Prescribed Pills
She's Not Bleeding On The Ballroom Floor Just For The Attention
I held myself together tightly, staring at the doorway of my small apartment, feeling my eyes stinging. I didn't need to be here. I could get out. I could get away and never have to come back. But that would mean leaving Brendon, and that wasn't anything I wanted to do anytime soon, because if there was anything keeping me here long enough, well, it was him. I slowly pushed myself up off the floor and stumbled towards the bathroom, wiping away the dried blood off of my thighs.
For too long I had cut my wrists, and Brendon had started to catch on, and well, he knew me too well and he would start to check. But if he saw the scars fading then maybe he would stop worrying about me as much. He had problems of his own, and he'd be less likely to check my thighs, right?
My mind shouldn't have been straying their because now I was with Brendon. I was where I needed to be, and the place I felt closest to happy, even if it wasn't the real deal. I looked towards him, my eyes taking note of every detail in his face. His dark brown eyes, his full lips, the color of blooming flowers, the way he looked so relaxed while he wanted the movie. I could see that he faked a smile just for me, but it pained me to know that it wasn't quite real. Not that either of us could particularly bring ourselves to smile.
I rolled onto my side and gently ran my fingers over his lips, not paying attention to the movie anymore, because I hardly had the attention span to do anything for too long. My face found its way into his neck, where I gently kissed the tender skin.
"Can I ask you something?" I muttered, my head still tucked away in the crook of his neck.
"Of course," he replied, his voice as quiet as mine.
I looked up at him slowly, tilting his head so our eyes would meet. I ran a hand through his damp hair slowly, feeling the moistness coming off on my fingers. How did I go about phrasing this? "Do you remember the first time I met you?"
It had completely caught me off guard. I was sitting in a Starbucks when he walked in. That was when I was things were really bad. Maybe even worse than now.
Maybe.
That was when there were drugs being used every single day. I'd gotten better at using them sparingly, although "sparingly" was more than I should have been using them. I'd been so high that night, it was bad. I hardly had a clue what was going on. And Brendon came in, and even though he really wasn't any better off than I was, he helped me. And in return, I started to help him.
He nodded, his eyes straying away from mine, and I rested my hand on his cheek, and brought his head so it was facing me again. "The drugs weren't enough back then. I always needed more. I know it doesn't look like things have gotten better, but at least we have each other," I whispered, closing my eyes.
I recalled the nights where we'd both be up late after hours of staying up, sipping alcohol out of their colorful bottles and giggling when things seemed to stop making sense because we'd started to loose sight of reality. That'd happened far too many times for me to count on my fingers.
There were specific nights Brendon and I seemed to have; the nights like this where things seemed almost normal, the nights where we were both miserable, and the nights where we'd get drunk together, or high together and just sit there, soaking up each others company, ignoring the fact that we had a feeling our lives wouldn't go anywhere without the other.
For too long I had cut my wrists, and Brendon had started to catch on, and well, he knew me too well and he would start to check. But if he saw the scars fading then maybe he would stop worrying about me as much. He had problems of his own, and he'd be less likely to check my thighs, right?
My mind shouldn't have been straying their because now I was with Brendon. I was where I needed to be, and the place I felt closest to happy, even if it wasn't the real deal. I looked towards him, my eyes taking note of every detail in his face. His dark brown eyes, his full lips, the color of blooming flowers, the way he looked so relaxed while he wanted the movie. I could see that he faked a smile just for me, but it pained me to know that it wasn't quite real. Not that either of us could particularly bring ourselves to smile.
I rolled onto my side and gently ran my fingers over his lips, not paying attention to the movie anymore, because I hardly had the attention span to do anything for too long. My face found its way into his neck, where I gently kissed the tender skin.
"Can I ask you something?" I muttered, my head still tucked away in the crook of his neck.
"Of course," he replied, his voice as quiet as mine.
I looked up at him slowly, tilting his head so our eyes would meet. I ran a hand through his damp hair slowly, feeling the moistness coming off on my fingers. How did I go about phrasing this? "Do you remember the first time I met you?"
It had completely caught me off guard. I was sitting in a Starbucks when he walked in. That was when I was things were really bad. Maybe even worse than now.
Maybe.
That was when there were drugs being used every single day. I'd gotten better at using them sparingly, although "sparingly" was more than I should have been using them. I'd been so high that night, it was bad. I hardly had a clue what was going on. And Brendon came in, and even though he really wasn't any better off than I was, he helped me. And in return, I started to help him.
He nodded, his eyes straying away from mine, and I rested my hand on his cheek, and brought his head so it was facing me again. "The drugs weren't enough back then. I always needed more. I know it doesn't look like things have gotten better, but at least we have each other," I whispered, closing my eyes.
I recalled the nights where we'd both be up late after hours of staying up, sipping alcohol out of their colorful bottles and giggling when things seemed to stop making sense because we'd started to loose sight of reality. That'd happened far too many times for me to count on my fingers.
There were specific nights Brendon and I seemed to have; the nights like this where things seemed almost normal, the nights where we were both miserable, and the nights where we'd get drunk together, or high together and just sit there, soaking up each others company, ignoring the fact that we had a feeling our lives wouldn't go anywhere without the other.