Ms Brightside and I.

The music was too loud. It pounded in my ears and all around my body, but maybe that was just the drugs, I guess I'll never know. The lights flashed. Legacy was her favorite time of year. Everybody was tripping, off their faces on this or that, and she could move, knowing that in the morning, if anyone actually remembered her, they would never be sure if she actually existed, or if she was just a hallucination, and ironically enough, that was how she felt about herself too.
She disappeared when the lights blink, and second later, she was back, and in the time it took me for breathe in and out, she was there next to me, in a pretty white dress, legs from here to forever. She draped her body over mine, and looked into my eyes. Her pupils were huge. Ecstasy, weed, alcohol, cocaine, probably LSD. It was a wonder her body hadn't rejected her, that she was still alive. She looked so creepy. Her eyes were framed with long, coated mascara, and running eyeliner, and sparkly black eyeshadow. She looked about five years older, and probably could have passed for a corpse, she was so pale, if it weren't for her quick breaths and her eyes frantically darting about my face. Her skin glowed, moon-like, and her lip ring glinted over blood red lips. I wanted to lean over and flick it with my tongue, but no. I shouldn't give in to what she wants, but I wanted her too. I wanted to feel her soft skin sliding over mine, and her breathing quicken in my ear when I hit the right spots.
No. This time, no.
Her hand drew messy circles on my arm and she leaned up; her lips met my ear. Let's get out here. I want a fucking cigarette. I could have just let her go, and I probably would have, but I was jealous of the stares she was collecting from the multiple non-sober souls, but then again, they probably thought she was miles more beautiful than she really was. And I knew she had an ugly inside anyway.
I didn't want her. I wanted to fuck her, and hard. I could never get enough of how she felt around me, moving, and moaning. I gave her the thrills she needed, and she returned with the pleasure that I desired. What a funny couple we made. I use the word 'couple' quite loosely. I had no problem going about and kissing other girls that never measured up to her, and she was a scape goat to me. She hated me, really. She didn't want my pity, or even my love, I suppose. It's safe to say we hated each other.

She lit up one of her foul as fuck cigarettes that I hated, and it was dark on the street as we walked away from the raging party. I needed to feel her, but this time, in a more innocent way, just to know she was real. I felt so sorry for being such a fucking asshole, like if i didn't apologise, she might slip away.
But she shoved away from me. her fingers blue and cold. Don't touch me. And all I could think was, fuck. I don't need to be here. You shouldn't stay with anyone who treats you like you're ordinary. And I am nothing to you. I am nothing special in your eyes.
And there was truth in that. She was nothing special to me... Except maybe she was. I suppose we mostly just fucked. But she was still my friend. Her eyes kept me interested, and she the way she spoke; she was so smart for a girl who ended up with the wrong things. Maybe I was the one who ruined her.
Right now, though, her voice was like a singsong melody, eerie, contrasting with the pupils that ate away at her irises, like a sick, twisted fantasy. The little psychopath in movies.
When I didn't reply, she turned her head away in disgust, and she knew that she was right, and yeah, she might have been, and she might have loved me. Maybe I loved her too. But we were different to the fragile little beings that had truly loved each other, none of this hate shit back then. We were different to how we were when we first fell apart, and I could never fill the holes that I dug up myself, and I don't think she knew that.
I put my arms around her, and this time she let me. Would we remember this in the morning? I might. She more than likely wouldn't. She'd be gone before I woke, trying to figure out how she ended up in this situation again, and I'd have to let myself out of her house.
At the same time, I found it impossible to leave her. I tried ignoring her, but it always backfired on me because she ended up ignoring me right back, and it was well known that this girl did nothing better than play the silence game, and of course, she did in so much better than I did. All we ever seemed to do was play our little fucking games, and gamble. We played with love and hate, drugs and sex, and yes, silence. We gambled life with death, threw dice with fate: the last one to die loses. We were crazy, fucking mental. But it's okay, she used to say. We're all mad here.
I thought all of this while we stumbled back to her house, as empty as her head on a night like tonight. She'd probably drink and smoke a little more, then maybe snort another line while I watched, all so I knew that she'd be ready when I couldn't handle my lust anymore. We fucked like animals on crack, until we couldn't stand each the sight, taste, smell of each other anymore. That's a nice way to live sometimes, but I looked up at her, and she was staring out the bedroom window, mid-bounce, and she was probably far, far away. I wish I knew where she went when we were together, but if i asked, she'd probably cry, and I know I'd fall in love with her if I saw her so vulnerable. She makes it easy for, walking around so sad and mad and alone, and I know she must do it on purpose, because sometimes I know she's been crying, but she just acts mad.

Such beautiful malice, pouring out of her eyes. I wonder where she'll be tonight while we're fucking.