Matchbox Twenty once said that life was made up of all that you're used to. While I'd long since decided the band was too light for my own taste, I couldnt help but wonder if Rob Thomas had been onto something.
For me, life had always consisted of the same routine, the days fading together into a series of blurs so exquisite I often wondered if it had ever even been real. Mostly I pinned it on the drugs. They had been my comfort when the simplistic sameness had become too much for me: wake up, go to school, come home, get high, go to bed. Pot was never enough for me.
Then Xian had introduced me to a new beauty: heroin. It'd promised me something new. With the sticky, sickly sweet drug in my veins, I'd gone to a place so low I couldnt feel at all. I'd turned into a walking, breathing corpse, and that was alright with me. I'd embraced the nothingness.
Now, I was entangled in a different sort of embrace, that of Xian's arms. As my best friend, he was caring, inquisitive, supportive. As my lover, he was gentle and rough all at the same time, knowing when to back down and when to push me even further, harder. Everywhere our bare skin touched, there seemed to be a tangible magic, an echo of something so vividly real it damn near broke me down.
I couldnt help but be scared sometimes. The world was so vast, so hollow and vacant. I was certain there was nothing more than this for me. But with Xian's fingers tracing delicate circles over my stomach as he whispered words I didnt bother to decipher in my ear, I had faith in something more. In a better life, beyond the self-induced haze.
Xian pressed his lips to my own in a fragile kiss. I knew how terrified he was to shatter me. He was so beautiful in all his pity, so admirable in his darkness. People wrote it off as a part of him. Me? I was the one so broken I couldnt be repaired. I was the one they'd given up on.
Except Xian. Hed never given up.
After, as I was plucking my clothes up off of his floor and slipping back into them, while he was busy pulling out a syringe from his dresser drawer, I offered him a sweet sort of smile. I wondered if he could see the tears I felt glistening in my shaded eyes.
"You want a fix?" He asked of me. I only shook my head, and Xian didnt press the matter. Heroin wasnt the type of thing one handed out freely. Not at the price Craig charged us for it.
"I'm just gunna get home," I told him then. "I need to...work some things out." And it was true. I just didnt quite know what those things were yet. Something had been there, nagging at the back of my mind. And the voice was back, a faint whisper, begging and pleading for the succulent kiss of the razorblade. It was taking all I had to ignore it.
"Alright," Xian said, obviously distracted. I didnt blame him. "I'll call you later."
I nodded, unsure if he saw or not, and not particularly caring either way. Then I made a dash for the door and stepped out into the light, where it was so much harder to hide.