Raw(43)
Author: Belle Aurora

I was not expecting that. Mumbling, “Okay,” I watch as he takes a packet of chocolate buttons from his pocket. Already open, he shoves a handful into his mouth and chews.

Distracted from my train of thought, I utter through a small smile, “I don’t get it? You don’t seem like the colorful chocolate buttons type.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better than going through a shitload of crack.”

That shuts me up. The smile falls off my face.

“I was an addict. I saw what it was doing to me and I quit. Cold turkey. Made Happy take me to the Kimberly’s in W.A., lock me in a cabin, and guard the door at gun point. I told him if I tried to leave, to shoot me.”

Happy? No way. I scoff, “That’s harsh. As if he would shoot you.”

Chewing another handful of chocolate, he barks a laugh. “Damn, girl. He emptied an entire clip around me, forcing me back in.” His smile fades, his face falls, and his eyes lose focus. “You have no idea what withdrawal is like. I swear I could’ve killed someone for a hit that first day. I spent three days puking, feeling as if I was dying, and clawing at my skin. I scratched at my whole body, opening wounds all over. It wasn’t pretty. I pulled a nail clean off just for the distraction. It was f**ked. But it’s over.”

My mouth gapes. “Are you telling me you performed a DIY rehab on yourself?”

He nods solemnly.

I can’t believe it. Most of the kids I meet on the street are addicted to something or another, and it takes intense rehab, sometimes for months to get them out of the habit. Some even go back to using. So hearing that Twitch forced himself to rehabilitate…

Its remarkable. Truly remarkable.

I’m beyond impressed with his self-control.

This is the most he’s ever told me, and while I’m on a roll, I ask on a whisper, “Why me?”

This question makes him uncomfortable. I know this from his sudden squirming, and for a moment, I wonder if I pushed too far, too early. That’s when he answers, “Because you’re you.”

He says this as if that should explain it all. But I’m not satisfied with that. I ask, “How long have you been watching me?”

Looking me in the eye, his stare intensifies, “A long time.”

Clearing his throat, he leans forward and says things I never expected to hear. “When you’re an addict, becoming addicted to things is easy to do. And that’s a bit what I’m like. I have an addictive personality. So I stopped drugs, but got hooked on candy. Then I started going to the gym once a week to work off the candy. But it became an obsession. I need to work out three times a day. Then with you…” His gaze softens. “I told myself I would watch you the one time…” He trails off. And although I don’t get it, I understand what he’s saying.

It should be making me sweat, not making my heart swell the way it is. “I’m an addiction?”

He responds quietly, “The worst one. There’s no cure for that addiction.”

I respond breathily, “Oh.”

Suddenly frowning, he states, “I’m not a good person.” Leaning away from me, he adds, “You think a person like me deserves your type of goodness? No. I’ll tell you right now that I don’t.” Seeming frustrated with himself, he bites his thumbnail. “The thing is, I’m selfish. And I don’t give a f**k about what I deserve. All I care about is what I want. And I want you so f**kin’ bad that I’d do almost anything to keep you.”

Alarm bells ring in my head, but my heart flaps its hands their way, shushing them.

Once again, “Oh.” So quiet, I barely hear myself.

My mouth opens, ready to ask another question, when I spot Joe leading two men our way, their arms full of plates of food. A bubble of laughter pops out of me, and Twitch turns to look their way. He smiles and shakes his head.

Joe has one waiter bring over another table for all our plates. Each time he places one down, he explains in detail what the dish is and which part of Italy it originated from. We have steak, pasta, gnocchi, soup, a cheese platter, and thinly sliced prosciutto.

It looks heavenly.

Leaving us to eat with nothing more than a wink, I don’t wait for Twitch as I dig in to the gnocchi with rosé sugo. I love gnocchi. I think gnocchi is seriously underrated. And this gnocchi is light and fluffy, like little cloud pillows that melt in my mouth. I believe my view needs to be vocalized. “Gnocchi is so delicious. I think it’s one of the most underrated foods. People should know how delicious gnocchi is.”

Twitch chews on his forkful of pasta and garbles, “I think you just like saying gnocchi.”

With an almost regal nod, I confirm his suspicion with a quiet, “That too.”

We talk a little more, much to my delight, and I find out that Twitch was a runaway who ended up in juvie for four years until his sixteenth birthday. I’d love to say this is an unlikely story, but working my job, I see it all the time.

“What were you in juvie for?” I ask, nibbling on some provolone cheese.

“Assault and battery.”

“That’s a long time for a child to go to juvie for assault.”

That’s when he adds vaguely, “Assault and battery of a police officer.”

My lips purse. Yeah. That’d do it.

Rolling up a slice of prosciutto, I fiddle with it longer than I should. “And the tattoos?”

He shrugs. “I got my first one at juvenile hall when I was fourteen. Then it became an addiction.” He wiggles his brows at the word addiction. “We didn’t have the right tools to make em look any good though. We used pins and pen ink. More often than not, they got infected.” He laughs, “A lot of the basic tattoos I had covered with new ones, but I still have some that mean something to me. They’re important. I keep ‘em to make sure I don’t forget.”

Although my mind grips me by the shoulders and shakes me while screeching, “Forget what? Ask him! Please, ask him!” I don’t ask. It seems too much for tonight; so with a smile, I let the conversation drift into a comfortable silence while we eat.

Finishing up our meal, I sink further into my chair and Twitch laughs. I’m rapidly falling into a food coma. When I spot Joe coming towards us with yet another plate, I mock sob and tell him as he approaches, “No more. Please. No more. If I eat one more bite, I’ll burst. Then you’ll have to clean up all the bits of Lexi around the place, and I’m sure that would be a safety hazard, not to mention wasting a crap load of delicious food that I wish to keep in my belly.”