Beneath the Stain - Part 2
““Give it back,” he mumbled. “Kell, gimme the blanket back, I’m fucking cold.”
“You’re in withdrawal,” came a flat voice, and Mackey groaned.
“Fucking shakes, man. I didn’t even need the coke, but where’d you put the fucking Xanax? I need that shit.” Mackey dimly remembered waking up to pee and coming back to the freshly made bed, only to see his stash had been leveled. He’d gone back to sleep—God, it had been so long since he’d been able to sleep—but then he’d been yanked rudely awake, and the pills were still gone.
That time, the fucker who’d taken his drugs had dragged him into the bathroom and shoved him under the fucking shower.
That was confusing. Someone had bathed him, rubbing his hair roughly with shampoo and scrubbing at his back and between his legs with a washcloth. It had been awful and invasive, but at the same time sort of comforting. When was the last time someone had taken care of him?
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