Status: Complete
Will You Catch Me If I Fall?
Another Minute Lived
Addisons POV
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down again.
It seemed that was the way my emotions were rolling. Sometimes I think I have bi-polar disorder...or maybe...I’m just weird.
I slid further down into the warm bath, flexing my slightly sunburned legs. I winced painfully as my still open wound on my wrist, uncovered for now, hit the water. I tenderly traced the jagged edge of the gaping cut, remembering as I touched it the pain, the depression.
I didn’t need a shrink to tell me I was physco. I didn’t need anyone to tell me I was depressed. I could do that all by myself. I was wrong, I was disturbed. And yet, some days I could be normal...or as normal as someone like me could be. I could have fun; I could talk with...a friend...with Trace.
I smirked, remembering the feeling of his soft skin underneath my lips, I don’t know why I did that...but I wanted to hurt that girl who had hurt Trace. I wanted to make her jealous...and I did. I could see it burning in her eyes as she looked at me. Hating me for having something she had lost.
My heartbeat had increased as I looked at Trace. The way the sea had been reflected in his blue eyes...but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
I was incapable of a relationship. I couldn’t mess with Trace like that. I couldn’t hurt him as I have found out he had been hurt before. It’s wrong.
But I want him...and when I want something. I need to have it. For the first time in a long time, I was going to have to learn some self-control.
~
I dropped the towel onto my floor as I wandered into my bedroom. My body now dry from my bath was aching. I stretched, naked, feeling the satisfying cracks that had been stiffening my lean, body.
I lay on my bed, not bothering to dress, feeling with some satisfaction the ribs poking out under my skin. I liked being skinny...I liked not eating. I looked at my wrist, it already becoming inflamed and sore again. I needed to be punished. For Stephanie, for Trace...and for simply being me.
I rolled out the drawer of my bedside table, picking up my lighter and a joint. The hot smoke twirled around my body, filling me with a sense of ease, of relaxation. I smiled dreamily to myself. This was it.
I thought about everything Trace had said to me...about my dancing. My other hand was now twirling around the black, inked design on my side thoughtfully. Dancing gave me satisfaction. It gave me money. It let me know that people still wanted me, that people still craved me...even if they were dirty old men.
I sighed, annoyed at myself for dwelling over Trace fucking Cyrus. He had turned me upside down, inside out. He seemed to never give up. I would run away but he would always find me.
I was falling and I was falling fast. My addictions were becoming stronger. My hands had started to shake uncontrollably if they weren’t wrapped around a fag or a drink. My life was dark and my life was dangerous. I was a known drug dealer, having often helped Frank-E out with his sales. I had spent many nights in jail over reckless drunken nights, calling Frank-E several times to bail me out.
Trace was good. Trace was bright. He didn’t need me or my shit.
He knew I was dark. Yet...he still seemed to beg to be my friend. I got up from the bed, standing in front of my mirror, examining myself. Again, I traced over my bones, my pale white skin seemed to stand out against the background of my room. My red hair a flame. I tugged at it, harder than I intended. I had always hated my hair. But Stephanie had loved it, more than once she had commented how she envied my fire locks.
My face was narrow, and when I looked closer, dark circles were forming under my eyes. I almost looked skeletal. Dead...and in a way I was. And I knew I was. My previously bright Irish green eyes were dead now. I looked soulless.
I dragged on the joint, turning away from my horrid reflection. I grabbed the black sequin dress from my small wardrobe, slipping it over my body, not bothering on a bra or pants. For what I was planning I didn’t need any. I needed a change of scenery; I needed a man that was not Trace or even Frank-E.
~
As usual, I woke up early, a thumping headache making my ears ring. I silently looked across at my bed companion. I didn’t recognise him, his black hair was sticking up slightly from where he was sleeping on it and had rolled over. He looked Spanish or Italian. I grinned...I suppose we hadn’t done much talking. I was pleased with myself. He wasn’t bad at all...with a beautiful tanned torso, that rippled with a defined six-pack and when I moved the covers, well...he didn’t fail to please anywhere else.
I lit up another cigarette as I walked outside of the unfamiliar building. My dress fluttered in the morning wind, my high stilettos swinging in my hand as I walked barefoot down the pavement. I felt my mouth pull down in a frown as the aching desperation of a pain started to hit me again. It seemed my old life, just wouldn’t work.
I crossed the road, winking at the young teenager driving. He turned red and I grinned, disappearing into familiar side streets.
I stopped in front of a building...making up my mind. Here we go.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down again.
It seemed that was the way my emotions were rolling. Sometimes I think I have bi-polar disorder...or maybe...I’m just weird.
I slid further down into the warm bath, flexing my slightly sunburned legs. I winced painfully as my still open wound on my wrist, uncovered for now, hit the water. I tenderly traced the jagged edge of the gaping cut, remembering as I touched it the pain, the depression.
I didn’t need a shrink to tell me I was physco. I didn’t need anyone to tell me I was depressed. I could do that all by myself. I was wrong, I was disturbed. And yet, some days I could be normal...or as normal as someone like me could be. I could have fun; I could talk with...a friend...with Trace.
I smirked, remembering the feeling of his soft skin underneath my lips, I don’t know why I did that...but I wanted to hurt that girl who had hurt Trace. I wanted to make her jealous...and I did. I could see it burning in her eyes as she looked at me. Hating me for having something she had lost.
My heartbeat had increased as I looked at Trace. The way the sea had been reflected in his blue eyes...but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
I was incapable of a relationship. I couldn’t mess with Trace like that. I couldn’t hurt him as I have found out he had been hurt before. It’s wrong.
But I want him...and when I want something. I need to have it. For the first time in a long time, I was going to have to learn some self-control.
~
I dropped the towel onto my floor as I wandered into my bedroom. My body now dry from my bath was aching. I stretched, naked, feeling the satisfying cracks that had been stiffening my lean, body.
I lay on my bed, not bothering to dress, feeling with some satisfaction the ribs poking out under my skin. I liked being skinny...I liked not eating. I looked at my wrist, it already becoming inflamed and sore again. I needed to be punished. For Stephanie, for Trace...and for simply being me.
I rolled out the drawer of my bedside table, picking up my lighter and a joint. The hot smoke twirled around my body, filling me with a sense of ease, of relaxation. I smiled dreamily to myself. This was it.
I thought about everything Trace had said to me...about my dancing. My other hand was now twirling around the black, inked design on my side thoughtfully. Dancing gave me satisfaction. It gave me money. It let me know that people still wanted me, that people still craved me...even if they were dirty old men.
I sighed, annoyed at myself for dwelling over Trace fucking Cyrus. He had turned me upside down, inside out. He seemed to never give up. I would run away but he would always find me.
I was falling and I was falling fast. My addictions were becoming stronger. My hands had started to shake uncontrollably if they weren’t wrapped around a fag or a drink. My life was dark and my life was dangerous. I was a known drug dealer, having often helped Frank-E out with his sales. I had spent many nights in jail over reckless drunken nights, calling Frank-E several times to bail me out.
Trace was good. Trace was bright. He didn’t need me or my shit.
He knew I was dark. Yet...he still seemed to beg to be my friend. I got up from the bed, standing in front of my mirror, examining myself. Again, I traced over my bones, my pale white skin seemed to stand out against the background of my room. My red hair a flame. I tugged at it, harder than I intended. I had always hated my hair. But Stephanie had loved it, more than once she had commented how she envied my fire locks.
My face was narrow, and when I looked closer, dark circles were forming under my eyes. I almost looked skeletal. Dead...and in a way I was. And I knew I was. My previously bright Irish green eyes were dead now. I looked soulless.
I dragged on the joint, turning away from my horrid reflection. I grabbed the black sequin dress from my small wardrobe, slipping it over my body, not bothering on a bra or pants. For what I was planning I didn’t need any. I needed a change of scenery; I needed a man that was not Trace or even Frank-E.
~
As usual, I woke up early, a thumping headache making my ears ring. I silently looked across at my bed companion. I didn’t recognise him, his black hair was sticking up slightly from where he was sleeping on it and had rolled over. He looked Spanish or Italian. I grinned...I suppose we hadn’t done much talking. I was pleased with myself. He wasn’t bad at all...with a beautiful tanned torso, that rippled with a defined six-pack and when I moved the covers, well...he didn’t fail to please anywhere else.
I lit up another cigarette as I walked outside of the unfamiliar building. My dress fluttered in the morning wind, my high stilettos swinging in my hand as I walked barefoot down the pavement. I felt my mouth pull down in a frown as the aching desperation of a pain started to hit me again. It seemed my old life, just wouldn’t work.
I crossed the road, winking at the young teenager driving. He turned red and I grinned, disappearing into familiar side streets.
I stopped in front of a building...making up my mind. Here we go.