1. Smack


    Date: 8/28/2015, Categories: Anal, Author: Lupus, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    smiling back at me, it doesn’t appeal to me as much as I’d like. ‘What is happiness? Do they know, or are they just pretending? Who are they convincing, if not themselves? Happiness. Ha. Ask Zoey about happiness. To Zoey, it’s about the next fix. That’s it. Smack does more for her than a contrived family gathering or day-trip to the beach. She feels truly alive when she gets that sweet hit. What fix do these people get? Their daughter’s first A grade? A promotion at work?’ I snort and scowl at the pictures again, trying to dissect what makes these people happy. In every picture, no matter where they are, they’re grouped together, hugging and laughing. ‘Does their happiness come from each other? The company of those they love?’ I turn to Zoey and frown as I watch her baggy clothes flapping with her over-zealous rummaging. She’s pulling apart the main bedroom, opening every bed sheet and cupboard door, emptying them out. I can hear her mumbling about hidden money. Zoey was the last to see me through the prison gates and the first to bring me out again. I missed her while I was in there, but you miss most things in prison. I did lie awake at night, though, with a firm fist of flesh, remembering her and fantasising. I’ve had my share of pussy – and more - but sex with Zoey is a real event. ‘Does Zoey make me happy? She infuriates me; some days I could kill the bitch. Some days I could just hold her down and fuck her senseless, just to shut her up. Do I feel happy with her? I ...
    prefer her company than none at all. Does that count? Is that all it is?’ I watch as she pulls a fine, pine drawer from its runners and completely up-ends it on the mattress, scrambling through the collection of knick-knacks and junk. ‘Could Zoey and I be regular, happy people? People with kids, jobs and responsibilities? What does it mean to be normal? Are we normal?’ I climb onto the landing and quietly pad into the main bedroom. Zoey has a suitcase on the bed, digging through it and casting out anything she deems worthless. Occasionally, she grabs something and stuffs it into her pocket. The room is filled with the sounds of digging fingernails and disgruntled grunts. ‘God, she sounds like an angry badger…’ Inside the bedroom is a full-length mirror on a swivelling frame. Vanity is not my style anymore, but it’s been days since I saw myself. ‘Curiosity kills…’ I’m a mess of dirty blonde hair, draped lazily over a pale face with sunken cheeks, blackened eyes and unkempt facial hair. They skin is almost transparent and my clothes hang loose where they used to hug my muscular build. My once pink lips are replaced with a pursed, grey slit; chapped and torn. ‘I could scare birds professionally, looking like this.’ Under scrutiny, my gut feels upset and heavy. I came out of prison feeling good; fit and healthy. A few weeks later, I’m already degenerating. An unpleasant taste rises in the back of my throat and I swallow my own disgust. ‘How can we be normal? What happiness does Zoey ...
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