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The bargaining began that first night, and it lasted some time. She wanted alcohol.
She was back in bed. "Just one drink, Jimmy. Go look in Beth's liquor cabinet."
"I'll bring you some fresh water, Claire."
"No! I don't want water; it's not going to help me. I need something stronger, Jimmy. Please."
"We can't trade one addiction for another."
"Bring me a fucking drink!" she roared.
She shifted tone and tactics. "We'll both have one, Jimmy, and then we can fuck."
I stared at her.
She continued, "Don't you want to fuck, Jimmy? Come on, let's do it." She spread her legs gyrated her hips. "Let's get drunk and screw," she offered, smiling deviously.
I was tempted. Fucking the shit out of her just might make up for how bitchy she'd been all day, but I mastered myself. "No."
She flipped, called me every name in the book, called me a "fucking queer faggot." I went to the den until she shut up.
Then, I started hearing crashes. Did she fall? I ran over, and Claire was tearing apart her room. Anything she could kick or reach with her casts, she knocked on the floor. When she saw me, she shrieked away, trashing the place. After, when she'd spent her energy, she sank to the floor in a heap and bawled.
"It's too hard. I can't do it, Jimmy. I can't."
I lifted her into bed, and then, miraculously, she fell asleep.
Day two wasn't worse for me, but it was definitely worse for her. She looked like she was going to die-pale, sweat pouring off her, shivering. Nothing I did for her brought her any comfort.
When it was time for her Advil, she insisted on more. I wouldn't give her more than four at a time, and she freaked on me again. The swear words she could unload! The names she conjured up for me! Some of my favorites: I was a "runny little cunt," a "shit sucking bastard," and a "fucking puke-dick faggot."
The bargaining for alcohol stepped up a level. Claire told me that if I got her a drink, she would suck my cock. When I refused, she offered her mouth to me anytime I wanted it. I asked, "Even after you get out of your casts?"
She said, "For the rest of your life, I'll suck your dick."
I smiled at the idea, and she misinterpreted. She thought I was really considering it.
She cooed, "Take it out." She licked her lips. "Climb on this bed and you can just fuck my face."
"No, Claire. No alcohol."
"Think of it, Jimmy: your Mom's sister will be your cum slave. You get an urge, you come to me, and I suck that hot sticky cum right out of you."
Her voice in that moment-so sexy.
She continued, "Right now, we can start. Don't you feel it, Jimmy? Down there? All that boy cum, how heavy your balls are with it, and you need someplace to put it." She licked her lips and moaned.
When a part of my mind suggested I-just once-take her up on the offer, I walked out of the room. Her curses followed me.
Returning an hour or so later, the whole room reeked. She had pissed herself. I didn't know if it was out of revenge or out of her unimaginable struggle to beat the addiction. She was almost comatose.
I spent the next hour cleaning up her and the mess; she didn't utter a noise. She was a rag doll.
On Wednesday, she was done cursing at me, but she did make one final bid for alcohol.
It was the early afternoon. I had just finished helping her dress after a long, hot shower. She hadn't said much of anything all morning. I put her in bed and she asked me for a fresh cup of ice water. She was polite and almost content, it seemed. "Come back in about five minutes," she added. "I need some time to be alone."
I left. While I was filling the cup, I heard something downstairs. She was moving around. I shut off the water and listened. Nothing sounded alarming.
I waited a few more minutes, and then I took the cup down to her. I walked into her bedroom and stopped, stunned.
Claire was completely naked.