit herself to them. “Seventy-two hours, doll,” I went
on. “We could both be dead. The fuck we wasting time for?”
    Her eyes slanted to the
laptop for a second, seeing no activity, then letting her eyes fall
on mine. I saw it before she did. In the quickening and shallow-ing
of her breath. In her slightly parted lips. In her heavy lidded eyes.
    She swallowed, wet her
lips, then closed the space between us.

Eight

    Alex

    I knew what he meant.
The second he told me to go to him, I knew. It was in his voice.
Lower. Deeper. Almost soft. And it sent a ripple of desire through my
system.
    The question was... did
I want to go to him? Knowing that it wouldn't be another kiss.
Knowing his fingers would slide up my thigh, find the sweet spot,
work it. Knowing that it wouldn't stop there. That within the next
hour, I would know what it felt like to have him inside of me.
    And did my libido want
that? Hell freaking yeah.
    But did I?
    I had about thirty
seconds to decide, with a clear and rational mind, if it was
incredibly twisted and stupid... or the best decision I could make.
    To go out with a bang,
as it were.
    I'd had sex before.
Once when I was sixteen. With one of the older kids living at the
group home. I don't know why really. I wasn't ready. I barely had a
grasp on the concept of sex, let alone the possible physical and
emotional repercussions. I long since learned to blame the grief, the
loss of everything I knew, the need to feel alive again.
    Danny he had been tall
and strong with dark hair and piercing green eyes. From the moment I
walked into the common room, his eyes were on mine. I learned later
that it was because he banged all the new chicks provided they were
halfway decent looking. But at the time, I had thought I was special.
    Then he started hanging
around me, talking sweet, using kid gloves as if sensing (more
likely, having known from previous experience) how fragile I was.
    A couple days later, I
fell onto my back in his bed. He stripped us both, slipped on a
condom that had come in a camouflage wrapper that boasted “Don't
let them see you coming!”, and slammed inside me. As most
would expect (though I was wholly clueless), it hurt like a bitch.
But was thankfully over in under five minutes.
    I found out later that
while he was fucking me, his buddies were stealing my shit.
    A few days later, I was
moved to a foster house.
    I didn't have sex again
until I was nineteen. Though I did have the unfortunate repeat
occurrence of fending off at least three of my foster fathers and
then pretending I didn't notice the fourth one would come in and jerk
off while watching me 'sleep'.
    The guy when I was
nineteen was names Glenn and was someone who had taken time out of
his life to sit me down and teach me all the things about computers
and hacking that I hadn't already picked up- the skills that would
allow me to make a living of it. And gather better information