Glorified high ✓

VII

I still question my reaction to the circumstances of that day. Was I more hurt because of what my sweet girlfriend or my best friend have done to me? How do I separate the two? How do I deal with it? Cry or laugh? Forgive or forget? And who of the two?

Coming back to my apartment from a long, tiring day at the worst job in the world, all I was thinking about was to get high, or get drunk. Or both. My phone was buzzing with messages from you throughout the day, with plans for the night. I replied that I already called Gia to hang out at my place but that we're more than happy to go out. You would arrange everything, bring drugs, call people and I said we could all meet at my apartment. Blissfully unaware, I unlocked the door. Instead of people chattering and smoke lingering in the living room, there was silence and trepidation. And then moans. Your moans.

Both of you looked up from the bright light that I let in by opening my bedroom door, eyes like scared raccoons. You stood up quickly from where you were buried inside of her, right there on my bed, but Gia, she remained lying there, wiping away the crescents of her eye makeup, slowly. She looked unaware, almost like she wasn't present. You started murmuring cryptic nonsense as you moved towards me, stumbling, eyes glassy. What have you done? I wanted to ask but all I managed to do at that moment was run. The shock I felt in my chest suddenly dissolved and all I could see was rage. That's when you caught me, clutching my t-shirt in your fists, talking rapidly about being high, and not your idea, and how you would never, and misunderstandings.

"And what about trust?!" I shouted at your face, making you flinch, afraid of my punch. I wanted to laugh - this was not my reality, this was a role in a Jim Jarmush movie, or a bad acid trip.

I was woozy from the bright ceiling light of my living room and your grip and your breath. Your bewildered face begging for forgiveness. And then I realised - you were still totally naked. I was taken aback, suddenly, in realisation that I've never seen you without clothes before and I didn't know why that fact was important at that point in time, but I looked. We were approximately the same height but I looked down on you, with disgust in my expression, wanting to pity you, laugh at how pathetic you were with your empty words standing like that in front of me looking at me with wounded eyes as if what you've done hurt you more.

However my insides twisted and my heart lurched, the inexplicable feeling of jealousy surged through me, as I watched your perfect skin shining with sweat, your hard abdominal muscles tense due to heavy breathing, the way you were still hard and glistening from being in her just minutes ago. Who and what was I jealous of? Of your flawless body, of how hung you were, how better you probably are at fucking my girlfriend? Of how good you two looked together in your glorious perfection, belonged together - I was the outsider there in your kingdom after all. Poor provincial, just a peasant trying to play the game of Kings and Queens.

Or was I jealous of her?

The strange torment started to oscillate in my gut. Confusion, fear. I hated you so much for so many different reasons. You took advantage of my silence to explain to me that you both got really high, and things went too far. It was heroin. That drug that none of us dared to mention, let alone experiment with, you two had tried it for the first time that night. You had it because you were supposed to be dealing it to someone that night in town, and apparently, it was her idea to try it. I wouldn't ever understand how it felt, and how it made both of you lose your minds, you said. Something made you see her in a different light, you said.

You just wanted to feel closer to me, you said.

At that point, I lost you. I still thought you were pretty messed up to form coherent thoughts and sentences and I pushed you away, leaving you on my floor, naked, running away from both of you. I realised how quickly things can change in a place like this, we were just mere puppets in the hands of some unnamed devil. This was the reality of our youth. We were destined to downfall. The ruin.

I was scared, so much that I wanted the comfort of my home and the simplicity of my previous uneventful life. I wanted my mum to cook meals that smelled of my innocence and my dad to take me fishing like he did when I was ten and that was the peak of my week. I thought I could escape, that the clean air and familiar small-town streets will erase the images in my mind. I thought you didn't mean to me that much. Yes, I was hurt by the betrayal of a person I considered the best friend I ever had but I would dismiss you eventually, I reasoned, resent you, and forget about you. I would move on.

My plan was to stay at home for a couple of weeks, clean my lungs and my veins with healthy homemade meals and clean my mind with long days of doing nothing. I failed all my important exams and lied about it to my parents but I hoped I could transfer to a different University, in another town, next school year, I just needed time to figure out what to tell them.

But your grip on me was stronger than my self-care. And that's how addiction works - I know it's bad for me, it's killing me, but I can't help it. I need it. You woke some things in me that I never even knew were dormant somewhere deep inside of my being. Your voice was echoing in the deepest cores of my bones, calling for me. I had to go back. No, I was never going to try to find you or answer any of your calls or messages but I had to be near you. There was something pulling us together, we were like magnets. I've never met a person whose simple existence could make me feel like that.

I guess you really know you love someone when you don't hate them for breaking your heart.

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A/N

- My characters are nameless and they live in an anonymous city. I rarely write any dialogue between them. I'm curious to know what do you think about it so far? Is it strange reading a story like this for you?

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