My Angels Have Demons (Users #1) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Stacy, Jennifer Buck
anchor after all, and I hadn't had many positive female influences in my life until she came along, and by many, I mean none.
"I thought so too," I said. I truly did, but some part of me knew deep down that I was a codependent junkie. If it wasn't the drugs it was something else, or someone else. It had to be something. I just wasn't okay with being me, and I doubted that was ever going to change. No matter how many hours I spent in front of a shrink, how many days of rehab, how many years of sobriety under my belt, in the end, I just wasn't happy with who I had become.
"What about your safety net? What about the steps? You could have called someone," she said. She just had to go there, spouting off that N.A. crap. And it wasn't that I didn't believe that the steps could work, it was all their touchy, feel your emotions, hug it out bullshit that drove me crazy. I hadn't gone to a meeting in years, but I hadn't told her that. I needed my meds after all.
"I guess I dropped the ball on that one," I said. There was really nothing else too say. I had dropped the ball and big time.
I fidgeted on the long couch, my skinny butt taking up only one of the three cushions, as she inspected me with a gaze that told me she wasn't buying it. I had to do something quick, but what?
"So did you get those bruises in jail?" She continued to prod.
"In jail?" I echoed in surprise. When would I have been in jail?
"I assume you were arrested." She wore a smug expression as if she had just figured it all out.
"Oh, you mean the cops? No, they were grateful as hell for what I did." She seriously thought the cops would care that I wasted some deadbeat drug pusher? Just goes to show you that a fancy education can't buy you street smarts. The cops didn't give two shits about big, and why should they? He was the type of guy that made their lives a living hell, he kept them in business, but the cops would rather be out stepping on some harmless pot dealers neck, than dealing with a gun toting heroin dealer.
"But you were there to buy drugs!"
"Oh, I smoothed that over too," I said with a sly wink. She stared at me straight faced to let me know she wasn't amused.
"I can't wait to hear this," she said sarcastically.
"In hind site it wasn't the best decision I ever made," I said, and boy it wasn't.
#
Chapter 3
Carter sat in the back of an ambulance with a gray blanket, draped over his shoulders and wrapped around his chest to cover his naked body. Just like in the movies where some innocent victim ends up wrapped in a blanket, only my blanket was keeping my dong from flapping in the breeze. Even with the thick wool police blanket, a normal man would have been shivering in the cold night air, but Carter never got cold. He could withstand sub zero temperatures wearing little more than a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. The night was silent, the rain from earlier had stopped, and a low fog had rolled in off the waters of the Puget Sound.
"You okay?" the agent whose life he had saved asked.
"I'm fine. Happens all the time," Carter said.
"Ha, funny," the agent said misinterpreting what Carter said as a joke.
Blue and red lights spun all around them, painting the walls with an eerie light display. It was the kind of light show that would have normally sent shivers up Carter's spine, not that Carter didn't trust the cops, but when you've spent as much time as a criminal as he had, well...you sort of get used to avoiding them at all costs.
"I'm truly grateful you saved my life, but I'm going to have to ask you a few questions before you can go," the agent said. "Obviously you're a user."
Carter couldn't tell if he was referring to using drugs or using powers. They were both labeled with the same tag, and ironically both seemed to have the same effect of ruining your life.
"Since I was born," he said, guessing he was referring to his ability to catch fire.
Carter ran a hand over his now completely bald head and sighed.
"And what's your
"I thought so too," I said. I truly did, but some part of me knew deep down that I was a codependent junkie. If it wasn't the drugs it was something else, or someone else. It had to be something. I just wasn't okay with being me, and I doubted that was ever going to change. No matter how many hours I spent in front of a shrink, how many days of rehab, how many years of sobriety under my belt, in the end, I just wasn't happy with who I had become.
"What about your safety net? What about the steps? You could have called someone," she said. She just had to go there, spouting off that N.A. crap. And it wasn't that I didn't believe that the steps could work, it was all their touchy, feel your emotions, hug it out bullshit that drove me crazy. I hadn't gone to a meeting in years, but I hadn't told her that. I needed my meds after all.
"I guess I dropped the ball on that one," I said. There was really nothing else too say. I had dropped the ball and big time.
I fidgeted on the long couch, my skinny butt taking up only one of the three cushions, as she inspected me with a gaze that told me she wasn't buying it. I had to do something quick, but what?
"So did you get those bruises in jail?" She continued to prod.
"In jail?" I echoed in surprise. When would I have been in jail?
"I assume you were arrested." She wore a smug expression as if she had just figured it all out.
"Oh, you mean the cops? No, they were grateful as hell for what I did." She seriously thought the cops would care that I wasted some deadbeat drug pusher? Just goes to show you that a fancy education can't buy you street smarts. The cops didn't give two shits about big, and why should they? He was the type of guy that made their lives a living hell, he kept them in business, but the cops would rather be out stepping on some harmless pot dealers neck, than dealing with a gun toting heroin dealer.
"But you were there to buy drugs!"
"Oh, I smoothed that over too," I said with a sly wink. She stared at me straight faced to let me know she wasn't amused.
"I can't wait to hear this," she said sarcastically.
"In hind site it wasn't the best decision I ever made," I said, and boy it wasn't.
#
Chapter 3
Carter sat in the back of an ambulance with a gray blanket, draped over his shoulders and wrapped around his chest to cover his naked body. Just like in the movies where some innocent victim ends up wrapped in a blanket, only my blanket was keeping my dong from flapping in the breeze. Even with the thick wool police blanket, a normal man would have been shivering in the cold night air, but Carter never got cold. He could withstand sub zero temperatures wearing little more than a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. The night was silent, the rain from earlier had stopped, and a low fog had rolled in off the waters of the Puget Sound.
"You okay?" the agent whose life he had saved asked.
"I'm fine. Happens all the time," Carter said.
"Ha, funny," the agent said misinterpreting what Carter said as a joke.
Blue and red lights spun all around them, painting the walls with an eerie light display. It was the kind of light show that would have normally sent shivers up Carter's spine, not that Carter didn't trust the cops, but when you've spent as much time as a criminal as he had, well...you sort of get used to avoiding them at all costs.
"I'm truly grateful you saved my life, but I'm going to have to ask you a few questions before you can go," the agent said. "Obviously you're a user."
Carter couldn't tell if he was referring to using drugs or using powers. They were both labeled with the same tag, and ironically both seemed to have the same effect of ruining your life.
"Since I was born," he said, guessing he was referring to his ability to catch fire.
Carter ran a hand over his now completely bald head and sighed.
"And what's your
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