Abuse and Addiction: A Tale Of Dale - 5. Chapter 5

Dale thanked me for helping him out. Made a big deal out of how I had helped him out of a bind and how he wouldn’t forget that. He kept telling me how glad he was that he had run into me that night at the bar. How fate had brought him something nice for a change. Dale was never one for saying nice things. Always more quick with a criticism than a compliment. And on the rare occasions when he did say something nice it felt like a treat, like I was being given something I hardly deserved—but which he gave anyway—because he cared so much. Only a few words from Dale could make me feel really special. And he took me to dinner. Took me to the Best Western again. He knew that I really loved their prime rib. We had wine with dinner and afterwards had some of the best sex I had ever had. Not like the last time we had gone out to dinner. There was nothing gentle and loving about it. It was hard and rough and I was just numbed enough by the wine and the heroin that I took it as hard as Dale could give it—and begged for harder. When I woke up I the morning I felt sore and bruised, but more completely satisfied then I had felt since Paul had left. I looked in the mirror in the bathroom, at the bruises on my shoulders. They were from his fingers. A tingling shiver ran through me as I remembered how his fingers had gripped my shoulders as he had fucked me. But I couldn’t remember how I had gotten the black eye. I shrugged. Didn’t matter.

I made a pickup for Dale once a week. Apparently Dale had quite a business going. I never asked him about it. It wasn’t my business. But I had figured out that the people that came in the night were coming for drugs. I suspected they weren't just users, though. I guessed that they were street-level dealers. Dale wasn’t quite the type to deal directly with the public, so to speak. I really couldn’t see him having the patience to collect nickels and dimes from each little college kid that knocked on his door. No, that wasn’t his style. He would stay in the middle, out of the sight line. And apparently that position was a good one, a profitable one. Dale never lacked for money. And he never hesitated to spend it. Sometimes he even spent some on me. Bought me an old book of poetry once. Was called “A Treasury of the Worlds Best Loved Poems.” I still have it. I knew he hadn’t spent much on it. It was old, but not antique. But it was the thought that warmed me. He knew I loved poetry.

Each week the routine was pretty much the same. I seldom actually saw Papa Doc. The two gang members—that was how I always thought of them, though I found out their names were Ramon and Tyrell—always met me at the door and handled the transaction. They would always make comments about me. They seemed to delight in that. Tyrell especially. Ramon would occasionally throw some smart-ass comment at me, but Tyrell never missed a chance. He would ask me if Da-bo fucked me good. Maybe I’d like a nice big black dick instead? Once he took it out and waved it at me. “This probably too big to fit up your tight white ass, isn’t it mother fucker? You gotta stick with those little white dicks. Da-bo got a little white dick, bitch? Bet he gives it to you every day. I would if you was my bitch.”

But I got used to them. They never actually did anything to me. Just liked to tease me, to see if they could scare me a bit. But they didn’t. Not really. But again, that was one of the side effects of the heroin. Took away my anxieties, but it took away my sense of self-preservation as well. I didn’t feel worry. Didn’t feel afraid. So I didn’t pay as close attention to things as I probably should have. And thinking back, I’m not so sure it was Ramon or Tyrell—or even Papa Doc that I should have felt afraid of, that I should have been watching out for.

Like I said, each week the routine was pretty much the same. And I got used to the routine. And it felt good having money in my pocket—though never all that much. But still, I could pay my share of the rent, buy some food—whatever I was in the mood to eat, drink whatever I wanted. And since Dale gave me all the heroin I needed as a fringe benefit, I still managed to always have some money in my pocket. That was a good feeling. Began to feel like I had escaped the mad puppet master. Should have known better.

It was about two months after I started running for Dale. Everything was business as usual. Tyrell took the envelope and counted the money. But this time something was wrong. He glared at me and said, “You fucking move and you’re dead, bitch!” I stood like a statue. I had no clue what was wrong. My heart was racing. He left Ramon standing behind me and went into the other room. When he came back, Papa Doc was with him. Ramon grabbed both of my arms and held them behind me. Tyrell pulled out a knife and held it to my throat.

“Seems we have a little problem here.” Papa Doc’s voice was soft, disappointed. “I been doing business with Da-bo for a long time, boy. In all that time the money has never been short. But it seems that now all of a sudden I’m missing $300.” I could feel the blade of the knife pressing against my throat. Felt like if I swallowed too hard, it would cut my skin.

“Now, you owe me that money, boy.” It was a simple statement of fact.

I felt panic rising in me—enough panic to make me speak when I knew I should have just kept my mouth shut. “I didn’t take the money. I’m sure it’s just a mistake. I know Da-bo will make it up next week.”

Papa Doc laughed, a full, hearty laugh filled with genuine amusement. “Nothing is on credit here, boy. And the package is already set. And you bring me the money, so YOU owe me the money if it is short. Why don’t you just give me the $300 and I am sure Da-bo will give you what he owes you. That Da-bo is an honorable man.” I thought I caught a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“I don’t have $300, Papa Doc.” I had about $30 in my wallet. “I-“

Papa Doc didn’t wait to hear more. He back-handed me across the face. I could taste the blood. Then he ran his hand along my cheek. “So pretty for a white boy. Nice little bitch. Da-bo does have himself good taste in his bitches.” He reached in my pocket and pulled out my wallet. He took out the $30 I had in there and slipped it into his pocket.

“I’m going to give you a break this time, boy. Only because me and Da-bo go back a ways. Papa Doc understands how things are. You probably needed to score or wanted to get a little pussy—or maybe a big dick on the side.” Ramon and Tyrell laughed. “Can’t blame you there. A fine boy like you likes to have a little fun. But you gotta learn that you can’t mess with Papa Doc. No, Papa Doc has bills to pay. Think I live here for free? Think I got me this big screen TV for free? Think I got me these fine clothes and these diamonds for free? No, I got bills to pay. But I’m going to give you a break—this one time.” He smiled at me. “Next time you come, you bring me the $300.”

I felt like a death row inmate must feel when he gets a reprieve. Felt so relieved I could have cried. Then he reached down and unzipped his pants. Ramon and Tyrell forced me down on my knees.

“I’m going to let you give Papa Doc a little deposit on that money. Ain’t no head worth $300, but I bet that pretty mouth of yours can suck the sugar from the cane.” He pulled out his cock. “You make Papa Doc feel good, boy, and you walk outta here with your balls still hanging by your dick.”

Ramon pulled my hair hard, snapping my head back so I was looking up at Papa Doc. “You don’t make Papa Doc feel good and you’ll be taking your balls home in your pocket. So you go ahead now, you make Papa Doc feel good.”

I gave him the best blow job I was capable of. And that was damned good. Paul had taught me well and I had practiced my art on Dale. And even Dale never complained about my blow jobs. Said it was the one thing I could do really well. And I gave Papa Doc my best. Took my time, made him shake so hard I thought his legs were going to give out, half expected to end up crushed underneath him. Made him come so hard I nearly choked as his cum hit the back of my throat.

I managed somehow to make it to my car before I bent over and puked my guts out.

**

Dale was sympathetic—to a point. “It was a mistake, Luc. Do you think I did it intentionally?” There was a challenge in Dale’s voice. It made me think for one moment…

“No, of course not, Dale. Why would you do something like that?” Why would he? Had he?

“No reason I would. But god knows what shit gets into your head.” He turned away. “No big deal. Next week you can bring him the $300 with my apologies.” Dale took $30 from his wallet and threw it on the kitchen table. “Here, wasn’t your fault. No reason you should be out for it.”

I looked at Dale, and I could almost see the expression in my own eyes. I knew they had to be showing the horror I was feeling, knew they had to be showing the vomit that was rising in my throat. “Dale, I don’t want to go back there. Papa Doc-“

Dale hit me. Hit me hard. It wasn’t just a quick backhand across the face. Used his fists this time. Both of them in rapid succession. Knocked me to the floor and nearly knocked me out. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” He railed at me, his fists clenched. I saw raw fury in his eyes.

I cowered like a puppy who had just been kicked by his master. I had never really been afraid of Dale before. He had made me uneasy. He had made me wary. But I had never truly been afraid of him before. I always knew he would hit me and be sorry right away. And he never really hit me that hard. But this time…

“You were lucky, you little shit. Papa Doc must have been in a good mood. You don’t piss off a man like Papa Doc!” He kicked at me. I managed to move just enough so that it was just a glancing blow. “Do you think you are better than Papa Doc? Who the fuck do you think you are? Papa Doc has more money in his pocket than you will ever have at one time. You are nothing. Papa Doc wouldn’t even bother to wipe you off the bottom of his shoe! You are so fucking lucky that Papa Doc didn’t just slit your fucking throat.”

I couldn’t help wondering, as he was yelling at me, why any of this was my fault. I hadn’t made the mistake with the money, yet Dale was acting as if it had all been my fault and I was lucky to have gotten off so lightly. With one more kick at me, Dale stormed from the room. I just sat there. I wiped my hand across my mouth. When Dale had hit me, I had bitten my lip. It was bleeding pretty good. My nose was also. I wondered if it was broken. I went to stand up, wanted to put some cold water on my lip, wanted to look at my nose. Wanted to clean the blood off of the floor before Dale got pissed at that. But my head swam. I almost puked. I closed my eyes to keep the room from spinning.

Don’t remember Dale coming back into the kitchen. I just remember his hands on my arms, helping me to my feet. “I’m sorry, baby.” I felt a cold washcloth on my face, felt it brushing over my lips, felt it pressing against my nose. I opened my eyes. Dale was looking at me with those turquoise eyes. They were concerned, contrite, convincing.

“It was just that it could have been so much worse. He could have killed you. And it would have been all my fault.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I never did that before. In all the years I never messed up a count.” He pulled me close to him, his arms wrapped tightly around me. I could feel his lips brushing against my hair. “I’m so sorry, Luc. I just called Papa Doc and explained everything to him. I know it wasn’t good for you, baby. But I’m glad you were able to take care of Papa Doc.” He looked down at me and kissed my lips lightly and smiled. “Very well, too, according to Papa Doc.” He pulled me against him again. “I’ll make it up to you, baby. You really helped me out again. You know I never forget things like that.” His hand stroked my hair gently.

And it was true. Dale never forgot a favor. Hadn’t he made good on his promises before? And really, after all that he had done for me, I owed him so much. If I didn’t go back, if I didn’t bring the $300 to Papa Doc, how would that look? Maybe Papa Doc would get angry with Dale. And really, it hadn’t been such a big deal.

“I’m sorry, Dale,” I murmured against his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have acted like such a baby about it. Not like I’ve never given a blow job before.”

Dale laughed and pulled my hair lightly. “True. And Papa Doc said you gave him one damned fine one.” He smiled down at me. “But then, you are the best, Luc.” He ran a finger over my lips. I winced a little when he touched where they were cut. “Sweetest lips that ever wrapped themselves around a cock.”

I smiled up at him. It was good to be appreciated. It was really good to be appreciated by Dale.

**

But when the next time came, I didn’t want to go. I felt tension and anxiety building in me, felt the old fight or flight response gearing up toward flight. God! I really needed a hit badly! But I was out. And so was Dale. Dale was very apologetic. Had been a big week. Had a new buyer and he had underestimated his need. Couldn’t very well short him. Never good to disappoint a client. You wanted them to keep coming back—not go looking elsewhere. Surely I understood that. He needed a hit, too. But sometimes you just had to suck it up.

Of course, I understood that. I could see Dale was probably hurting even more than I was. He’d been using so much longer. He needed more.

“I know how you are feeling, Luc. But I really need you on this one.”

Of course, I would go. Dale needed me. It was good to be needed.

By the time I got to Papa Doc’s I was well into withdrawal. It had been nearly a whole day since my last hit. I was feeling nauseous, shaky, irritable, anxious. Everything that the heroin kept at bay was filtering back to me. Since I had started using, I had never gotten this far into withdrawal. I had gotten to the point of feeling sick and a bit dead—but I had never gone this long without. This time I got a true taste of my addiction.

Papa Doc was sympathetic. He saw my condition as soon as I walked in the door. Came up to me and ran a finger along my cheek. “Da-bo not taking care you, boy?” He looked at Ramon and nodded his head. Ramon left the room.

I handed Papa Doc the envelope with the money and handed him the extra $300. My hands were shaking badly.

He laughed. “Don’t you worry, boy. Papa Doc will take care of you. I got some good shit. Really good. Not like that shit Da-bo gives you.” He ran a hand through my hair and I wondered irrationally, irritably why the fuck everyone was so obsessed with my hair. Thankfully, that thought never rose to my lips. That was one thing I had gotten much better at—NOT saying everything that came to my head.

Ramon came back with a syringe and Papa Doc smiled. “Gonna give you some of my own shit. You gave me the best head I had in a long time, boy. Worth a little of the good shit to make you right.” He waved the $300 in my face. “Almost worth this!” He laughed, as did Ramon and Tyrell. He nodded and Ramon handed me the syringe. With my hands shaking, I found a vein and shot up.

It was good. I could tell it was better than anything Dale had ever given me. The burn was hot and the heat spread quickly. It was almost immediately that I felt all my withdrawal ease. I took a deep breath that ended in a sigh. And as the sigh left my body, I wondered what I had been so stressed about.

Then Ramon and Tyrell pushed me to my knees again. “Now you gonna make Papa Doc feel good again. You make Papa Doc feel as good as you did last time. Papa Doc took care of you, now you take care of Papa Doc.”

It was easier this time. I sucked his cock. Sucked him as good as I had the last time. Maybe even a little better. As he came in my mouth I wondered what my problem had been the last time. Wasn’t a big deal. God! Why had I been such a baby about it?

“Boy, you sure know how to make Papa Doc feel happy.”
I went to stand up, but Ramon and Tyrell were there again, holding me down. I looked up at him, a question in my eyes—but not on my lips.

“Now you’re gonna suck Papa Doc hard again, boy.” I felt a sudden wave of panic sweep through me. Even the heroin couldn’t block this one. I knew what was coming next. Papa Doc could see the panic in my eyes, could see my instinctive attempt to get up, to run. He reminded me with a backfist—not a backhand, was too big a reminder for something as gentle as a backhand—that I really didn’t have a choice.

And I knew, really, that the fist was a concession. It could have been a knife. It could have been a gun. The blood could have been coming from my throat, could have been coming from a hole in my head—instead of just from my nose and mouth. And wildly, crazily, I actually felt grateful for that!

As he was fucking me, I realized that I didn’t feel what he was doing. I realized that I had gone numb. Oh, I could feel it physically. It hurt like fucking hell. As rough as Dale was, Dale was not big. Papa Doc was just as rough and a hell of a lot bigger. It hurt like I was being torn in two. And he took a while, seemed like he took forever.

But the odd thing was that it wasn’t like it was hurting ME. I felt almost as if I were watching, as if I were noting the details from a point somewhere off to the side.

After, as I was driving home, a nice bag of Papa Doc’s own shit in my pocket, I went over the whole thing in my mind, read the notes I had taken in my head. And I felt a wave of hatred wash over me. I hated Papa Doc. I hated Dale. I hated myself. But mostly, I hated Papa Doc. Not for fucking me. That wasn’t a big deal. Not like I hadn’t been fucked before. Not like I wouldn’t be fucked again. But when he had fucked me I had shut off. I had just detached and numbed. And I hated him for reminding me. Hated him for making me feel the same, for reminding me how it had felt then—like I wasn’t me, like I was just a thing. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” I heard the voice demanding. And the answer was that I was nothing. Nothing that was wanted, nothing that was needed, nothing that was loved—just a thing to be used. Not me. There was no me. There was just a thing. And I hated him for reminding me that that was all I was.