It's Pronounced Mrotek, Baby

I wasn't being stubborn.

I wasn't.

No matter what that stupid Jay or anyone else says.

I don't love him.

He took me on the weirdest, craziest, most immature dates. I loved that about him.

He wore some of the most absurd gettups and pulled them off gracefully. I loved that about him.

He loved me and he didn't care who knew it. I loved that about him.

That didn't mean I loved him.

Loving anything and everything about someone doesn't mean you will marry them, bear their children, and grow old with them.

This was the only think I could wrap my mind around easily. It helped avoid the thought of those lines.

-

Andy was making sure I was crack free.

He called it rehab.

Sex On Leg's Rehab Facility.

I hate that name. It is like a demon, from my own mind and words, haunting my every move.

"Do you want to go out?" He asked me, and I stared at him.

"Yea. I want to go. I want to go to Zach's."

"No. Sorry, Tati. It isn't happening. Zach knows not to give you any."

"I know it isn't going to fucking happen. You won't let me, you ass." I pushed his shoulder away from me, and he laughed.

Sometimes, he found my withdraw humerous.

"Its alright. I've got this covered." He bent down and took another Capri Sun from the box.

This was my treatment.

I wanted crack, I got a Sun.

The only problem was now I had to pee more than usual.

Andy squeezed my knee and I heard the front door slam. His brother stomped up the stairs, waving a quiet hello to us. He was so weird sometimes, but his break dancing was awesome.

I wonder if doing drugs affects break dancers like the say it does other athletes. Like runners.

Fuck, I can't even keep my head straight!

Soon, Andy said, I wouldn't need a Sun every five minutes because my cravings would be gone.

Soon better get its ass over here.