PRETTYMUCH- Open Arms
Damien POV
"You know Jane fucked Daquan right?" Isaiah says, nudging me on the arm. He lights the lighter and hovers it at the end of the blunt.
"I don't care," I shrug. I take the joint before he can smoke it and take a huge pull. Smoke slowly fill my lungs but it's too damn strong. I start coughing. "The fuck is in this shit?" I pass it back to him.
Isaiah smirks. "I heard this came from Switzerland. Fuck that Washington ditch shit. I got a new seller." I've never seen him look more proud. After a pull, he passes the blunt to Carlos.
My phone vibrates and I read the text. It's Hope asking me to tell her more pickup lines. We've been dating for almost two months now, and I'm running out. I can't help but smile as I type in the most corniest one on my mind.
When I look up, Carlos is staring at me incredulously. "You found a new bitch? Damn."
"Watch your fucking mouth," I snap at him. He raises his eyebrows in surprise and passes the blunt to Zach. He doesn't answer but I can tell he's amused.
"He's whipped," Zach tries to explain as he takes a pull. He begins to cough. "I'm gonna be high in two minutes with this."
"Nah bruh. He ain't whipped. He whipped whipped." Isaiah laughs and Zach and Carlos chimes in. I roll my eyes and grab the joint before Carlos can take it. This time I take a slow toke and then another one, relishing in the quiet peace settling over my mind. It's stronger than the ones I normally smoke.
"Who's selling this?" I ask. This is the perfect remedy to shut everything out in minutes. I lean my head against the railing of the abandoned factory. It's only quiet around Zach and Isaiah's neighborhood at this time. Everyone here actually minds their business, so 4 dudes smoking in the middle of the night isn't such a big deal to them.
"Someone named Prince. He came to Washington a couple of days ago."
My body stills and I look over to Zach to make sure I heard the name right. His mouth is slack and his eyes widens.
"Prince? How does he look like?" Zach asks him. His face pales as Isaiah confirms it.
"Tall. Cool looking scar. His nose bent backward," Isaiah laughs. "But he's cool though. I met him at Chris' party and he tried to sell me a dime bag. But once I smoke that shit I'm like naw a dime is too fucking small. I want a benny..."
I tune him out, trying to silence the panic in my head. Prince? How many tall and Spanish guys with a crooked nose is named Prince? I close my eyes as my stomach fills with dread.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
I grab the joint and take a huge toke. The smoke fills my lung too fast and I'm coughing again. "Did he say why he came to Washington? Is he staying?"
"Nah he said he got some business to take care of and then he's heading back." My heart does a double take as I take that in. I'm sure by business, he means his drugs. But I have a feeling that his "business to take care of" isn't stopping there.
Prince is the leader of the gang I used to be in back in California. He was pretty angry at us by the time Zach and I moved to Washington together, although Zach moved in with Isaiah to help him pay rent after his landlord tried to evict him. He must've somehow found out that I framed his friend and came here for revenge.
"Isn't Prince the guy you both ran away from in Cali?" Carlos nosily asks even though he obviously realized.
"We didn't fucking run," I snap at him.
"Whatever makes you sleep at night," Carlos rolls his eyes. "It's not a coincidence that he came to Washington. You need backup?"
I shake my head. "We're fine. I don't think he's after us." But I'm not sure if I believe it myself. Zach is quiet and I can't tell if he disagrees or not.
"Watch your back, man. Just let us know if you need anything." Isaiah offers. The last thing I need is trouble. I came to Washington to escape this shit. Why did he feel the need to fly all the way here when we haven't even heard from him in two years? Is it really because of us? Or is he after someone else? Or is it just all that he says it is, business?
My mind fills with unanswered questions as I float through thick smoke and chatter.
Hope's POV
I wake up in cold sweat, gasping for air. When my eyes adjust to the dark, I roll over to check the alarm clock. It's two in the morning. I throw the sheets out from over me and swing my legs to the side of the bed.
I rest my head on my knees as my chest heaves, and close my eyes. I fight back the stinging in my eyes and swallow the growing lump in my throat. I wonder if there will be a time when the pain would decrease instead of the opposite, or a time where the pain is too great that I'll forget. A violent quake racks against my chest and I hold my breath to keep it in.
I need a distraction. I quickly grab my phone and text Damien, hoping that he's awake. As soon as I put my phone down, my phone vibrates.
why are you awake?
couldn't sleep I text back.
everything okay? should i call?
i'm fine. why are you up anyway
He texts back almost immediately. i'm outside with friends
how rude of you to be on your phone
you're the only one that matters
you're too cliche But a smile creeps on my face anyway. tell me your terrible pickup lines.
you just like me hitting on you, don't you
;) I admit, I do actually. Before I know it, I'm laughing at the screen of my phone as he tells me the most perverted ones he knows.
whyyy
why what?
you dhdj rings?
what?
lamooooooooooo 😭😑🤭😉😤
I stare at my phone in confusion. Is his friends trying to be funny by texting me or something?
I reply back call me tomorrow
I lie in bed, trying to keep my mind clear for about an hour before I hear my phone ring.
"Hi, beautiful."
I smile. "I love it when you say that."
"Do you now?" His voice is an octave deep and a little rough. Whatever he's doing, I like it.
"Did you just fall asleep or something?"
"No. Why you say that?" He's talking oddly slow.
"Damien are you okay? What's going on?"
He laughs. "Bro, I'm fine. Why you so worried? You like me or something?"
"Why is your voice like that?" I laugh.
"What? What's that?"
"What's what?"
He laughs for a moment too long. "What's what. You're so funny, you know that right?"
"Damien did something happen?" I sit up in bed, feeling uneasy. "Where are you? Should I come get you?" Sean would be freaking pissed if I try to tell him to pick Damien up at 3 in the morning.
He scoffs, his voice slurring. "I'm not! I swear! You're so paranoid, woman."
"Are you... Are you high?"
"Why you keep saying that? I'm not! See?"
"Oh my God. Is that what you were doing with your friends?" I don't mean to sound like I'm judging him. I just don't know what to think. He doesn't seem okay.
"Is that a problem for you?" His voice is quiet.
"I don't know. How long have you been smoking?"
He snorts. "Yesterday."
I roll my eyes. "How long?"
"I would tell you 14 years old but I think you would be mad."
14? He has to be lying. "Are you addicted?"
His voice continues to slur. "Well addiction is based on your perspective don't you think?" I hear a loud thud. "Fuck."
"Damien, what happened?"
He laughs. "I busted my ass trying to sit on my damn couch."
I bite my lip, the uneasiness in my stomach refusing to leave. "Damien..."
"Can you come over? Stay the night with me? I wanna cuddle you."
"I can't." How I would love that. I roll my eyes in frustration.
"Pleeeeeaaassseeeeeeeee." He dramatically says. "I'll make you breakfast."
I scoff. "Do you even know how to cook? You almost burnt your house heating up Poptarts the first I came over. I don't even know how you've managed this long."
"What can I say, I'm a dangerous man," He laughs.
"You're cute as a teddy bear, remember?"
"I'm dangerous. I am. You should be careful."
I can't help but laugh at the childishness in his voice. "Okay sir."
He's quiet on the phone for a minute before he says, "Hope?"
"Yeah?"
"I like you. Like... I really like you. You make me... Isn't that weird?" He laughs.
"Are you always like this?" Why do people get high if it makes you unable to think straight?
"Do you like me, bro?" His tone sounds oddly suspicious.
I turn my body and lean my feet against the headboard. "Yes," I say patiently.
"Why?"
I shrug even though he can't see me. "I don't know. You're a good guy." What a stupid answer.
"I'm not good."
"I think you are."
"I'm a bad person. People hate me." His voice is serious and I can't tell if it's him or the drugs speaking.
"Who hates you?"
"Everyone. You'll hate me too."
"Damien that's not true." Why is he talking like that?
"It is. You'll see. You'll leave me too."
I frown. "I won't. Why are you talking like that?"
"I gotta go. I have to, uh... feed... my cat."
"But you don't have a cat."
"Shh. Bye bye beautiful. My cat says hi." I hear a shuffling sound before another thud. "Fuck." I hear silence before a door slamming shut.
"Damien?" I don't hear an answer. Instead, I hear a dramatic yawn before the sound of something creaking. And then a soft snore.
"Damien?"
*****
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