Author's Note: The eagle-eyed Hedonists among you might notice that there's a very teeny-tiny change to something I mentioned earlier in chapter 7 // GHOSTS where Casey talked about living in her mum's one-bedroom shithole of a flat. It now has two bedrooms, but rest assured, is still a shithole ;-) Thanks for reading, you lovelies, please don't forget to support Hedoschism by hitting the vote button and leaving a comment if you can xxx
*
'Are you okay?'
Ethan's voice was coming from miles away. Muffled by water fathoms deep. Travelling through dimensional worm-holes stretching across countries and continents.
I heard it. I knew he was there, standing right next to me as I stared up at the darkening sky through the window. I knew he was looking at me, his gaze no doubt searching, burying, in the way it always did when he looked at me. I knew I should answer him, but I couldn't.
I was thinking about the crucifix. The small, slightly tarnished silver crucifix I used to wear on a chain around my neck when I was a kid. I hadn't thought about it in years, not since I'd dropped it down the drain outside the block of flats where we lived, staring into the dark hole and wondering what it would be like to float away with it.
'Casey?'
'I stole a crucifix from my mum once,' I said, still looking up at the skies, as if I was looking at them for the first time.
'You stole it?'
'Yeah. I was walking past her bedroom and the door was open. I wasn't allowed in her room. It was forbidden, you know? But the thing was, she had this little shell-covered trinket box on her bedside table and I'd always been fascinated by it. Stupid really, because it was just a bit of tat. A cheap old thing she'd got down in Brighton. Ugly too. I mean, really fucking ugly, this little square box covered in brown shells. But I really wanted to look inside it. I don't know why, but it felt like secrets. Secrets stored in this little magical box, in a room I was forbidden to go in.'
'And you went in anyway?'
I laughed softly. 'I couldn't stop myself. Before I knew it, my feet were moving and that was it. I remember standing on that green carpet she had in her room and thinking quick, get out, get out, but suddenly I was there, opening the tiny latch on the trinket box and lifting the lid.'
'Did it contain any secrets?'
I frowned. 'No. No secrets. No magic. Just a few old pieces of costume jewellery she never wore. Odd earrings. A few buttons that must have fallen off some of her clothes which she'd meant to sew back on but never did. But then, right at the bottom, was this tiny crucifix on a chain and I don't know why, but I took it.'
I wanted to move closer to the glass, put my fingers on the window pane where the last light of the day was fading on the horizon, but I knew Ethan's shield was up and daren't touch it.
'She caught me, of course,' I continued. 'Made me jump right out of my bloody skin when I heard her. She stopped in the doorway, sort of leaning up against it, and I was just standing there, with this chain dangling from my shaking hand. I expected her to explode. I was waiting for it. Waiting for her to strike me across the face for not only going in her room, but for stealing too. She stumbled over to me and I could smell the booze on her breath, and I was sure I was going to get the hiding of my life, but instead she took the chain from my hand and put it around my neck. Took her bloody ages, mind you, because she was blind drunk and couldn't manage the clasp, but eventually she did it and she looked down at me and said keep it, never did any fucker any good anyway. Then she collapsed on the bed and told me to get out.'
I touched my hand to my neck, like I could still feel it there against my skin.
'Turns out she was right,' I said. 'Although not for quite the same reasons as she meant at the time.' I turned to look at him. 'So, it was all them? All their doing? Everything we've been told. Everything we've been taught. They made it all up?'
'Yes,' he said, his eyes solemn. 'Centuries of systematic brain-washing engrained in story-telling and education and religious doctrine, until you don't even question it. Until it's taken as fact. Even those of you who don't believe it, or don't want to believe it, you know the stories at least, and with stories always comes the possibility of belief. The possibility, the smallest chance, no matter how slight, that while on the surface you might dismiss it all as utter bullshit, somewhere inside there's the tiniest spark of belief. After all, not all of the stories can be wrong, can they?'
Ethan was right.
Despite Maggie having been dragged up deep in the bosom of the Catholic Church when she was growing up in Dublin, she'd never been particularly devout. God had rarely been mentioned in our household, apart from when she was wasted and used to reel off a stream of expletives about Him, about how He never did shit for her, how He let the nuns beat her, how she'd start going to Church again once He put some money in her pocket and good man in her bed.
As a result, neither Claire nor myself had been religious. I wasn't a Sunday-service regular, had never read the Bible – Tropical Birds by Clive Roots was way better in my opinion - but I had worn that silver crucifix around my neck for a while. At first, I'd worn the chain like a talisman. I'd hoped valiantly that the small crucifix could protect me. Save me. I don't know. Just do something.
In the end, I realised it was just a worthless piece of metal and chucked it down the drain, but the cold, harsh realisation of knowing it wasn't going to help me had never wiped away the stories and the small notion of what if.
'But why invent God?' I said, feeling a strange sense of despair festering deep. 'When they could have taken control themselves and revealed themselves to be our gods? We wouldn't have known any different.'
'Because the truth is hardly palatable, Casey. In fact, it's downright ugly. If you're going to sell a product to the world, you have to dress it up the best you can. You've got to make people want to buy into it and people only want to buy pretty things.'
'I don't understand,' I said, turning to face him properly. 'You were talking about the Council, about Michael and Uriel and Raphael. They're Archangels, right? We know the stories of the Archangels. Were they lies too? Are they not what we think they are? Are they like the Cherubim?'
Ethan scraped at his bottom lip with his teeth, in the way, I'd come to realise, seemed to show something was troubling him, like he wanted to say something but knew he shouldn't.
'Ethan?'
His jaw tightened. 'The Council aren't like the Cherubim, no.'
'But? Because there is a but, right? I can see it in your face.'
He hissed out a curse. 'Look, if you're asking me if they're beautiful, yes, okay, they probably do look beautiful to your eyes,' he said. 'But don't put your trust in those stories about humans seeing an Archangel, because I could probably count on one hand the number of times an Archangel has lowered itself to walk in your world. Those stories have either been planted in the system by the Council itself in order to glorify themselves, or they've come from a maledicti that's lived long enough to tell the tale, and if the story was created by a maledicti, the chances are it was a Dominion they saw and not an Archangel.'
'What's a Dominion?'
'They're the generals, the ones who regulate the duties of the lower angels, the Watchers, but they don't often get involved themselves. They consider humans unworthy of them and if you saw one you'd understand why. Now, they are beautiful. Arrogant as fuck too. It was a Dominion that came for us that day at the hospital.'
I stared at him, feeling something horrible clawing at the pit of my stomach. 'The thing that tore apart the car park to get to us?'
He shook his head, grimacing with a clear disdain. 'No, not that. That was a Power. It's their duty to collect the maledicti. Having one of them turn up isn't anything out of the ordinary and they might think they're something special, but in the great ranks of the Angels, they're nothing but soldiers. Now, a Dominion in your world is unusual, not unheard of and they certainly walk here more than the Council members ever have, but the Dominions rarely make themselves known to humans. If they're here, it's because a Power has failed to do its job, which in your case, was because we managed to get away in time. The Dominion was the Angel that came after, when you ran out into the street, despite me warning you not to.'
'I heard you screaming...' I trailed off, ignoring his jibe and remembering that terrible sound, feeling the goose-bumps rise all over again.
'What?' Ethan said, looking offended. 'That wasn't me. That was the Dominion. I damaged its pretty face and it was pissed as fuck about it. Screamed like a baby. That's the key with them, you see. Always go for the face. Sends them scuttling back to their dimension to fix their make-up.'
'Make-up?' I said, wide-eyed, before spotting his wry grin. 'Oh, wait, another joke, right?'
'Sorry,' he said, with a sheepish shrug, quickly turning away to collect his beer from the table.
As he drank from the bottle, he didn't turn around. Instead, he just stood there with his back to me, but when I looked down at his free hand, it was clenched, the muscles in his arm twitching with tension. He was doing his best to brush this off, but this story wasn't done yet and whatever the ending was, he really didn't want me to reach the final page.
'I still don't get it,' I said, determined not to give up. 'Whatever the Council are, or whether they like to walk in this world or not, why would they make up such a story? If they like to glorify themselves so much, then what I suggested still counts. They could have just made themselves gods and be done with it. What is it you're not telling me?'
When he finally shifted slightly to look over at me, his expression was wary, guarded, and I knew he was sizing me up, trying to work out whether I could take any more of his revelations, but whatever it was, I needed to know.
I needed everything now. Warts and fucking all.
'Please, Ethan. You've told me so much already, what's one more thing?'
He laughed then, a low chuckle that lacked any warmth or humour.
'What's one more thing?' he said. 'Fuck, you really have no idea. But fine, okay. If you really want to know, the Council couldn't have created themselves as gods, Casey, because they're not the ones in charge.'
'What?' I stammered. 'But you said they were the ones who banished your father? You said they killed the First?'
'No, I said they killed the First. I never said it was the Council. You just assumed. Think of the Archangels as a celestial government. Angelic politicians put in place to control the day-today running of things and yeah, they wield some fucking power, that's for sure, but they don't sit at the top of the food chain. They never have. Never will.'
One more thing. I'd wanted one more thing and now my throat was dry again and my heart was beating a furious tune in my chest.
'You said the Cherubim were second in command at the top of the ladder, which means they must rank above the Council.'
He nodded. 'Yes. Well remembered.'
'So, what sits above the Cherubim? What could possibly be worse than that?'
'I could show you,' he said, hesitantly, tilting his head to one side.
'What? How?'
Putting the empty bottle down, Ethan strode over to where I stood and with one hand he gripped my waist, pulling me close against him. I was sure he must have felt my heart hammering or maybe it was the way I instinctively pushed back on his chest, alarmed by his sudden proximity, because his eyes widened a little, the hard lines of his face softening as he looked at me.
'You're safe,' he said, gently. 'Remember that. This isn't real. It's a memory, given to me by my father. Think of it as a secret locked in a magical box. We're going to open the lid and take a look inside and then we're going to close it and lock it away again.'
One more thing. You idiot, Brogan. You absolute bloody idiot.
'Don't forget to breathe,' he whispered.
With his other hand, he covered my eyes completely.
'Now, look, Casey. See.'
*
I sat on the edge of the bed, turning the small clear bag of brown in my hands, running my fingers across the hard, plastic seal at the top.
I missed the drugs. I missed my stash. I missed being unable to fuck it all away with a pill or a line. In fact, I missed fucking it all away with fucking.
I'd been doing this most of my life, after all.
At first it had been sex, spurred on by the wrongness of fumbles with boys who were no good for me. Boys who probably were good for me, even though I didn't care whether they were or not. Boys whose hands trembled when they thrust them between my legs because they couldn't quite believe their luck.
These boys with their amateurish hands and eager côcks filled a void for a while, that is until I realised the only hole they actually filled was the one between my legs and even that never gave me the Earth-shattering, star-bursting feeling that all the movies had promised. It gave me a something though, even if for a few sweaty, breathless minutes, until one night when I was sixteen, on the back seat of Peter Gallagher's beat-up Nova, he pressed his barely pubescent body on top of mine and pumped almost to the beat of the shitty drum and bass music wheezing out of the speakers. I'd stared over his shoulder, looking out the half-steamed up windows into the night sky and I willed the stars to burst, urged the Earth to shatter, because I knew it wasn't enough anymore.
The stars stayed where they were, and the Earth remained whole, and all I could think about was what's next. Not who. What. Something. Anything.
Inevitably the drugs found me. Or maybe I found them. It didn't matter which really, because all that mattered was that they were the what next. They were the something and they'd remained the something for a long time. Something that could shatter the earth. Something that could make the stars burst. Only the truth was, they'd always been more that. They'd helped me to paper over the cracks.
Numb the pain.
I wanted something now, not to numb the pain though, but to wipe what I'd seen from my head.
How could I lock away what he'd shown me?
There wasn't a trinket box big enough to hold that horror.
Behold the Seraphim, he'd said. Born of fire. The Great Winged Serpents. Caretakers of the Throne. Destroyers of the First. Changeless. Eternal. The Highest of the Most High. They are your gods. They are your saviours, your judgement and your damnation.
There were four of them. Four huge creatures, each with twelve wings of fire that burned so brightly it was difficult to look upon them. Their skin shone with coppery scales and their serpent tails, stretched long behind them, twisting and curling together as they flew, spinning a never-ending maelstrom around the empty Throne of the Angels.
Their faces were distant echoes of humanity, as if at some point, the two races had been connected somehow. A sleekness to their sharp cheekbones. A semblance of a high brow. But that's where any similarity stopped, because there was no humanity in their black soulless eyes and no humanity in their monster's mouths, which took up almost the entire bottom half of their skull, full of long, needle sharp teeth and a serpent's tongue.
As they flew, joined in perfect unison, their heads turned as one towards me, prompting me to try and break out of Ethan's hold, but he just pulled me closer and whispered in my ear.
It's a memory. They're seeing Lucifer, not you, not you.
The flames burned even brighter, their black eyes full of malice and then they opened their mouths – those awful, monstrous mouths – and they screamed, and it was like nothing I'd ever heard before. Louder and louder it grew, a chorus of hate and power and terror.
They feared him, I'd gasped, they feared your father. And they despised him for it.
Yes, they're prophetic beings, he replied. They knew. They knew what he would become.
Fuck, I wanted a hit of something. Needed it so badly.
Chucking the bag down onto the table next to the bed, I pulled my legs up, lay down and curled into a ball. Clutching one of the pillows to my chest, I wrapped myself around it, my eyes remaining fixed on the small bag until finally, thankfully, I could take no more and sleep consumed me.
*
When I woke up, what seemed like just a short while later, the bag was gone.
I shot up instantly, my heart in my mouth, staring at the empty surface where I'd left it.
Jumping off the bed, I threw myself onto the floor, checking down the sides and back of the table, checking underneath it and almost knocking off the lamp which I caught just in time. I checked under the bed, behind the bed, on the bed, shaking the pillows and duvet and tugging the sheet off the mattress until the room looked like a tornado had raged through it.
By the time I realised it really was gone, I was standing against the wall, clutching at my chest, feeling my heart drumming fast against the palm of my hand, perspiration dampening my forehead.
On shaky legs, I found my way to the door and, counting to five, slowly opened it.
In the lounge, where Ethan had planned to set up bed for the night on the sofa, I could see him sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back to me and as I warily approached, trying to calm my breathing and failing miserably, I could hear him humming a tune I didn't recognise.
He didn't turn around as I entered the lounge, but his head cocked to one side, a sign at least to indicate he had heard me and knew I was there.
Swallowing hard, I walked in a semi-circle, giving him a wide berth and allowing myself to see what it was he was doing.
I exhaled a small gasp, my hand grasping at my throat.
In front of him, on the floor, laid out on a small white towel taken from the bathroom, was the bag, now empty, a syringe and his leather belt. In one hand, he held a dessert spoon from the kitchen and in the other, he held his lighter underneath, liquefying the powder. I watched, horribly hypnotised, as he carried on, seemingly oblivious to my presence – even though I knew he was very aware that I was standing there – still humming that maddening tune.
'Ethan?'
He turned his head to look at me and smiled, a wide warm grin. 'Oh, hi Casey, I'm glad you're awake.'
'What the Hell are you doing?'
'I thought we'd have a little party.' He winked. 'What do you reckon? Shall we have a party? Just you and me?'
The flame from the lighter danced under the spoon, the brown liquid bubbling above.
Throwing the lighter down, he picked up the syringe and, holding his hand steady, carefully sucked the liquid up the needle into the barrel. Once it had all been collected, he discarded the spoon, and put the syringe down onto the towel as he retrieved the belt, wrapping it around his arm and pulling it tight. Grasping the end of the belt between his teeth to hold it in place, he slapped at the inside of his arm with his fingers. His veins stood out under his skin, prominent blue tributaries snaking up to his wrist.
He was going to do this. He was actually going to shoot up right in front of me.
I cried out, jumping forward and throwing myself onto the floor beside him grasping at his arm, as he went to reach for the needle. 'Stop! What the fuck, Ethan.'
He dropped the belt from his mouth, his eyes fixed on where my hand was clutching onto him, before turning his gaze my way. I swallowed again, pulling back quickly, as if an inch or two could possibly offer any shelter from that dark look he was giving me.
'Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to go first?' he asked, his tone lightly mocking, but his expression deadly serious.
'W-what?' I stammered, my voice tight and croaky. 'Of course not. I just don't want you to.'
He arched a brow. 'Why not? I mean, we'll have a bit of fun, right? Forget about the fact we have to go play with the Angels in a few hours, because that's just bollocks, isn't it? I'd much rather we get off our tits here and have a good time. Come on, it'll be a fucking riot.'
'Stop it. This isn't funny.'
His eyes widened, his mouth dropping open again in a brash, fake smile. 'Oh,' he said. 'You think this is another one of my crappy jokes, do you?' The smile dropped into oblivion, replaced only by a darkness that made me suck in a breath. 'I'm not joking. I want to do this.'
He picked up the syringe.
'No, you don't,' I said, grabbing at his wrist again and digging my fingers into his skin.
'Why not?' he snapped. 'Why is it okay for you, but not okay for me? Because that's why you have it, right? For you. You got it for you. Who gave it to you? Berith?'
I shook my head vehemently. 'No. He didn't, I swear. It was on his desk in his office. I saw it and I took it, I don't know why.'
'Yes, you do,' Ethan said, his face twisting with scorn. 'You saw it and couldn't help yourself. You took it because you wanted it. Why can't you admit it?'
'Okay, alright!' I said quickly, my gaze drawn to the syringe which was still in his hand. 'Look, it was a stupid, spur of the moment decision and I'm sorry, but I don't want it now. Please, Ethan, just throw it away.'
He said nothing, his eyes travelling over my face and then he leant forward.
'I don't believe you,' he whispered.
I didn't even feel it coming.
The air around us moved so quickly, rippling and pulsating, that I barely had time to cry out before he was behind me, pulling me against him and hooking his legs over mine so I couldn't move. I struggled, wriggling and jutting my hips upwards in an effort to twist out of his strong grasp but I couldn't break free. With one arm reached around me, hovering just a couple of inches from my body, he curled his hand into a claw and pulled on the air. I felt a pressure weighing down on me, heavy and suffocating, as if there was more than just him holding me in place and my frantic struggles became weak and ineffectual against whatever he had used to imprison me.
Reaching out with his other hand, he used the air to pull the belt from his arm and it flew into his grasp. I watched in horror as my own arm began to twitch, the air sucking on it and pulling it out straight in front of me, just as it had that very first time the Angel had attacked me outside Oscar's club, and I knew then just what Ethan was planning to do.
'No, Ethan, stop it, no please.'
Ignoring my pleas, he yanked the sleeve of my hoodie up as far as it could go, and tied the belt around my arm, tugging it tight and making me yelp with the sudden pain. He was exhaling thick, heavy rasps and I doubled my efforts to fight against him, pushing my head up sharply so it cracked against his chin.
Hissing out a curse, he pulled the syringe through the air into his waiting hand and all I could do was watch helplessly as he moved it towards my outstretched arm where the veins screamed for what was coming and the rest of me screamed for him to stop. My chest heaved with exertion and fear.
'Ethan, I'm begging you, don't do this,' I said, as the needle drew closer to my vein.
'Then say it,' he snarled. 'Fucking say it, Casey. Say you don't want it.'
The point of the needle had reached my arm.
'I said it already,' I shrieked. 'What more do you want?'
He moved his head so that his mouth was against my ear, his breath hot on my cheek.
'I need you to say it like you mean it,' he said. 'I want to believe you, but I can't, because it's in you, Casey. This sickness. This desire. You say you don't want it, but your eyes tell another story. You look at it like it's the only thing in the world that you want. You look at it and I see the sickness, burning away inside you. It would be easy, right? To just give in. To say yes. To let it ease the burning. Because it would, wouldn't it? It'll make everything go away and you won't have to face it. You won't have to accept it. So, this is it. You make a choice here and now. Say it. Make me believe you.'
The needle was scratching at my skin, and I was terrified. Terrified that maybe he was right. Terrified that maybe I did want it. Terrified of what that meant.
But most of all I was terrified of living a life without it. A life without drugs. A life not living the high, because the comedown was too difficult to bear. A life where, without the drugs in control, all the ghosts that had haunted me since I was a kid would take control instead, slowly eroding away every part of me that was still alive.
And I wanted to stay alive.
For the first time, in a very long time, I actually wanted to stay alive.
'I don't want it,' I screamed at him, letting go with everything I had, raging with anger and humiliation. 'I don't fucking want it, you demonic piece of shit! Are you listening? I don't fucking want it!'
I collapsed back against his chest, my head dropping back on his shoulder and I cried, my body racked with sobs as the tears streamed down my face.
'I don't want it, I don't want it,' I whispered, screwing my eyes tight shut. 'I don't, I don't.'
A few seconds passed, and his body relaxed under my own, the pressure lifting. When I felt his arm fall around my chest, my eyes flew open and I wrenched it away from me, struggling to get up, to get away from him.
'Casey...' he began, but I was already shrugging him off violently and stumbling away, desperate to be free of him.
Staggering to the bathroom, I practically fell through the door, somehow managing to break my fall by grabbing the edge of the basin, which I used to hold me up, even though my legs were begging me to let go.
I wasn't going to let myself fall. Not this time.
In the mirror above the sink, a ghost stared back at me. Pale. Thin. Probably too thin. A skinny, wraith of a girl, the one who wore a small silver crucifix around her neck and looked at pictures of birds by the beam of her flashlight. The one who often went hungry. The one who only smiled when she danced with Mr. Tumnus in the moonlight.
'What do you see?' Ethan said, softly.
He was standing in the doorway, his face almost as ashen as the ghost-girl's.
I wet my lips with my tongue. 'Nothing,' I said, hoarsely, still staring at my reflection. 'I see a nothing. A nobody.'
'You're not nothing, Casey,' he said.
I closed my eyes and groaned, knowing that I could close my eyes, but she would still be there. She would always be there. 'I am, I am,' I whispered. 'I'm nothing.'
He moved to stand behind me, I felt him there. Close enough that I could feel the tickle of his breath on my neck. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body, radiating down my back and until that point, I hadn't realised just how cold I was.
'Stop looking at me like that,' I said. 'I know how you're looking at me.'
'How do you know? Your eyes are closed.'
I tightened my grip on the edge of the basin. 'I don't need to open my eyes to see. I can feel it. You're looking at me like I'm the most pitiful thing you've ever seen.'
'That's not how I am looking at you. Open your eyes. Please.'
I did, reluctantly, slowing raising my gaze again to meet his in the mirror. There was a glint in his eyes, a fire, something that made my throat go dry and a dull, pleasant heat kindle in the base of my stomach.
'I don't pity you, Casey,' he said, with a small smile. 'I'm in fucking awe of you. I'm in awe of your strength, I'm in awe of your fight, and I'm in awe of your power.'
I frowned. 'Power?'
'Yes, power,' he said. 'In fact, you're the most powerful creature I've ever met in my entire life.'
I turned slowly to face him, stunned by his words. Stunned by him.
Raising my hand to his face, I trailed my fingertips over the mouth that had said those words, noting how his lips parted to exhale a small breath as my hand moved to trace the line of his jaw, down his neck, his chest, the taut muscles of his stomach which twitched under my touch.
Gripping handfuls of his t-shirt, I pulled him against me, crushing my mouth against his, feeling the buzz of his touch as his hand curled into my hair, the other clutching at my waist. I moaned as his tongue found mine, pulling me deep into his kiss and igniting small pulses of pleasure between my thighs.
Fuck, I wanted him. Needed him.
My hands found the hem of his t-shirt. His firm, warm skin. The top button of his jeans.
Just as I began to fumble with the next button, Ethan grabbed my wrists, stopping me from going any further as he wrenched his lips away, resting his forehead gently on mine. His lashes gently brushed against my brow as he closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling a deep, weary sigh.
I was lost. Confused. Feeling the desire rage so deeply for him that his sudden rejection made my chest ache and the tears sting my eyes again.
'You need to know, that I'm pulling away for no other reason than you deserve better,' he said, his warm breath brushing feather-light strokes over my skin as he spoke. 'Right now, in this moment, you deserve more than to have someone take what you're willing to give away. Because I would take it. If it was anyone else, I would take it all, and I wouldn't care. That's who I am. I wouldn't give it another thought, and I don't want to do that to you. I won't.'
His fingertips found the single tear that trickled down my face and he smoothed it away, following it up with a small soft kiss, pressing his lips gently against the place where the tear had fallen. His eyes met mine, a strange kind of sadness emanating from his gaze.
'You're worth so much more than the son of Lucifer, Casey. Don't ever forget that.'
He pulled away out of my grasp, and as he reached the doorway, he turned to look back at me.
'Try and get some more sleep,' he said. 'I'll need you with me tomorrow.'
With that he was gone, leaving the cold to rush back into the space he'd left behind, although inside I was burning, consumed by a fervent addiction I knew could only be satiated by another hit of him.
Whatever tomorrow held, I knew tonight was goingto be a really long night.