I couldn't stand the thought of those lips having been on someone else's, around a stranger's dick, and then going on mine. I couldn't stand the thought that I was selling his body for the pleasure of other people. I couldn't stand the thought that he might not want to give it up because he actually enjoyed it.
I couldn't stand the thought of him not being entirely mine.
So I did what I do best. I went and got so high I didn't know what was going on and said some really stupid things that no doubt fucked everything up completely.
Which is why I'm stuck here with Phil on my own.
I don't think I mind, actually. Just being with Phil. I mean, I'm kinda still too high to do anything apart from just lay there and enjoy the party that's taken over my head.
Once the high's worn enough for me to think about more than one thing for more than a couple of seconds, I start asking after Kyle. Phil keeps telling me he's gone somewhere, but I refuse to accept that my boyfriend would just walk out when I need him. Of course in my drugged up state, I totally forget that he's already done it before, and stayed away for weeks.
"Phil," I whine, "get him back for me."
"I can't. I don't know where he went."
"Get him for me."
"I hate you sometimes."
"I love you too," I smile as he gets up, pulling on his shoes to go look for my gorgeous boy.
Phil comes back a couple of hours later to tell a significantly more sober me that he can't find Kyle anywhere.
He doesn't come back the next day either.
"Where is he?" I moan, curled up in bed, trying not to throw up from the dope sickness. I've run out of money now, and it's not like Rayn can just give me an endless supply, even if he wanted to.
"I don't know. Sorry," he sighs, playing with my hair, a bowl ready by his side in case I don't make it to the toilet.
The second day he's away, I resort to fucking Annie for more drugs. It's low, but hey, if he thinks he can sleep around for money and walk out on me when he feels like it, then I think I'm entitled to my own few fuck ups while he's away.
The third day he's gone, I make sure my high from the previous night doesn't end. I mean, I'm convinced that the cops and the FBI and fucking military intelligence are after me, but fuck, if I come down from this high, I'm gonna do something more stupid than taking drugs. Phil's safe. I'm making him protect me. We're lying under my bed, the comforter around us tight, his body pressed close to mine.
He puts me to bed on the third night, staying longer than usual, waiting til I'm closer to sleep before leaving the room. When he gets up to leave, I grab his hand. "Stay with me."
He gets under the covers with me, and I pull his arms around me, snuggling into his chest. He plays with my hair, and I hum, pushing myself closer against me.
"Has he left me again?" I ask quietly. He freezes for a second and I shift my head, looking up into his grey eyes. He plants a kiss on my forehead.
"If he has, I'll rip his balls off before your mom even knows about it, babe."
Day four. Nothing. Me and Phil have been trying to call him but he's keeping his phone off. I left a few texts, telling him that I love him and miss him and want him back, but none of them are returned. I don't know how to feel about that, to be honest. I just say I need to pee and lock myself in the bathroom with a razor for a bit.
Phil's waiting with bandages when I get out. He knows me too well. He sits me down on the bed, trying not to let me get too much blood on the covers, even though it ends up in him sacrificing his shirt to manage that. I sniffle, watching as he binds up my arm carefully. He glances up at me.
"You'll be okay," he tells me, hooking a finger under my chin and lifting my head so I meet his gaze. "I promise you that."