Song-Inspired Stories

Sick of You by DNMO & Sub Urban

Trigger Warning: This story contains drug use and underage sex with overage people.

  It's been a few months now, I've been doing well I guess. Memories resurface sometimes and it's hard to fight back the tears.

  I was close with them, so close I'd grown emotionally dependent on them and they did the same to me. I didn't realize that what I was letting them do was damaging me.

  I'd cover for them, telling their parents they are at my house while they're clearly out having sex with our senior friend's 20-something year old brother. I'd let them vape at my house, we'd sit in the hot tub, passing the vape pen back and forth as we talked for hours about friends, bullies, school, love, hate, etc.

  I let them use me as an emotional punching bag, I'd let them mail things to me that they couldn't risk their parent's finding. I thought it was the least I could do for them since they saved my life the first day we met.

  It was early morning, one of the first few days of school. Grade nine. Who knew I'd start it out almost dying. I hadn't brought a change of clothes so I'm running in skinny jeans and a tight t-shirt in 36°C weather.

  We were doing Phys. Ed. The coach scolded me for not bringing a change of clothes and wouldn't let me go to the changing room to get spares. He had me start running with the rest of the class, not even bothering when I told him of my asthma. I ran as much as I could, trying to get a good grade, despite my growing inability to breathe. My vision started going dark and my legs gave out.

  Someone caught me and lifted me up. They hauled me to the coach, yelling at him for not letting me change. He finally gave in and let the person take me to the nurse. I was in and out of consciousness the entire time.

  I came to an hour later, the person still sitting with me in the nurse's office as my parents were outside talking to the nurse.

  They made sure I was okay, introducing themself and agreeing to help me if the coach gave me a hard time again.

  We ended up being inseparable. Attached at the hip, almost literally. We always had our arms around each other, over the shoulder or around the waist. People thought we were dating at one point. And at one point, it almost became love.

  Not the good type of love though, the "you are my emotional support item and you'll like it" kind of love. You can probably guess who was the item and who was the user.

I'd helped this person through breakups and family issues, they hardly did the same for me. They wore me like a new dress or suit, showing me off but not letting me get too far in fear of me getting damaged.

  They acted as if my problems mattered, but never let me rant or break down like I let them do on me. I even let them cause pain to me, one of their habits was to bite people's hands and arms.

  I didn't care when blood vessels were popped or bitemarks were too deep. I let it happen. When Winter Formal came around, we both got nervous. Me, an odd queer still questioning my gender, and them, a demigirl who was confident in a suit but not a dress.

  Their mom made them wear a dress. But they changed into a suit at my house. I wore a dress, since I wanted to impress my girlfriend at the time with green, since she said she liked blondes in green clothes. My friend and I went together, they ran off with their partner while I waited for mine.

  She never showed. I sat crying in the corner, my friend noticing but ignoring me. A few popular girls came over and checked on me, cheering me up and helping me have fun again. But they went home early due to having volleyball practice the next morning.