DeMarcos' eyes went from ivory to red as he listened. I began to stutter when I saw that they had begun to glisten. I stopped talking when he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Kenya, don't cry. It's going to be okay."
I shook my head in denial. The tears in my eyes were now so thick that he was only a shadowy blur. I was embarrassed that I was about to start bawling like a goddamned sixteen-year-old. I tried to take a step away, but as my tears splashed to the floor my vision cleared and I saw that DeMarcos was far from angry at my words. He looked as sad as I felt.
"Addicts are the worst," he said quietly. "I know this for a fact because my father did some really bad s**t to me when I was a kid. An addict will sell—" He inhaled and cleared his throat and then let out a deep breath.
