Emily
I droponto the couch with my face in my hands. David sits beside me. He isn't trembling or clammy like he was before. He looks good. Almost happy. His eyes meet mine, and for the first time in a while, I can see some sort of spark in him again.
“I'm sorry,” he says as he grabs my hand.
He is warm and strong. I don't need his apology. I hate that they fight over me, yet somewhere deep down in the primal part of me, I love it. If I didn’t think one would kill the other, I would let them fight it out—let their bodies tangle as they battled over me. Each punch thrown would be in my honor. That isn’t reality though, and it’s a sure way to lose one or both of the people I care most about.
“I don't know why you two keep pounding on your chests over me. Why? Why won't you let me be with him? You don't want me, so why can't he have me?”
He sits without speaking. His gaze drops, and he rubs my hand with his fingers. He leans in and kisses me. He's kissed me a million times before, but it still makes my heart race. But this time, his kiss grows hungrier. I sit stone faced, afraid to move. Or to feed him.
My belly tightens. He enfolds me in his arms and kisses me harder. I feel his muscles. They’ve started to regain their definition. I kiss him back.
“Em,” he whispers against my lips.
“David… we can't,” I say as regret fills me.
I have waited for over ten years to feel David's tongue explore mine. Why am I pushing him away now? Where are these words coming from?
“You’re jealous and amped up because of Kevin. You don't really mean this. We can't… I can't.”
I can't open up this door with David only to have it closed and locked away for good. I’m not okay with having this experience only once. If we do this, it would cause an unbearable itch that can never be scratched. It would destroy me.
He pulls away.
* * *
David
In typical Emily fashion,she isn't wrong. It may have been the jealousy—or the coke—that fueled my temptation for her, but I definitely didn't mean to put her in this situation. A situation where she ends up with both of her hands on my chest, firmly pushing me away for the greater good of our friendship. It’s hard to sort out my feelings for her.
I love her. I truly love her. But in what way? I don’t know if my intentions are pure, which is why she is right to push me away. The last thing I want to do is turn her into a one-night stand. She would never come back from that. A lot of “just” friends will fool around together, but that isn’t for Emily. She feels too much.
I drop my head, still tasting her on my tongue. She's biting her lip. Oh, god, those lips. I get up with a scoff and walk toward my room, leaving her on the couch.
I slam the bedroom door behind me. I sit at the computer desk and pull a mirror from one of the drawers, dressing it with the trappings of powder from a bag in my pocket. I lean over and inhale. My pupils become pinpoints.
How long can I keep doing this? I shake my head, and the coke evaporates my thoughts. I lean over the table and inhale again. I lift my head and wipe my nose as I suck air through my nostrils, trying to soak up the remnants. I want to feel every last particle at the back of my throat.
I look at myself in the now barren mirror. My cheeks are full again. I’ve gained back the weight I lost on heroin. I look healthier. Who cares if I still have to be high to function? Emily doesn’t have to be the only functional user here. I know she still uses every now and again because I can see it in her eyes when she’s high. How dare she vilify me for the same thing.
Emily gets high to feel nothing. She gets high so that her ill thoughts will melt away, silenced by the firm hand of her opiates. I get high to feel something. Anything at all. I’m sick of being numb unless I’m high or fucking.
I’m not sure how I feel about Emily moving out, but maybe some distance between us will be good. Maybe we are toxic together. We fuel each other and our habits. She’ll be the hardest addiction to recover from.