What The Devil Doesn't Know
8
I woke up the next morning upside down on my bed, half dressed, with the covers on the floor. I rolled over and saw that Mickey was asleep on my floor. It really wasn't an uncommon sight. He spent the night there most nights. But after we had admitted there was something more than just friendship there, if felt slightly wrong that he was here. "Get up." I kicked him a little. He groaned and rolled over. I still smelled like smoke, so I went to the bathroom to take a shower. When I came back I saw that Mickey was up and looking through my stuff. As soon as he saw me he said, "Listen, about last night..."
"What about it?" Did he not mean what he had said?
"I want you to tell me if you really want to be with me or not." I hadn't expected this.
"What? Of course I,"
"No, really. When I asked you to be my girlfriend last night and you said yes, were you kidding? Were you too fucking high to understand what I said? Or did you mean it?" Well, I didn't remember him asking. But I was thrilled that he had. I was even more thrilled that I'd said yes. I walked over to him and kissed him.
"I meant it."
"Good." He smiled and kissed me on the forehead. "Now lets get breakfast. I'm fucking starving."
***
Over the next two weeks, Mickey and I became more inseparable than before. He got fired from his coffee shop job, and now you never saw one of us without the other. Ever. He slept over every night, and when we went to bed, instead of finding a place on the floor, he'd crawl into bed with me.
One night, we were going to get ready to smoke our pot, when the topic of trying heavier drugs came up.
"Would you do it?" He asked.
"Sure," I said "I don't see why not."
"True." He sat thinking for a minute. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Cocaine.
"Ever done it?" I tried to hide my surprise from him.
"Well, no." I said, shocked at what he'd been carrying around. "I've only seen friends do it. Why do you have that?"
"It isn't important." he said. I was getting tired of that excuse. "Do you want some or not?"
"I-OK."
Without another word, Mickey grabbed a magazine off my floor and poured the fine white powder onto it. He pulled a credit card out of his pocket, and cut me a line. Then he held this month's copy of VOGUE up to my face, and I paused. I looked at the coke, I looked at him, and then I used my index finger to press my right nostril closed, and I snorted.
What came next, I can't really describe. Euphoria, I guess. If I ever knew it, this would be it. All I knew was that it was amazing and I never wanted it to end.
"What about it?" Did he not mean what he had said?
"I want you to tell me if you really want to be with me or not." I hadn't expected this.
"What? Of course I,"
"No, really. When I asked you to be my girlfriend last night and you said yes, were you kidding? Were you too fucking high to understand what I said? Or did you mean it?" Well, I didn't remember him asking. But I was thrilled that he had. I was even more thrilled that I'd said yes. I walked over to him and kissed him.
"I meant it."
"Good." He smiled and kissed me on the forehead. "Now lets get breakfast. I'm fucking starving."
***
Over the next two weeks, Mickey and I became more inseparable than before. He got fired from his coffee shop job, and now you never saw one of us without the other. Ever. He slept over every night, and when we went to bed, instead of finding a place on the floor, he'd crawl into bed with me.
One night, we were going to get ready to smoke our pot, when the topic of trying heavier drugs came up.
"Would you do it?" He asked.
"Sure," I said "I don't see why not."
"True." He sat thinking for a minute. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Cocaine.
"Ever done it?" I tried to hide my surprise from him.
"Well, no." I said, shocked at what he'd been carrying around. "I've only seen friends do it. Why do you have that?"
"It isn't important." he said. I was getting tired of that excuse. "Do you want some or not?"
"I-OK."
Without another word, Mickey grabbed a magazine off my floor and poured the fine white powder onto it. He pulled a credit card out of his pocket, and cut me a line. Then he held this month's copy of VOGUE up to my face, and I paused. I looked at the coke, I looked at him, and then I used my index finger to press my right nostril closed, and I snorted.
What came next, I can't really describe. Euphoria, I guess. If I ever knew it, this would be it. All I knew was that it was amazing and I never wanted it to end.