I feel Gemme's arms slide off me and the bed lifts a little as she gets up, but I don't open my eyes or say anything.
When she doesn't come back, I roll onto my back and sigh, opening my eyes, staring at the ceiling.
I hadn't wanted to break down the way I had earlier. I still feel weird about it. And now Gemme can't even lie next to me; I know I've confused her.
But I don't know how to stop confusing her.
Sorry, Gemme. I know you hate me apologising, but I'm sorry.
I still stuttered when I said the L word, too. Dunno how to stop that, either. Or the cravings. They keep nagging at me and though physically I can stop myself wanting them, my mind still goes numb with the need.
My bag floats over to me, dropping onto my stomach. It shudders and spits a small plastic bag of heroin out onto the sheets towards me and a needle. I sit up and push them aside, pulling my knees up to my chest again. But the drugs shuffle into view again. So I shut my eyes and try to forget they're there.
The needle taps me on the arm, its plastic wrapper rustling as it tries to push into me. I swat it away and get up. It's only one in the morning. This is ridiculous.
I end up downstairs, in the kitchen, sitting on the counter. One of the beers left over from the other night in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
The cigarette burns down to the butt and I barely notice as the ash falls onto my leg. Gemme's confused? I'm confused. And with Gemme gone AWOL, my mind is raging again. The needle and heroin are on the counter opposite me. If drugs can stare at you, then the bag and the needle are definitely staring at me.
With a sigh, I throw my beer into the sink and slide off the counter, jogging up the stairs two at a time. I get dressed, not caring what I put on - in the end I put the black skinny jeans and the white top with blood on it on - and leave the house. I don't pick up a key, I don't need one. I just lock the door with telekinesis and let my feet guide me to Izzy's place.
You might think it's a stupid place to go when you're craving drugs already. And you're probably right, to be honest. But I won't be alone, at least, and I'll have something else to think about.
Izzy opens her door for me after I've been stood there knocking on it for about five minutes.
"God, you're persistent," she says, walking into the living room. I follow her in, closing the front door behind me and sit in the armchair I sat in before. She has a couple of guys over. They're both high, but Izzy in business mode.
"Yeah, I've heard that one before," I mutter, watching the guys burst into a fit of giggles over nothing.
"So what brought you here at this time of night?" she asks, following my gaze.
"Girlfriend went AWOL and I got bored," I shrug, skimming over... pretty much everything. Including the whole complicated thing about Gemme. She might as well be my girlfriend the way we act most of the time, but sometimes it just doesn't feel like it. Mind you, it's better to say I'm taken, than let Izzy get her claws in me. She strikes me as the type to not let go.
"Ooh, I didn't know you were taken," her gaze flickers to me and a sly smile pulls on her lips, "you have blood on you," she tells me, still smiling. I look down, and then back at her.
"Yeah, I do. Well done there."
"Been a bad boy?" she winks and I roll my eyes.
"Very," I tell her coldly. The playful light in her eyes dies almost instantly at my tone of voice and she raises an eyebrow.
"It's not her blood is it? Your girlfriend's?" She asks with her eyes wide. I don't say anything for a moment, then shake my head. Izzy lets out a small sigh of relief. She opens her mouth to talk again, but I cut her off.
"All those things you heard about me, Izzy. You gave me a relatively small list. Was that all you heard? I mean, did you hear things about me you'd rather not remember, or do I just look like I go beating up girls every day?" I light a cigarette, my gaze colder than my voice. "You can't have jumped to the conclusion it was hers so quickly otherwise," I catch her eye and hold the gaze, but she looks away from me after a second.
"Cancer," she says warningly, but quietly, trying not to get the attention of the guys still giggling on the floor at each other. I smile, but there's no warmth to the expression.
"Yes?" I ask lightly.
"I don't want to talk about it. You must have come here for a reason other than boredom or to... to extract an answer from me somehow." Her choice of words seems weird to me and I sit forward looking at her through the haze of smoke.
"Extract? Funny word to use. What were you gonna say instead?" She meets my eyes again and this time holds the stare. Her own eyes turn angry and she snaps at me to stop.
"Does it fucking matter? You're in my apartment, so don't you be trying to interrogate me. If anything I should be asking you the questions, not the other way around." I smile again and take a long drag on my cigarette, resting my elbows on my knees.
"I told you, I'm bored. I get aggressive when I'm bored." She nods and looks at me warily, folding her arms across her chest. I don't need to hurt her - the defensive body language and the reaction I got from her are enough. Enough to tell me she won't be hard to bully into doing whatever I want. Whatever that'll be. It doesn't take me long to figure out what I want for now.
"Fuck it. Where's the heroin?" I ask after a moment.