Those Sparkling Eyes.

Round two is merely because the addiction to the poison starts to trigger in my mind. I’m shaking, and sweating, and my head is spinning, because I’ve gone a full eight hours without the drug now. I look away from the computer – it’s just making it worse, and I glance around the room.

The curtains are drawn shut, making the dark velvety red walls seem even darker, the white trim giving the grim room just a bit of light. The only lamp in the room is on the lowest possible lighting, casting a shadow against the wall.

I shiver as I notice the stain on the carpet from my sick, and stand up, stumbling my way over to the locked cabinet in the corner. Just as I’m about to mix everything and give into my own mind; the phone rings, leading me to jump, the powder, spoon, and lighter flying everywhere. “Fuck!” I swear, snatching the phone off the desk, and flipping it open. That was the last of your stash.

Shut up.

“Gerard, I’ve called five times,” my mother’s calm voice floats through the phone into my ear, causing me to wince in frustration and stupidity for not calling the poor woman back. But I manage to push the guilt aside, my eyes flitting back to the spilt powder on the carpet, fingers beginning to tremble.

Stop, you have to stop, I bounce nervously on my feet as my mother starts into this story about how her and Father have some luncheon to go to for a fundraiser supporting children who live in foster care. “…And so I was wondering if you wanted to go with us dear?” She finishes.

I don’t respond: Frank’s walked through the door, and he’s staring angrily down at the spilt items, glancing up at me, his eyes burning with disgust, disapproval, and anger. I bite my lip, messing with the hem of my cotton white t-shirt.

The perfectly eerie, tense silence shatters within seconds, as my mother’s voice flies through the air once more, so loud even Frank can hear it. His olive eyes burn with something I’m completely unsure of now; as he stoops down to pick every thing up, the rich powder grinding into the carpet. It’s all I can do to dive forward and try to save every last grain of it. “…Gerard? Gerard darling, answer me will you, you’re scaring me!”

My mother’s worried voice breaks into my mind. I stare at the phone blankly. Frank looks up from picking the items up and stares expectantly, an eyebrow arched. “Answer,” he hisses.

“Huh?” is all that escapes my mouth, and my mother sends a loud sigh my way.

“Gerard, I wish you would pay more attention to such things. I get the feeling you’re off doing something incredibly stupid when you become that quiet.”

“No, mother,” comes out choked and garbled from my dry mouth. “Someone just came in, is all.”

She sighs again. “Anyways, the luncheon? 3 p.m. right in the dining hall at the Hilton, dear, tomorrow. Please don’t be late. And dress yourself suitably, not coat and tie, but, nice dress pants and a dress shirt.”

“Mother,” I murmur, “I know how to dress myself. 3 o’ clock. See you then.” I shut the phone, closing my eyes so tight stars burst behind them, purple, yellow, and green colours, making a show for me to see. My stomach flips a few times weakly, and my throat burns.

When I open my eyes, he’s not in the room. I can’t find him in the hallway, and I can’t find him in the kitchen, so I give in, sitting down on the couch, bringing my knees up to my chest and lighting a cigarette. He walks out of the bathroom. “Holy shit!” I swear, looking up surprised at him, wide eyes, and he stares back, laughter dancing in his own eyes.

“I’m not allowed to go to the bathroom now?” He questions, cocking his head to the side, sitting down on the chair across from me.

“You’re just so quiet,” I mumble, tracing patterns on my jeans. The end of my cigarette threatens to fall, so I grab the ash tray and flick it off, before taking another drag. He stares again, not making a move, or a noise. Then his eyes begin to flit around the dark room, questioning, wondering.

Stop making me nervous. “What are you doing?” I finally ask, irritated. They focus back on me, and he shrugs.

“What happened to it?” he asks.

I grip the edge of the couch weakly, “To what?”

“Why’d it spill, what did you do?”

I suddenly feel transparent; like I’m the easiest person in the entire world to read, and he can see through the thick skin, the ruby red river, and the white nearly ceramic bones, past my skull, into my brain: he can read everything I am, he can tell that I’m desperate for that one thing.

“T-the phone rang,” I stutter out. He nods, eyes flitting once again, nearly trying to avoid me. I put the cigarette out.

I mess with things, moving them around, organizing them, biting my nails – five minutes passes by tragically long, until Frank looks up. “You’re out, aren’t you?” I bite my lip.

“That was my last,” I murmur. He rolls his eyes, stands up, and walks over. “Ger. Please.”

I close my eyes for a second and imagine myself going out to get the drug, feeling my high quickly soar through my system, taking control, leaving me feeling happy at last. I snap them back open; “Distract me.”

He looks surprised. “Distract you? How? What do you mean?”

“Distract me,” I say it slower, shaking his shoulders. “You don’t want me on it tonight – you want to hang out with you, right?” He nods, keeping silent, and flicking his eyes away from me. “Distract me. Let’s go to a movie, or something.”

“Are you doing this just so you aren’t hung over tomorrow at your mom’s luncheon?” He asks me, turning his eyes up, almost looking hurt. It’s my turn to keep silent, and I frown.

“That would be nice, but, Frankie, you’re my friend.”

“So? That’s never stopped you before!” He snaps, standing up. I remain quiet for good this time, knowing what’s ahead. It happens every time – he tries to intervene me, and is disappointed when it doesn’t work. “I’m just the one you turn to when you need a distraction so you can keep lying to your poor mummy and your stubborn ass father!” He spat, still furious.

“Frankie!” I snarl, hurt. I stand up, swinging open the door to the elevator. “If it’s such a problem, there’s the fucking door!” it erupts from my mouth as a growl, as I glare at him, waiting for him to go.

He clenches and unclenches his teeth, shifts from foot to foot, and grits his teeth for a minute, before softening his gaze, and looking at the red wall. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs so quietly I can barely hear it. “I – I didn’t mean for it to turn into a full blown thing.”

“Neither of us ever do,” I mutter back, closing the door with a slam, and crossing the room to sit on the couch again. My fingers start to tremble once more.

“Ger,” he whispers. “Calm down.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I know.”

Everything returns to silence, only it’s tense and stranded – desperate. “The movies, huh?” He muses, grabbing the paper, and flicking through it until he finds the screenings for this weekend. “There’s a scary one, a romantic one, and a comedy – but I doubt you’ll be able to focus,” he trails off, noticing the trembling has returned, this time with some sweating.

“Whatever’s fine,” I answer more harshly than needed, jumping up and grabbing my keys. “Come on, let’s go.”

I don’t notice the movie. I don’t notice Frankie staring at me worriedly, or the fact that my fingers are trembling like mad. Even the sweat falling from my head to my newly clean white shirt. It’s all invisible, and all I see is getting back to the corner of Madison and Lake St.; to my dealer, who will give me my drug, that will make everything better.

Clearly, this is not a good enough distraction. “Do you want to leave?” Frank hisses to me, setting the popcorn down. I shake my head no, determined to make it through the evening without being forced to leave and run from him in anger, shame, and frustration.

When the movie is over, I tell Frank not to bother coming back, to go home, and I’d call him when I get home, to tell him I’m still alive and no paparazzi got a hold of me, or found out anything new or such. He stands in the middle of the sidewalk, looking hurt and confused as I make my way as quickly as possible to Madison and Lake.

I fall asleep shaking and crying.