A New Notch in Your Belt.

Last night was a blur.

From my position on the ground, I didn't have to move for the flashes to come back, walls of emotion hitting me as I tried to recollect what had led me to waking up here. There were people dancing, lights flashing, and Austin.

Austin.

Turning my head to the side, I looked around to find that there was no one around me, a wasteland of garbage and discarded clothes littering the ground.

Of course he wasn't here. That asshole.

Austin Gibbs was never one to stick around, a dirty southwestern casanova who was caught up in how fast everything moved that there was no way he'd ever escape in one piece.

I really should have known better.

The first night of this mess was a desert bonfire far away from any town or any sign of civilization. The Arizona sky was afire with stars that couldn't be seen anywhere else, the stale air lightened up with a gentle breeze that floated through the sounds of music and chatter. I had snuck away from the group, abandoning my friends in hope of simply catching a smoke in peace.

It seemed simple enough: I quietly slipped away from the crowd, perching on the back of an old convertible and lighting up the cancer stick, taking a deep drag before sighing.

“You know, ladies like you normally don't hide their pretty faces from the world.” The raspy voice that spoke caused me to jump, turning to meet a pair of dark chocolate eyes and a boyish smirk.

“You know, guys like you normally don't benefit from scaring pretty girls like me.” I taunted, mocking his earlier statement.

“Well, luckily for me, I'm not like most guys.” He offered his hand out to me, which after contemplating for a second, I took. “Austin.”

“Vera.” I pulled my hand away, tapping the excess ash off my cigarette before taking another drag. “I've heard about you.”

“Really?” Austin smirked, taking a seat next to me on the back of the car, lighting up one of his own cigarettes. “Well, I've gotta say darlin', there's what you hear,” he leaned closer to me, lowering his voice. “And then there's what you get.”

Looking back, that was the moment he sucked me in. His husky, low whisper had my mind reeling, desperate to see if the rumors were true.

Austin Gibbs, the casanova.
Austin Gibbs, the musician.
Austin Gibbs, the addict.

The addiction.

It only took one hit of him before I was aching for more-- more of his fingertips tracing my curves, of his low moan, hands fumbling to fling off clothing as we lost control of ourselves. I didn't have to get his phone number: he was everywhere. At any party, he simply had to hook one of his expert fingers in my belt loop and pull me away from the crowd, and I was his.

But it wasn't just the sex.
If only it had been the sex.

Austin's mind left me dazed, the air with which he spoke about the world confident, yet alluring. His lips were good for more than kissing, his expertise with language able to convince anyone that his reckless abandon was that of a pioneer, not of a mere fool. The first time Austin took me out, we found ourselves at a hole-in-the-wall bar, the air thick with smoke and dimly lit as older men drank away their sorrows. I knew all of Austin's moves, and I still fell for them: sharing a milkshake, leaning forward to increase the intimacy of our conversation, how his eyes darkened with lust when he was ready for the later festivities. He pulled me up to standing on the booth and let our lips collide, taunting the wash-ups that inhabited the bar that this rebel, this bohemian, he had found love. Something that the old men in the bar could only dream of. It was far from the last time I'd ever find myself in that bar, but for all the nights spent in that bar, every bad night was masked by my memories of that first date.

Austin was the snake in the garden that pushed me to abandon my inhibitions and take uncalculated risks. Before Austin, I had been pretty straight-laced, not a total angel but far from a family disgrace. Austin knew that, and Austin had made a game of getting me to “loosen up,” taking me to bar shows and convincing me that getting a tattoo was in my best interest. He fit right into the image, cutoff denim vest and skinny jeans with his combat boots, letting his cigarettes dangle from his lips in a taunt that the cancer stick got to taste them, but I didn't. For a devil, Austin looked far from it: he appeared to be an angel. My angel. I was a sucker for a bad boy, especially one with southern charm, and Austin was just that. He was also my downfall.

Austin burned bright, and he moved fast. Faster than anyone else I had ever met, but yet it felt so good to be around him. I was on fire with him, feeling enlightened and liberated when he was around. Every ounce of common sense I had told me that he was bad news, but I threw caution to the wind when it came to him. His friends became mine, pulling me into a disillusioned bohemia that abandoned everything I had worked for in my 23 years of life. My hair was cut and dyed, my comfortable, bright dresses abandoned for leather, studs, and lace. Eyeliner became a permanent fixture, smudged around my eyes until you could hardly recognize me, transforming from the girl next door into a bohemian grunge queen. Everyone I had spoken to before vanished when I became Austin's girl, when he took his necklace off and gave it to me, the small chain with the ring, showing the world that I was his. I fell fast and hard, but it still wasn't enough. Austin Gibbs consumed me.

Austin was the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. There were countless nights that I laid awake with him in his dingy apartment, reeking of smoke as he wrote music and convinced me that I was a muse, gracing him with my presence. He'd serenade me in nothing but his boxers, his eyes watching me as I danced around in nothing but his threadbare sweater and underwear. We wouldn't sleep for days, going on benders fueled by sex, alcohol, weed, and eventually, heroin. Sometimes we would lay on his bed and talk, watching out the window as a hospital was constructed across the street from his apartment balcony, the tiny one-room apartment only being able to hold us for so long. Other times, we'd go at it and I would find myself staring into the mirror in his bathroom, the flickering light casting shadows on my face that made me appear less like the 23 year old I was and more like a ghost. I'd press my back against the dirty tile and slide until I was a small pile on the floor, regaining my composure until Austin would apologize or I would be able to ignore our conflict.

Showing up at my apartment at 4 AM to take me on an impromptu road trip wasn't unheard of for him, his classic convertible providing us one of many risky games as we let the wind whip through our hair, trying to stand on the seats as we rounded curves and let the heat bare down on us. Austin knew the Arizona wilderness, where to take me to enjoy the state that I had come to call home, and where to take me to be reckless without getting caught. Austin's quick mouth could get him into trouble though, starting brawls at bars and increasing his infamy without care for the consequences, only smirking when someone tried to lay a hand on him before taking them out. Austin liked to get fucked up and liked it even more when I joined him, opening me to a host of addictions and bad habits that I had never comprehended that I'd get wrapped up in, but with him, it was too easy. The crashes were the worst, but with every new high, I found myself more dependent on Austin: he was sex, he was love, he was my addiction. The substances were just a side effect.

Everything with Austin was a giant whirlwind: a whirlwind of parties, brawls, loud music, shows, fights, benders, sex, flashing lights, festivals, dancing, and getting completely lost. Austin made me lose my balance, and he made me lose myself. Austin wasn't kidding the night he told me “there's what you hear, and then there's what you get.” The rumors had paled in comparison when it came to Austin Gibbs, and there was no way I could possibly keep up.

Sitting up, I sighed as I took in my surroundings. No map was going to help me out now, sitting on the ground in the desert with none of my dignity or self-worth to be found. Austin took that when he left me there, the sand blowing through the abandoned festival site as I allowed the last night's memories to come slamming into me. There were strobe lights, there was music, there was a fire. There was dancing, there were drugs, there was Austin. Austin and another girl.

Clutching at the ring chained to my neck, I let my fingers trace the curves before ripping it off my neck, throwing it to the ground. Maybe you couldn't find yourself until you lost yourself, but I knew one thing: Austin Gibbs was trouble. And the worst part of it wasn't losing him.

It was losing me.