Page 1 of The Addict

Chapter one

Meticulous Me

NOAH

Bodies won’t last forever.

Eventually, everyone decays down to the bone. Our bodies are buried beneath the ground or burned to ash and then we are simply forgotten.

Hearing that makes some people uncomfortable. To know that one day, the world will exist without them in it.

Doesn’t bother me, though.

The negligence I placed my body through never truly concerned me. Because this form was only temporary.

I leaned up against the wall of the bar for a smoke. I knew it was a bad habit and a potentially dangerous one at that. The rush of nicotine always seemed to calm me when the stress and chaos of life bore down. It was my only form of escape and relief from reality. I wouldn’t have traded my little pack of wonders for the world. My philosophy: Who cared what was going on inside my body as long as the outside looked good?

I shifted my feet and lifted myself from the wall. Using my thumb, I flicked the burning ash onto the ground, took one last deep drag, and then pitched the bud to the asphalt, smashing it into the pavement with my foot.

I wanted another one.

I grabbed the pack of smokes from my shirt pocket and shook it a couple of times before pitching it to the ground next to the dying embers of its kin. Empty.

Luckily, I still had a special smoke to finish off the night with a bang. I dug in my shirt pocket and pulled out the blunt. Nothing fancy, just a little weed with dust to help pick me up. I trailed my nose along the paper wrapper, smelling it before igniting the end with my lighter. I placed it in my mouth, inhaled deeply, and savored how it consumed me completely. I held my breath for a moment before returning to lean against the outside of the bar, waiting for absolutely nothing.

Just existing. Barely.

Darkness had already begun to spread through the city, and I watched with some odd satisfaction the puff of grey smoke filling the night air above me as I exhaled, drifting up into the blinking neon lights of the billboard sign above my head. The bar’s name “Shorty’s” stared back at me through the fog. Surrounding me, windows of businesses all glittered in the night, tiny lights flashing from within. I wondered who lived in those little condos? Were they looking down at me as I observed them from below?

Could we trade places?

I inhaled again, enjoying the tingle and soon after the burn, knowing my lungs were screaming at me to stop.

I didn’t.

It’s true that I’ve always enjoyed smoking, and being high. Weed was my typical go to because it’s cheap with quick effects. Kind of like me, I thought, inwardly chuckling at my own joke. I was a stereotypical pothead: dreaming in colors, living for the highs but dreading the fallout from the crashes and lows. If I was being fully honest, drugs were the escape from my shitty existence. I used them to feel release, constantly, and removal from the world and the responsibilities that came with it. I wished I could just live at the peak of my crossfaded buzz.

I sighed and turned back to face the bar, indecisive about whether I should stay for another drink. It was my favorite little shit hole, as it had all the beverages an alcoholic like me could ever wish for.

The staff didn’t card there, which made my world simpler. Not that it would have mattered really, because half the time I didn’t pay for anything; the drinks were constantly purchased for me. It was as if the women couldn’t resist, and I’d be damned if I ever turned the ladies or the shots down.

As if on cue, a small group of females strutted past the alley, seeing me with my smoke perched between my lips. They giggled, stopping their stride momentarily to wave. I gave a little nod, “What’s up?” I said, the joint hanging loosely between my sly grin, my body shifting to face them, hands in my pockets, looking irresistible. They squealed and departed faster than they had arrived.

My cell phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I rolled my eyes, already knowing who it was without having to look.

If my older brother wasn’t breathing down my neck 24/7, I might have seen if those girls were interested in hooking up. I reached into the back pocket of my jeans and counted the condoms between my fingers. 1…2…3. Just enough for all of them.

I smirked at the idea. I hadn’t had a good lay in a minute. I was, in fact, a sex machine, one that shouldn’t be tampered with unless you wanted a good time, of course.

The go-to tool, Noah Hansen, available for their enjoyment.

Suddenly, the back doors to the bar burst open, and a petite blonde waitress came rushing out. There was nothing truly special about her, but she had a decent body with a nice rack. I remembered her staring at me the whole time I was inside drinking. I was in the process of checking her out from behind when she spun around hastily in my direction. Upon seeing me, she blushed and took a startled step backwards.

I smiled, meeting her bewildered gaze. I knew my obsidian eyes completely caught her off guard. They were one of my most alluring attributes.

“Can I help you?” I purred. I melted back into the cool brick, tilting my head sideways to gaze at her.

She gushed and fidgeted, nervously twirling a piece of hair around her perfectly manicured finger.