Glorified high ✓

VI

Our group gathered almost nightly, some people would leave, new ones would join, an infinite supply of brightly coloured pills, young, interesting people. Music, being ridiculous, our laughs, chortles, and giggles floated up into the starry night. We would sit up through the night snorting lines and talking. It all felt so important, meaningful and good. Later I will realize that we were full of shit, nothing real came out of it, it was just our brains trying to deal with energy overload. Drug-fueled oaths and pacts that meant nothing. Our naïveté led us to think we're sincere and real and special, that we're smarter than the rest of the world. That we could pour our hearts out to one another until we had nothing left.

Despite that, I still believe to this day that I was genuinely in love with Gia.

The second I met her I knew she was different from the rest; she was a muse, she knew what she wanted, she was classy yet a free spirit that didn't hesitate to indulge her deepest desires. On top of that, she was a beauty that was well known in the city for her amateur acting projects and PR jobs for the best clubs and bars. That is how I noticed her.

Even though our group went out to underground clubs, darker ones, secluded, the ones that only the cool kids knew about, and her job focused on those popular ones with trashy pop music we avoided, her love for good quality music would often bring her to the dark side where she would dance into the night, her curly afro moving with her sensual dancing and her brown skin glistening with sweat and gleefulness. I even told you that I liked her and you said that you met her once and that she was cool.

The others urged me to approach her, saying I have nothing to lose, but I honestly thought that girls like Gia would never be with a guy like me. And I was fairly confident in that department. No, I wasn't you. You still attracted everything and everyone who laid their eyes upon you, you would disappear for an hour to fool around with a girl in the bathroom or disappear for days if you found the one you particularly liked. Crumpled pieces of paper would appear in your pockets with phone numbers on them, and even some boys would approach you although I've personally never seen you with any of them. I liked that you never talked much about that, you didn't gloat or flaunt them like your conquest. You were smooth and gentlemanly about it, almost like you didn't really want all that attention, but it's all you've ever known so you just went with it.

My experience has definitely improved from few meaningless kisses and two girls that I had sex with in high school. Since I've started being seen with you I guess my price tag has gone up. Others would say I was good-looking, but I was never able to say anything of the sort about myself. If I had to compare myself to you, I would definitely say even then that your beauty was something that even most of the women envied. I was more built than you even though I'm sure we would be the same if instead of drugs you ate more food, but your face was godly-like. Cheeks dotted with light brown freckles and eyes that stored wonders of the universe, lips the shade of magnolia and something exotic. Your beauty was blinding, you were almost like endemism. Unique. Rare.

So when I approached Gia one day after the clubs had closed their doors and we were inebriated and hopped up on life, we'd went to the after-party at some random guy's place where I honestly only wanted to meet her and talk, without any hope of anything more. But she checked me out blatantly and smiled like she liked what she saw.

That same night, or morning, because us ravers never really knew or cared what time of day it was, I lost myself in her body, in her addictive smile, in her confidence when she told me what she wanted me to do to her, in her shyness when I admitted that I desired her for a while. And she decided to stay with me. For more than one night, more than sex, more than I imagined I would want someone to stay. She called me her boyfriend and introduced me to her friends. She bought me VIP tickets to the best parties and took me backstage to meet DJ-s we admired. She posted our pictures on her social media for thousands and thousands to see.

Because if it's there it means it's real, right?

Because if she tells me she loves me it's true, right?

Because if I confide in you, my best friend, expressing how much I'm in love with my amazing girlfriend you'd be happy for me, not go and fuck her instead?