You're Gone

The rain hit the ground softly, leaving the raindrops to bounce as they hit the concrete before settling there and forming into small puddles. The air was cool, and bit my nose as I walked down the streets with my head down. It wasn't surprising that it was raining in England, but it was just too cliché for me to even take. I rummaged around for a cigarette in my purse, grabbing the carton and pulling out one before grabbing the lighter from my pocket and quickly lighting it. The smoke immediately filled my lungs and my mind flashed back. Marijuana. Flash. Meth. Flash. Coke. Flash.

Seeing him made me want to use again. Not only because I almost always related drugs with his presence, but because the encounter had been so horrible. I hadn't expected him to come over to me with open arms, but it was still hard to know how much he hated me. As I blew the smoke out of the side of my mouth I couldn't help but think about how much I missed him. How much I missed everything about him. How much I probably still needed him. So many people had told me how bad he was for me. How bad we were for each other. But I refused to believe them. I refused to admit that he had any negative effect on my life. Except until the end. And maybe now.

But when we were using, we were perfect for each other. I wasn't sure if it was only because of the drugs or not, but he made me feel whole. Complete. Like someone would care if I "accidently" injected too much meth. Despite everything I knew he loved me. Or had loved me. It was impossible to know at this point.

I had finished three cigarettes by the time I finally got back to my flat. Dylan was already inside sleeping on the couch, a rerun of some sketch comedy show flashing over the screen.

"I was watchin' tha'," she informed me when I turned it off.

"Sure yeh were," I rolled my eyes. I didn't wait for a response before I started to walk back to my bedroom, ready to peel the wet clothes off of my body.

"Aye!" she yelled to me before I could get very far. "Lee told meh 'bout wha' 'appened wiff yeh an' Oli."

I looked straight forward, every muscle in my body tense, my eyes growing dry because I wasn't blinking. He did that to me. He made me numb. But it was so funny because at one point he made me feel the exact opposite. At one point he was the only thing that made me feel alive. And now, well now I just sort of felt kinda dead whenever someone mentioned him. Or worse us.

"Oh," was all I could muster.

"'s not tha' bad, Tristan," she shrugged. I just shook my head solemnly and continued the walk to my bedroom. When I finally hit my sheets, my head bouncing against my soft pillow, my thoughts swirled around my head. And it was everything really. The good, the bad, the things I thought I forgot, the things I would never forget, and things I wish I had.

And of course that night in particular flashed in my brain. The memory so vivid I could never forget it, no matter how many drugs I pumped into my system. Every time I closed my eyes I could see it, the colors and sounds and smells far too real for my liking. And his face. Oh my God, his face. It was something I would never erase from my brain. Like it was permanently embedded there, a reminder of everything I had ever screwed up in my life. Because it all boiled down to that one moment, that one look, that one fucking mistake.

I felt my bed sink down next to me, the feeling followed by the soft question, "'re yeh okay?"

I wasn't sure how to answer the question anymore. Everyone obviously knew I wasn't okay. But they kept asking me anyway. And I kept lying. Because no one wants to know the truth when they ask you something like that. No one wants to hear something negative. The question is merely an accessory to the rest of the conversation.

"Yeah," I mumbled against my pillow. "'m fine," I stated as I peeked out at my friend.

She looked at me warily. It was the same look she always gave me. She felt sorry for me. She was probably the only one. Everyone else just looked at me like I was a monster. A drug addict. A liar. A cheat. They had their reasons, and I wasn't denying it.

"Tristan," she began. "I know yeh're lyin'."

"Then why'd yeh even ask?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "I jus' don't even know wha' ta do wiff yeh anymore."

"Nofhing, yeh don't hafta do nofhing."

She sighed and brushed my hair out of my eyes. It was soothing in a way and if I closed my eyes I was brought back to that apartment and suddenly it was his colorful fingers raking their way through my blonde hair. The memory was cut short when I reopened my eyes. "I jus' want yeh ta be 'appy again," she sighed.

"Yeh remember when I was 'appy?" I asked, my voice laced with the slightest bit of hope. Dylan bit her lip at this, like she had said too much.

"Yeh were 'appy when yeh we're wiff Oli," she barely whispered. She had said too much. Far too much. I didn't need anyone else to tell me that when I was with Oliver was the only time I was happy. Because that couldn't be so. Because it just hurt too fucking much to think about that.

"Please don't say anyfhing else," I said, my words muffled by the fact my face was half buried in my pillow.

"I know yeh were bofh proper fucked up when yeh we're togefher, but yeh were 'appy. Yeh bofh were," she went on anyway.

"Dylan," I warned her, the tone of my voice anything but intimidating.

"Yeh guys are clean now though!" She added anyway. "Maybe yeh can give it another go, yeah?"

I lifted my head up from my pillow only to make direct eye contact with my best friend. The friend who had been there since we were in diapers. The friend who was there through the drugs. The friend who had been there when everyone else hated me. The friend who was always there. The friend who knew nothing when it came to Oliver and I. She was so blissfully clueless. Everyone was, really. I wondered what she would think if she knew the truth. If everyone knew the truth. Most of them already hated me as it was and they only knew the half of it.

"I don't fhink so," I stated.

"I jus' want yeh ta be 'appy Tris," she sent me a sad smile, as she gave my arm a small pat.