Disorder

WARNING

This story contains disturbing adult situations and themes intended for mature audiences; including but not limited to:

Psychological distress

Illicit drug use

Self-harm

Domestic violence

Extreme sexual content

Human trafficking

Seizures

Murder

The entirety of this book is fictional; the storyline, characters, businesses, events, names, etcetera are the product of the author’s imagination and every aspect of this book was fabricated to a degree. Although some elements were inspired by real experiences, any names or likeness of individuals living or dead is coincidental, notwithstanding a few individuals' written consent.

Viewer discretion is advised.

This literary work is the property of the author and is NOT to be reproduced.

Theft or reproduction of this content will result in prosecution to the full extent of the law.

Happy reading!

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Prologue

May 4, 2020

Dear Reader,

If you’ve found this, you should know that I never anticipated living my life in this manner; and up until now, had no intentions to share my experiences. A tragedy befell someone I cherished recently, thus prompting my solemn memoir.

In not so many words, I don’t want to die young. However, if I am cut short unexpectedly, my children deserve better than to have their perception of me twisted by the media. I beg you from the depths of my soul, be sure they know that I love them.

It’s true that I did eventually indulge against my better judgment. I became acquainted with many substances; and though we could not coexist as friends, we thrived as business partners. The maximum amount that I could consume was limited by a natural ceiling effect. Despite my high tolerance, it was futile to do more than necessary. This led to an inability to form an addiction, making me the exception to the rule. The closest to withdrawal I ever felt was the debilitating exhaustion that followed.

Yet, regardless of what anyone may believe, there has never been a moment in my life that I haven’t been fiercely against illicit drugs; nor the detrimental effects they have on society. So while you read the details of my trip down the rabbit hole, I offer you this wisdom: there are no gateway drugs, there are only drugs and gateway people.

-Kara Leigh Watson

11:32 PM

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Chapter 1: Gateway Drugs

As you know, my name is Kara Leigh Watson. I’m a twenty-three-year-old single mom. Regardless of young age, I’ve found that many things in life can prove unfair. My children are two blessings that I can account for; and if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be alive to tell you this tale.

Even now, and for the past ten years at least, I drag myself out of bed every day with the weight of a shade on my back. There’s never been a day that it hasn’t clung to me. Although, for a single woman with two kids suffocating under the pressure of a deep chemical imbalance in her brain, I think I’ve lived a fairly fulfilling life. Yet despite my good fortune, I’ll admit that I was droning for a long time, years I think, unfulfilled.

Dissociated.

That is, until I posted a sale for my floral shop. I advertised twenty-five-dollar custom bouquets on sale for only ten dollars during the month of May. Barely fifteen minutes before closing time on Mother's Day of 2019, a young man who stood slightly taller than I, walked in pouring sweat. It was the middle of summertime on the Alabama coast and he was sporting a long-sleeve athletic shirt paired with cargo shorts.

I recognized him as Ethan Ivan, we’d actually attended the same high school and worked on projects together once or twice. The last time I recalled having seen him was our junior year, he was shorter then. Over the following half-decade he had grown at least four inches taller than me.

A smile stretched across his face upon seeing me. “Hey you, been a minute!”

I was surprised to find that even his voice had matured, it had become older and less feeble. “Yeah, it has been. What have you been up to all this time? I didn’t think you even lived around here anymore.” I subtly tripped over my words, put off by his timing and willingness to speak to me.

“Actually I just moved back a few months ago, I’ve been in Tuscaloosa for a bit since I graduated. What have you been doing? I heard you got married.” He walked closer to the opposite side of the counter from where I was standing.

My heart ached a bit at that comment. “Yeah, well, I’ve been single for a while now,” I half forced a chuckle, “just me and the kids.”

“Yeah, mine’s been pretty mundane aside from all the shit I keep getting myself into. But anyways, I really came in here to see about some flowers.” He set his phone and wallet down and then leaned on the counter.

“Sure, are they for your… wife?” I realized my mistake at the end of my sentence and paused. I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d arrived, seeing as there were no keys with his pocket loot and no car outside. “Did you get dropped off or something?”

My shade mumbled from the corner of my mind that I was being rude.

“I have a longboard. Pointless to drive around here, so many sidewalks and places to see. I’d rather go it on foot. And, they’re for my aunt, she’s pretty much my mom.” He peeked behind my side of the counter and pulled a roll of paper towels out from under the register, not actually asking to use them.

“So where’s your mom at?” I was more than slightly irritated with him for not respecting boundaries and I’m sure it was apparent in my tone.

“Damn, you ask a lot of questions. She just moved a few months ago with her new beau.” He ripped a few off of the roll, then wiped his hair, face, and neck down with them. I held the small trash bin up so he wouldn’t leave it on the floor or counter.

Like a neanderthal.

“So what flowers are we doing?” I asked before taking my apron off and stuffing it under the register. “You can pick one type of flower and I’ll put it all together.” As I finished my sentence, I pulled out a chilled vase with water that was premixed with all-purpose plant food from the cooler behind the counter, then pointed to show him the selection for the sale.

My shop, Wildflowers, was a tiny shop. Walking in from the front door, the register was to the right. I had two round flower displays to the left, The back wall had rows upon rows of more flowers, as well as a cooler of just roses. Behind the counter was my rather disorganized office space, and as you know, another cooler for empty vases and orders.

Ethan pointed out the area of the wall he was interested in. “Oh sweet, I think she would really like these!”

Like a kid in a candy store. What a catch.

I rolled my eyes at my shade’s sarcastic quip and followed Ethan across my store, bringing the vase with me to the back wall. “Okay cool, let’s get started.”

We picked out an array of brightly colored carnations and customized the arrangement together. It’d been a while since I had been in such close proximity to another adult, especially one so pretty. He had dark honey-hued hair, neatly cut into a fade. His eyes were the same color as the water on the Pensacola beaches. He had a jawline for days and a perfect pearly white smile.

‘No one should be allowed to look so good.’ I thought to myself, daydreaming a bit while we worked.

At one point, as I was tying the bow onto the vase, I asked how he was getting it home. His mouth half dropped open and after a moment or two of silent confusion, he asked if I could give him a ride when I closed.

“Sure,” I handed him the flowers after he paid and reached under the register for my bag, “hope you don’t mind, my car is kinda small.” I checked all the locks and set the alarm before leaving.

After unlocking my car door, I took a moment to get settled, then I reached over and unlocked his so he could get in. The seatbelt was on an automatic track and caught him by surprise, nearly choking him when it closed. My little vermillion car was a 1995 and only had just over twenty-seven thousand miles on it. I had plans to restore the few minor flaws and get the antique tags put on it eventually.

While I drove, he talked a lot. Like he couldn’t shut up if he tried. Most of his ramblings were about jail, being free, his family, his pets, and his ideals. Every now and again he would give me direction or I would offer up something to make it known that I was still listening. It was almost annoying, but I enjoyed the company.

He lived about a mile from me, if that, in a petite white house with a picket fence. “Thank you so much, Kara. Like, I really appreciate it.”

“Just let me know if you ever need a ride yo, it’s too hot this time of year.” I smiled at him and shifted my car into reverse.

“That’s the damn truth. See you later!” He energetically hopped out of my car with the flowers and the rest of his things. I backed out of the drive and headed in the direction of my cousin’s home to pick up my little ones.

It was around seven o’clock when we finally got home and ate some dinner. My cousin Roselyn and I talked for a while and I had mentioned Ethan to her. She was skeptical of the ordeal, recalling that he had been a complete asshole to her in high school.

At about midnight, I finally sat down on my little full-sized bed and breathed a sigh of relief. Sophie was asleep in her crib on the other side of the room and Alex was crashed out in his bed a room over. On quiet nights like these, I would take a minute to appreciate our home. It was small, however, unique. When I was younger I had painted a concept for a dream house; eventually, I was able to make it a reality.

The front door was neatly centered overlooking a concrete porch with a set of lantern-style lights and four cream and mocha brick columns. There was one step leading up to the slab and another much narrower step on the right side of the porch. These steps led to a covered pathway behind the row of bushes, then wrapped around the side of the house to the back. If you followed it you'd come to a set of concrete steps that would take you to the terrace, which sits above the bedrooms.

Going inside you're greeted by a large living room with a high vaulted ceiling, an open kitchen with a black glass top stove in the island, three cream brick arches starting from one side of the room, meeting on either side of the island, and ending on the other side of the room. The kitchen almost looked like a cubby hole. The living room was three feet wider on both sides, the kitchen centered in the room. A bar attached to the island, a staircase on the far left side of the living room, and a bathroom on the far right.

The staircase on the far left leads to a dining loft with a sliding glass door going onto the terrace. The bathroom to the right of the kitchen came equipped with a garden tub centered under a window, one bowl sink on top of the counter to the right, a towel rack on the left, and a toilet between the tub and counter. Hardwood flooring throughout the house minus carpet in the two bedrooms.

My room was directly to the right as you entered the house. It's a double-doored large sunroom with windows covering most of the wall opposite the doors. My bed was centered under the windows, Sophie’s crib to the right, a side table between them, and a bookshelf near the doors. The left wall had two identical doors, one on each half. The right door led to Alex's room and the left door was a large walk-in closet where I kept all of our clothes.

It was a lovely home full of memories, but reminiscing always had a way of depressing me. For that night, like most others, I laid awake and silently conversed with my shade about how lonely things had gotten. Of course, I ruined my own mood, call me nostalgic. Eventually, I turned my lamp off, plugged my phone in, and fell asleep.

A couple of days after Mother’s Day, I saw Ethan again. He came by for no other reason than to say hello. Both the kids were with me at work and I was planning on knocking off early to take Alex for a hotdog. There was a little place next to the park in Foley that was delicious and always busy. I invited Ethan to join us.

That’s your idea of a date?

It’s an opportunity to hang out.

You’re so pathetic.

Despite my shade being a dick, he agreed to go and even carried Sophie to the car. Not to my surprise, Alex was already filthy. Kids. I used a baby wipe on his face after getting him strapped into his five-point. He complained the whole way to the park, up until he saw the train. Then he complained that he wanted to get on it.

A few minutes after we parked, the Centennial Clock Tower chimed for 11:00 AM. We stood in line for the ride, it was tiny with only four little ‘cars’ attached. I thought it was a rather clever thing to make a riding lawn mower into a children's train ride.

Getting the kids settled was pretty easy. The ‘conductor’ placed us in a blue car and went one by one to each box to remind us to follow the posted safety rules. An upbeat tune played over the speaker system and soon we departed the historical train station.

He drove us along a path around the park and then down a large sidewalk that extended north beyond the police station, turning around just past a small gazebo centered on The Rose Trail. The whole trip was about twenty minutes long.

Once we got off, I raced Alex across the park - stopping for traffic at the edge of the sidewalk, then walked the rest of the block to the hotdog place. Ethan had Sophie in her stroller, not exactly keeping up but not being left behind. He had taken well to her, was slowly warming up to Alex, and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t enjoy his company, too.

I thought to myself that maybe I could get used to having someone else around; and with that notion, I gave the shade no room to intrude.

I stood in my living room after getting the kids to bed and observed the destruction that was left in their wake; toys, furniture pieces, laundry - even the trash can was knocked over. I pondered, ‘How could a four-year-old and a seven-month-old do so much damage?’

It was pleasantly cool in the house, regardless of the late May heat. Standing by the front door and facing the living room you could see the layout in its entirety. It wasn't too much, an entertainment center with a glass case on each side and a bookshelf as the bottom piece for the TV to sit on, all centered on the far left wall. Filling the rest of the living room was a couch, a loveseat, two end tables, and some other bookshelves built into the walls around my bedroom.

Although, I could do without boring you with small homely details; I had spent a big part of my day thinking about Ethan. We’d added each other on a couple of social media accounts and had been hanging out at least twice a week. Whether that was by getting lunch or him hanging out in the shop. His company was more enjoyable than I expected.

I looked down at my phone on the kitchen counter. It was after eleven o’clock by then but I thought it would be a nice change of pace to have him stay overnight. So I texted him.

Sent: ~Hey I'm gonna be up late cleaning and stuffing my face, keep me company?~

Almost immediately my phone pinged a video game tone with his response.

Received: ~I'm down, send your address I'll be there soon.~

My only thought was that I needed to finish cleaning. I rushed through the living room and shoved all the toys to one side of the room, went through the bedrooms quietly, and collected any stray dishes and dirty clothes. I dropped the dishes in the sink and tossed the clothes into the garage next to the washer.

For a split second, I looked over at the other two vehicles in my garage, my heart throbbed and just for a moment, I considered canceling on Ethan.

But, he is gone, and you are alone.

I shook the feeling as best I could and ran back inside, turning the shower on and brushing my teeth while the water heated up. One thing I didn’t pay enough attention to was my looks. I would buy good-quality hygiene products so I’d look attractive by default, but if I ever sat and studied my reflection for too long, I'd obsess.

Through the thin layer of steam creeping across my mirror, I could see all my curves and creases. And with it, crept in the shade. The shade is a simple creature, the personification of the compilation of mental illnesses which plague me.

I was pudgy. Short. Barely cleared five feet tall. My arms were flabby, my breasts droopy, and let's not talk about the poor shape of my butt. My thighs were the same as they'd always been. My stomach was squishy and covered with little silver stretch marks and 'love' handles. Although, I still had a smaller waist and an overall hourglass shape.

Once the water was hot enough, I hopped in, trying to drag my mind away from my self-loathing. I washed and conditioned my hair with products that smelled like coconut, bathed with soap made from oatmeal and honey, and I also shaved a couple of areas. Once clean, I shut the water off and accidentally knocked a bottle of rustic-scented men's soap into the tub.

I wondered if I'd ever be able to throw it away.

Shaking the feeling again, I stepped out onto a soft blue rug and wrapped myself in a thick cream-colored towel. I don't know why I was so filled with such a weird sense of urgency. I felt pressured and needed to calm down. Due to having a hard time accepting my mental health issues, I always made it a point to not let myself get worked up.

No one wants to admit they have weaknesses.

The doorknob was slightly coated with condensation. I watched it drip off slowly for a few moments; then I closed my eyes and tuned myself into the water on my flesh. The air in the bathroom felt hot and slightly sticky, yet the droplets felt cool on my arms. My hair stuck to my neck and shoulders, looking down, I visually traced the damp waves that lay randomly about.

It’s getting long, chop it off.

I rolled my eyes.

The strands were cocoa-colored with light hints of auburn. I raised my right hand to my chest and with my fingertips, twirled a few stray locks of my mane mindlessly.

knock knock

I stood for a moment more, then I opened the door, still in my towel, and walked across the living room to let Ethan inside. He stepped across the threshold and leaned against the doors to try and muffle them while they shut. His eyes did a quick once over but he remained unphased, seeming to be in his usual giddy mood.

"Sorry about the wreckage, I still need to clean. Give me just a sec, I'm gonna go get some pajamas." I half hugged him and then quickly went into my room, a half-walk/half-run on my toes. Suddenly, I too was in a giddy mood.

When I came out of my bedroom, Ethan was lounging on my couch. He wore a slimming pair of black jeans and a plain faded light blue t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. His boots were kicked off by the front door and everything that was in his pockets was dropped in a pile on one of my side tables. My mouth started to water at the sight of his sun-kissed skin.

I thought this would be a good time for me to finally show off a little. So I donned a short pair of black yoga shorts and a thin-strapped gray tank top. Unlike Ethan, I didn't have tattoos. Whereas, he had quite a few.

I wasn't entirely sure how I felt at the idea of dating someone previously arrested for drugs and domestic violence, but I was sure that I wanted to taste every bit of him. It had been a while. Maybe a year or so. My nerves felt like vibrating cello chords. I walked up from behind the couch and placed my hands nonchalantly on the top edge, then lifted my heavy figure up and over. I plopped a bit harder than anticipated right next to him, almost on top of his lap.

I gazed up at his gorgeous face, a bit on the anxious side. A chiseled jaw met perfect cheekbones, strawberry shaded lips twitched into a glowing white grin, ocean eyes looking me over but not revealing his intent. My nerves were struck again and hummed in my brain, deafening my thought process with intense partial images of this man lying beneath me. I wanted to be worshiped.

Neither of us so much as breathed a word. He draped his right arm on the back of the couch around me and shifted a bit so that his body leaned over mine. I tilted my head back and ever so slightly parted my lips, my body gravitated towards his. Suddenly though, his expression changed, his smile relaxing into a grimace and forehead tensing slightly, the muscles under his eyes contracted and I could sense desperation in his voice when he finally spoke.

At first a sigh. Then he said in a bit more than a murmur, "Kara, I like you, much more than I thought I would. And I can definitely see this going somewhere. But before either one of us becomes too emotionally attached, I have to tell you something."

I retreated a bit, ‘I knew it. A catch. There's always a catch.’

"You can tell me anything.” I said, even more anxious than a minute before.

He took my right hand in his left and sighed deeply again. "I'm addicted to dope."

Oh.

"I don't believe people can be addicted to weed." Is that really it? Yeah, weed is illegal in Alabama but I mean that's not that serious.

He glared at me. "What? No, I'm not- that's not- what? Why do you think I'm talking about weed?"

A chill ran through me, "I've only ever heard dope used in a context that referred to pot."

He blinked and his pupils dilated a bit. A touch of panic flashed on his face. "Kara, dope isn't weed, it's meth."

Oh fuck. My jaw dropped just enough to separate my lips. A cold sweat crept over my flesh. He spoke again, swallowing first. "I get it if you're not okay with that. I mean, you really don't need to be around it and neither do the kids. It's a dark world that I live in. I'm trying to crawl out of it but it's hard on my own."

I felt cold and thought, ‘How do I even process that he's on one of the most dangerous and destructive drugs there is?’ I wasn't okay with it at all, I could feel the shade becoming heavier on my back like it was leaning in and listening to our conversation. I looked back up at his eyes, they were already focused on me. I wanted him to get better, I wanted to explore a future with him. I wanted to accept him for who he was, even if that meant I had to be okay with... that.

‘But,’ I glanced behind me at my bedroom door where my babies were resting, ‘did I care about him enough to expose myself and my family to that world?’ My eyes traced his face and etched the hard lines of his features into the walls of my mind. "Are you really trying to get clean? Because if you're serious about it, I'll help you."

His whole body perked up eagerly, "Seriously? You like me that much?"

"I mean you're my friend before everything else and I care about you getting better."

He looked me over, his eyes darting all around my face, then in a second he yanked me into a tight hug and thanked me.

Then, his mouth was on mine. Hot hands on both sides of my throat, thumbs on my jawline, and fingertips in the hair on the nape of my neck. Not a deep kiss but a kiss, all the same, he pulled back, the tips of our noses just out of reach of each other. His lips were so plush and enticing that I didn't think, I just did. My mouth met his again and my hands were tight around him, he put me in his lap and held me by my waist. I explored his tongue with my own, running my fingers through his hair and along his skin.

His hands released my hips and immediately started tearing his belt off. I pulled back and helped him fight his way out of his jeans. They opened enough for him to take himself out and get situated. I paused and gawked at the massive cock in front of me.

“You’re gonna have to be gentle with that, I haven’t fucked anyone in well over a year.”

“Hah, and here all this time I thought you were a masochist.” He hissed before molding his mouth to mine again. His hands hooked my shorts and shoved them aside, guiding my body to line up with his. “I’d ask if you’re ready but,” as he breathed his words he pulled me down on top of him, two inches, maybe three, “I’m not so sure I care how prepared you are.”

I sucked in air, nearly choking. Holy fuck.

With one hand tight around my throat and one wrapping around my waist and gripping my shoulder, he forced me to take every bit of him. I couldn’t do more than whine, after a few moments I found a rhythm and we moved together in tandem. Before long I was thrown face down on my couch, my shorts being ripped to the floor, my wrists being tightly held behind my back. He was rough with me in every sense of the word. Perfect teeth bearing down on my neck, growling at what a darling little whore I was for him, he took me for everything I was worth.

I basked in it, cumming for him a time or three. Completely losing control of my body and mind and will, it was everything I’d needed. The wait was long overdue. His body heat was intense, my cervix was sore from taking such a beating, and I lost track of time. Long after I had lost the use of my voice and strength to move or fight back, he pulled me up by my hair and shoved his dick in my mouth as deeply as he could. It swelled against the boundaries of my jaw and poured hot cum into my throat.

It spewed out of my mouth and down my chin, dripping onto my chest. He shoved me back and I gagged trying to catch my breath. There was nothing graceful about the sex we’d just had. Nothing romantic or sensual. It was just a hard, merciless, unforgiving fuck.