Page 40 of I’m The Worst

My racing thoughts won’t stop. They’re getting louder, sharper. I need something to drown them out. Wolff won’t help. But one of these men has something, I know it. Pills. Alcohol. Anything.

I yank open the door⁠—

—and slam straight into Wolff’s chest.

My mind goes blank as I reach for his belt, desperate for something to anchor myself before my brain caves in.

He moves instantly.

Wrists pinned above my head in one hand as my back hits the wall hard enough to knock the air out of me.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Please—” I beg, but it comes out choked. “I need— I just need something to stop my head— I can’t— Please, Wolff, just let me— Let me touch you.”

His expression darkens, his jaw grinding.

“You won’t fuck me, fine,” I rush on. “Just let me use my mouth. I’ll make you come. Just give me something to focus on. I can’t think— I can’t⁠—”

Panic and humiliation shove the words out of me. I’m unraveling, and I know it, but I can’t stop. His grip tightens until my fingers go numb.

“Stop being so fucking pathetic. Try that shit again, and I’ll cut your fucking hands off.”

Tears burn hot behind my eyes. I blink hard, trying to breathe, trying not to fall apart. He lets me go like it disgusts him to touch me at all, and the door slams behind him.

I sink to the floor. Knees to my chest. Arms around myself. Everything hurts. Everything is loud. I’m so tired. So fucking tired. But there’s no time to fall apart, so I drag myself up and force my legs to move.

When I step into the open area, my eyes lock on Sergei. Please. Please, have something.

He sits on a crate alone, drinking from a dented metal mug. Wolff is outside near the door, Savva and the others talking in Russian.

“Hey,” I whisper, crouching near Sergei. “Do you have any⁠—”

His eyes sharpen.

“Drugs,” I whisper.

“Why?” His accent is thick.

“I just…need something to take the edge off.” My nails dig into my palms. “Please.”

His gaze drags down my legs. “You look like shit.” With a smirk, he sips his coffee.

“I can pay you,” I lie. “I’ll-I’ll do whatever you want. Just give me something. Anything.”

He leans in, breath hot with smoke. “I might have something.” His hand lands on my thigh. “But it’ll cost.”

My heart stutters.

“Come tonight. When your guard dog is sleeping.” His fingers slide higher. “You want to feel nothing? I can make you forget everything.” Pulling a tiny plastic baggie from his jacket with a few round, white, unlabeled pills, he slips one into my hand.

“You’ll sleep.” He shoves the rest into my waistband, fingers brushing my underwear.

I jerk back.

He laughs, lighting another cigarette. “Make sure the volk’s asleep,” he says, blowing smoke in my face. As I rush away, his laughter follows me.

Back in the room, I grab a water bottle, swallow hard, and shove three pills into my mouth. I don’t know what they are.