The eyes of an addict, Sydney, those are the eyes of an addict.
He was somewhat pathetic, a remnant of what he used to be I was sure. He was probably a good man at some point in his life and not the manwhore who took snorts of cocaine and shots of tequila at any time of the day. How could this creature, this handsome, tall, dark eyed man be the nightmare he was? Couldn’t there be some light lingering in his putrid soul?
I winced and shook my head.
“So tell me about your past, Ronnie,” I asked methodically as I tapped my pencil lightly on my cheek. I was trying not to stare at this point as the man leaned languidly in the dark leather seat I sat my patients in.
His hands were large, worn, painted skin stretched over fingers that seemed too thin. Arms were muscular and lanky, chest well built and thin with a strong, angular jaw and piercing deep brown eyes. His lips were stretched into a grin, a Cheshire grin full of mischief. Black hair haloed his face while black clothing hid the naked body beneath. I knew he knew I was eyeing him despite my best efforts. He had known since the first session because I had a hard time keeping my eyes off of him.
“What do you want to know?” he replied casually, though the tone of sarcasm was grating.
“How about your parents?” I said, shifting my eyes to my paper and writing down ‘avoiding questions again’. It took him a moment to respond.
“Only had one so I think ‘parents’ is out of the question,” he retorted, the sound somehow alerting me that for the first time in three sessions, I had gotten to him. I don’t know how the subject of his family had not been brought up before but for the last two sessions, getting him to talk about anything but the girl he had banged that night or the fact that he knew I was into him was exhausting.
But now that I had found a crack in his resolve, it was time to pry a little.
“So you only had a mother?” I questioned as there is a higher rate of father’s leaving behind children. The hard gaze I earned from Mr. Radke instantly shattered that thought.
“No,” he growled, “My dad was the only one that stayed. My addict mother left us to go to whiter pastures.” I raised a brow.
“Whiter?” I asked and he grinned that famous grin again.
“Yeah,” he replied, “More coke and whiskey in white pastures.” I was used to this sort of speech, but I couldn’t put a finger on why I felt so…attached to this patient. Was it because he was handsome? Was it because I wanted nothing more than to change him and make him mine?
God I was sounding like some sap from a romance novel.
“I see,” I said softly, writing down another few scribbles on his report sheet, “How old we-”
“Cut the crap lady,” he snarled, “If you wanna fucking know about my family, listen to the song I wrote. I didn’t come here to talk about how my worthless mother left me as a kid alright? I came here cuz I have to so that I can fucking go back out on the streets and play music again.”
That rang a bell.
“You played music?” I questioned, now staring intently at him and capturing his gaze. He nodded.
“I was damn good at it too,” he grumbled, “Til those fuckers ditched me when I went to jail.” I nodded half to him and half to myself. Jeez he really was fucked up wasn’t he…and it was so upsetting to think that anyone could hurt him.
Breaking Down the Walls (A Ronnie Radke OneShot)
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