Rodeo hadn't been expecting this to be easy. He couldn't predict where it would turn, but he knew it sure as hell wasn't gonna go smoothly. The wash rules her and Rodeo has no doubt that she'd do anything for another hit. That's how this shit works. It's what makes it such a powerful weapon to wield against the subway dwellers, and such an unconscionable one. He watches the desperate panic start to prick across her as she reaches over and dumps out the bag into his lap, and he looks down at what she's giving him-- two cans of soup, an unopened toothbrush, a package of ramen noodles and a half-empty bottle of Tylenol. It's all she's got and she's willing to trade it for more poison. He wonders if she's got any food of her own, wonders when was the last time she even ate anything at all. He keeps his eyes on those meager spoils as he starts to put them back in the bag, shaking his head.
"I ain't takin' this shit. I don't want it," he grinds out.
And then she's dropping down to her knees in front of him, hands on his legs, and his eyes flash up in surprise. This, he hadn't expected. He's not sure why, but in all the ways he imagined this would go he never thought it would come to this. There's no doubt that some small part of him savors the sight of her there. He's not immune to her wicked wild-eyed beauty, and if he tried to say she hasn't visited his late-night fantasies before then he'd be a liar. In another circumstance he'd scratch himself up on all her sharp edges as they tear into each other, thrash metal blasting from a stereo while she eats him alive like some kind of studded leather succubus. But this ain't right. This isn't how it's gonna go down. He wraps his fingers around her wrist, stopping one of her hands before it can go anywhere past his knee, and he hopes the other won't get too bold.
"No. No more. You're done, sweetheart, you understand? It's all done. I'm gonna burn it all. I'm gonna fuckin' bury that shit like I shoulda done when I found it. You hearin' me, baby?"