That Doesn't Mean I Love You

It was never easy. I can tell you that right now, it was never easy. At points I thought it was getting easier, but it wasn’t. It was only getting harder. Harder and harder and harder….

There were only 3 of us. There had always only been three of us. Other people came and went, but there had always been just us 3.

It was a cold LA evening, not even a mile from the deep streets of Hollywood. I was leaning up against the alley wall, blending into the 10 o’clock shadow cast upon me. A light flicked in the distance. I couldn’t even see myself. The only evidence to myself of my existence was my cigarette end glowing with embers.

It was almost like I was pretending not to be there. Like everything around me was a myth, and I was just a part of the wall, a part of the world.

A voice beckoned next to me and whispered closely. “How much Baby boy?”

I put out the cigarette and the night fell quiet except for the faint sound of sirens off in the distant, the smell of sweat and fear in the air. No longer was it my fear. It was pitch black and I couldn’t tell the difference when my eyes were open or shut.

”Fuck you, Bonnie,” I swore, staring off into the distance, feeling his presence lingering near mine. His hand dug into my pocket and pulled out all I had on me, and felt it with his hands.

”This is a lot dude, unless they be tipping you in ones like some kind of stripper or some shit,” he smirked, pushing the bills back in my pocket. I could tell he took half, because my stack was smaller.

A lighter briefly lit up his face, a cigarette pulled to his mouth and then it fell dark again, and all he was, was a cigarette and a few glowing embers. We stood in the darkness, because we didn’t often get nights like this. Nights where it was quiet, and calm.

”Why you hiding?” He questioned, shuffling around in his pocket for something.

”I’m not hiding.” I told him bluntly, pouting my lips out like a little kid.

”Well, you’re not seen, you ain’t getting’ money, you sitting here alone. I’m pretty sure you’re hiding,” he remarked, taking in a calming drag of the cigarette. I didn’t listen to him and looked into the distance at the flickering light.

”I’m hungry,” I mumbled, my stomach grumbling insanely.

”Go to Taco Bell or something, you got money,” He said without skipping a beat. I hated going places alone. I hate being recognized by old men and there friends.

”I guess.” I said slowly and kicked the ground. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me over under the light, so his image was a coming and going like a strobe under the flicker, bugs hovering near us, wanting to guard their territory and light. He pushed a pill into my hand, and closed my hand tightly around it.

”It’s all I have left. Everything else is back at the pad,” he told me, then pulled his phone out of his pocket after it vibrated loudly.

He looked at the text message and scrolled through it really quickly and looked stoned face. He rolled his eyes and looked up at me and nodded toward the pill. “Take it, make you feel better,” he said and ran his fingers through my hair playfully. I blushed and fixed my hair, looking down at my feet and slipping the pill into my mouth, and under my tongue.

”Atta boyy…” he remarked and winked at me, walking away into the darkness. “Don’t expect me home!” he shouted back, and seemingly disappeared.

I spit the pill onto the asphalt and coughed, the tingle of the coating on the bottom of my tongue.

I hated pills.