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Rock bottom is just a pitstop.
Things are not going well.
I've been drinking a lot. But I don't think anyone would blame me. I'm alone. Abandoned. Sargo abandoned me.
No. I drove Sargo away.
At least I have therapy. That's good-at least, that's what everyone tells me. Rav, my therapist, tells me my drinking problem has hidden roots. She says my brain is "wired differently" and we need to figure out how to make my wiring work. She calls it "unlocking my superpower", which feels condescending, but I guess I'll go with it. What happens once I unlock that superpower? I don't know. We haven't gotten that far yet.
Then there's the whole matter of the teleporter in my head, and the questionable morals of the biotech corporation that put it there. I can't even think about that whole situation. I never wanted to save the world; I can barely save myself. But it seems like I might be the only one who can.
What is that saying-not the hero you wanted but the hero you deserve? Maybe I am the hero this shitty world deserves.
An Excerpt
I slip between his legs and sink to my knees. His eyes snap open.
"Bird...you-don't have to do that."
"I know." I shrug. "I'm curious."
His eyebrows raise. "Curious."
"I want to explore."
He watches me lower my mouth to him. As I touch my lips to him, his fingers flex convulsively and he sucks in a sharp sip of air.
"Shit."
The word lights a fire under my skin. I wrap my mouth around his tip, tasting salt and bitterness. He's velvety and warm and hard, and bigger than I thought. Very slowly, I start to ease him into my mouth, testing, tasting, carefully inching my way lower.
"Jesus," he gasps, clutching the edge of the couch, "you're killing me here, Howsley."
I frown and look up. "It's not good?"
"No!" He grips the sides of my head with his hands, his eyes, half-wild, flitting between mine. "It's good. You're just-very...deliberate."
