You're Gone

It was next to impossible not to think about the past when I saw him. Because every time I got to see him in person I was involuntarily thrust back into memories I didn't care to relive. Memories that kept me up at night way more than I would like. Memories that couldn't be erased. Memories that not even the chemicals helped me forget. He got more beautiful every time I saw him. He looked healthier than I had remembered. He wasn't sickly skinny anymore. His body was slowly but surely getting completely covered by colorful ink, much more so than it had been back then. Even his hair looked better, not as long as it once had been and now a lighter shade of dark, curling slightly at the ends and framing his perpetually perfect face.

My heart swelled with every emotion I thought possible as he glanced over at me. Regret, sorrow, anticipation, elation, embarrassment- they all coursed through my veins just like the drugs once had. I grew lightheaded as he began to walk in my direction, and suddenly I wished I had something to calm me down. My hands began to shake as I carefully tucked a piece of my soft hair behind my ear. I was trembling, thinking about how if I had a syringe and some meth I could easily cook it in the bathroom and I would immediately become the epitome of cool, calm, and collected.

But things weren't like that anymore. At least, not all the way.

I quickly scrambled through my purse and grabbed the orange vile, my trembling hands making it impossible for me to get the fucking thing open. My mind flashed back to an easier time, a time when I didn't care about much of anything. Because being addicted to drugs was easy. Not caring about anything but getting high was easy. Having him at my side at all times was easy.

And all at once I could feel his hands all over me, leaving bruises on my thighs and hips in the most sensual way possible, running his fingers through my hair, carefully cupping my chest, holding my face carefully with his hands, even holding my arm still as he searched for a vein because he always hit it better than I could. The thoughts were what caused me to drop the bottle all over the kitchen floor. The thoughts were what clouded my vision, screwed with my perception, caused most of my problems. Most everyone was drunk and therefore oblivious to my mishap, which I was thankful for. But as fate would have it, he wasn't drunk. Or maybe he was. I could never tell.

As I scrambled to the ground, my knees pressed uncomfortably against the wood floor, my hands running along the cold ground, scrambling to gather all the small white pills, as I did all of this trying to go unnoticed, he crouched down next to me. I noticed his tattoos first, like most anyone would. My eyes went from his hands, the words "DROP DEAD" written across his knuckles as well as various other symbols, to his arms each one significantly different, and lastly his neck which was now covered by a rose. I was mesmerized for a moment, memories flooding back into my mind too fast for me to keep up with them all. I faintly realized he had picked up the last of the pills, bringing it close to his face to examine it.

"Xanax," he stated simply. I wasn't sure if he had meant to have it sound like a question or not, but his voice was flat as he spoke and I wasn't sure exactly how to respond. Or if I even should respond. It was hard to learn how to live and react in certain situations off of drugs.

"I...uh, yeah," I stuttered through my words.

"Yeh're pathetic," he sneered at me before pushing himself off the ground. He let the pill fall out of his hand and it skidded across the floor before it finally halted. My eyes followed it, from his hand to its final resting place.

I probably deserved it. All of the cruel names, the sideways glances, the whispers, snide remarks. I didn't belong here. I wasn't like these people. Fuck, I didn't even fit in with the outcasts. No one trusted me. I wasn't sure if anyone even liked me anymore. I deserved it. I deserved it all. And Oliver...he was being tame at this point. I knew what was coming. I knew what he could do to me. I knew exactly what he was capable of.

Because if nothing made sense before, it sure as hell didn't now.