The A Team

There was no denying it, we were a wreck. I could feel the floor through the paper-thin mattress we were intertwined on. I could feel his lithe body shivering in my arms, shaking from both the cold air and lack of substance in his veins. I could feel the crave crawling under his skin, seemingly coming on to me like an army of ants. Sweaty palms made their way through chilly blankets and around my neck, bony wrists coming to rest on my shoulder, right next to his head. He looked so fragile, too-sharp hip bones, a bruise from two nights ago just starting to fade under his left eye. And all of this was my fault.

I started doing drugs a little over a year ago. Being bored and in the wrong scene sometimes does that to a person. At first, it had just been a few puffs of a joint being passed around, a one-time thing. And then the occasion represented itself. Who was I to say no? So I accepted. I didn't realise at first, but I was hooked. Whether I was bored, stressed, angry or sad, I'd always know where to go. It figures that, a few months later, the night Oli's parents kicked him out for being gaygay, that's where I took him. I thought it would be a great escape, even though I knew he didn't like the idea. What a mistake it was. He was a decent student and got good grades. He had a future, and so did I, even though I had been too dumb to see it back then. I knew he was gone the second the joint left his lips after the first puff. The drug had kicked in, his jaw had gone slack and his eyes had fallen closed.

His grades went down to C's and D's. He dropped out. We both got fired. Even this small, shitty flat became hard to afford. As we couldn't find another job, we resorted to selling ourselves. It's not something to be proud of, but at the time, it seemed like the only thing left to do. Winter was approaching and, as unappealing a cold flat was, it was still better than the streets. Two young, fit males sold pretty easily. You'd think we would make enough money to pay for rent and a full electricity bill, but getting your daily fix can turn out to be quite expensive.

I looked down at the boy in my arms. It had changed him. Most nights, he would come home broken, bruised and shivering. He would just curl up in a corner; tear streaked face buried in his hands. He wouldn't even look at me. He knew how he felt: guilty, dirty, ashamed, used, cheap. And it was all my fault. The bruises, the foreign scratches on his back, the tears, the cold, the bony hips, the hollow stomach, the strangers calling out his name at night, I caused it all.

But I would change. I would try to be a better man. He deserved so much more. Moments like this, when I could feel him in my arms, always reminded me of how much I loved him, and how much I needed him. I could see the sun rising through the frosted window. Had I been thinking this long? I sighed, getting up and taking out my neatest clothes. Today was going to be an important day and I couldn't mess up. I took a quick, nearly cold shower, shaved, and combed my hair. I wrote Oli a quick note and set it down on the pillow, before kissing his forehead and making my way out of the flat and into Sheffield's streets.

My first stop was the library. I printed out a couple of resumes and distributed them around the city. After half an hour of seeking, I got really lucky when a kind, old librarian just happened to be looking for two employees. After I explained him our situation, he gave me an understanding smile and told me to come back the next day at 8 for an interview.

I nearly skipped to the detox and rehab centre. I got information and scheduled us for evaluations, also the next morning.

When I came back at the flat, Oliver wasn't up yet, so I slipped back under the blanket and brought him against my chest. Even through all the exhaustion, I couldn't fall asleep. There was this burning, hopeful feeling in my chest, telling me things were getting better. It was as if the sun was finally peeking through, melting the thick ice barrier we had built around ourselves. I couldn't possibly wait to tell Oli about my doings.

I lost track of time, getting lost in thoughts, forgetting now and imagining what the future could hold. Oli started stirring in my arms, tired brown eyes opening to meet mine. 'Good morning, Olisosur,' I whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. He smiled and stretched, oversized shirt rising to reveal pale, too-sharp hips. Sitting up, he snuggled himself to my chest, trying to get some warmth. 'Guess what?'

'Mh?' he asked, an expression of contentment gracing his face as he found a comfortable position.

'I got us jobs. And appointments for evaluations at the local rehab centre. We're getting out of this mess. It will be hard, but I swear we can do it if we stick together. I don't want to see you hurt anymore. I want you to be all mine. I want us to be happy, and if feeling high means living miserably every other time, I'm ready to leave it behind. I'm done with chemical highs and I hope you're willing to take this step with me.' He was sitting straight, facing me with tears in his eyes. He threw himself at me, wrapping his arms around my neck, making us both fall on the mattress. The moment our eyes met, we burst out laughing, a natural high taking us over from the feeling of being finally free.

That night we watched the sunset and gazed at the stars from the tiny balcony of our flat, limbs intertwined in blankets, a spark of hope warming our chests and tickling our lips. Things were looking up.