The trouble with drugs is that no matter how much pain and misery they put you through, they become a part of you. And you will always want to go crawling back.
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a d r e n a l i n e
"I need to get back in there a'ight?"
"No," I whine.
"I won the fight already; I'm just gonna get the money and my stuff. That's it."
I roll my eyes. Aaron leans in, kisses my forehead before going down the steps until I could no longer see him in the darkness. I was outside the ginormous cement factory door, right next to the guards. He was being over protective; he refused to let me go back in with him and ordered the guards to watch me like I was a child.
"What's your name?"
"Elizabeth." I answer. Cold fog circles my face as I speak.
"You his girl?" One of the larger guards asked me. I look up to see his bearded face.
"I don't know. . ." I mumble.
He chuckles, "How can you not know?"
"It's complicated." It really was. Aaron admitted that he cares for me, and I care for him more than I should. We kiss like a couple would; with passion and fire and tingles... Well at least that's what I feel- I'm not sure about him - yet I am not his girlfriend and he is not my boyfriend. My eyes wander to the door while I rub my arms for warmth. It has to be about fiffy-degrees out, and I'm only wearing a sweater and shorts.
I start to feel uncomfortable, but am relieved when Aaron pushes the rusty door open. He's fully dressed now, a black Nike sports bag hanging over his shoulder. He takes my hand in his, thanking the guards and promising to be back next week; I frown when I realize he would be fighting again.
"You can't keep me from boxing, baby."
"I figured." It's true. I can't stop him from doing something he loves. I would never do that even if I had the chance. I'm not selfish.
"Here," Aaron shrugs off his jacket and holds it out for me.
"But you'll be cold." I say, pushing it away. He's only wearing a thin, white T-shirt underneath.
"Don't worry about me. Put it on, Elizabeth." He says, "I don't want you getting sick."
"Thank you," I blush, taking the jacket from his hand. The arms are way too long, reaching past my knees, and the fit was gigantic on my small body. I don't mind, though. It's soft and smells just like him. The same way I remember; vanilla-peppermint with a faint of smoke.
Aaron stops walking and turns to me again, "Zip it up."
I narrow my eyes at him, "It's fine."
He ignores my protest and zips it up all the way to my chin for me. I sigh and follow the control-freak to his motorcycle.
