Scratched

Thirty Nine

THIRTY NINE

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Everything was nondescript, lacking shape. The scenes and people around me seemed less solid. Translucent. I was there, but I wasn't there. I'd felt something similar to this before when I would smoke, but it was nowhere as potent as this feeling. It was dulled down. I had thought I had felt everything I ever needed to, but this had opened up my world. I realized that smoking wasn't enough. I was limiting myself in what I could feel and discover. I should have been doing more, experiencing more. I had wasted my time. Time I could have done so much with. But I wasn't any longer.

This feeling had consumed me since I had been spending my days with Callum. It was all I could think. It was all I could feel. The days had slipped to weeks, and then the cold was slowly fading. And all of it was filled with this. I spent my days wherever but I was overwhelmingly with Callum. He would get me high and then we would just slip off. It could just be talking or a walk or nothing at all. I liked it best when we talked. I felt like I was understanding him and he was understanding me on a level we had never quite reached before, or maybe no one had reached.

But it wasn't only that.

If we weren't putting on a show or traveling Callum and I spent our nights all. I rarely ever touched a hotel room now. We would get high or wasted and then spend all night drifting from club to club. We would only spill back into the hotel when morning broke out across the sky, but even then sleep was rare for me. I had become so accustomed to not sleeping that I found I didn't need much of it anymore. I might sleep an hour or two, or even go a couple days without it. If I was tired I didn't know because I wasn't sober long enough for it to sink in.

I rolled my head to the side, looking at Callum. My vision was blurry, but I could make out his figure. He ran a hand through his hair, his movements lethargic. Mine were probably every bit as sluggish. He struggled into a sitting position. We had barely got back into the hotel this morning. I'd passed out, but I had only managed to snag a couple of hours. "Water," I grumbled, rubbing my hands across my face. I tried to shrug off the drowsiness but it was in vain. I gathered myself, sitting up on the bed. Callum knocked away the clutter on his nightstand until he found a half drank bottle of water, tossing it to me. I caught it taking hungry drinks from it.

"I feel like hell," I croaked.

"I'm right there with you."

He pulled at his pockets, releasing the pack of cigarettes he had stuffed there. He removed a cigarette, popping it into his mouth. He was about to shove them into his pocket again, but the task was too difficult so he discarded them on the bed beside him. He flicked his lighter, inhaling. He slowly let out the smoke, his eyes half lidded. "Better than fucking coffee," he said quietly. He leaned back onto his elbows, staring out into space. I wasn't much more lively either. My eyes were locked on the ground and my mind was occupied with absolutely nothing. After several minutes of silence Callum finally spoke. "Want to get high?"

"You read my mind."

♪            ♫          ♪

I had left Callum's room not too much later. The rest of Love & Squalor had arrived, and I wasn't quite ready for that number of company. So I said my goodbyes and made my way out of the room. Instead of returning to my own room I opted for Reed and company. I pushed through the door and immediately plopped down on the bed. My head lay half way off as well as a leg. I stared up at the ceiling, watching my vision move.

"Long night?" Reed questioned in a tight voice. I could tell he wasn't happy. It was evident in his voice and his actions. He hadn't exactly been my best friend these last few weeks. Whenever I was around Callum he seemed to be anywhere but around me. This was one of the first times I had seen him for longer than a few minutes. I rolled my head to the side, looking over at him. He was sitting cross-legged on the opposite bed with a guitar in his lap.