Addiction

Daishou

Nights like these are my favorite. Nights on the couch, under a pink and green blanket with Mika, my arms wrapped around her waist and a movie on the tv. I even enjoyed the occasional annoyance that I call my sister.

Everything was warm. The blanket kept the winter chill away. As did Mika’s body heat. We have hot chocolate, popcorn, she's in my lap with her hair to the side. Not a single thing was wrong with tonight. Everything was perfect.

I love the woman in my lap. She's beautiful, strong, independent, smart, loyal, and confident. I love all her negative traits: stubborn, rude, bitchy, insensitive at times, indecisive, jealous. I love her little habits too: her jump to conclusions that are far from the truth, the way she stares into my soul when she doesn't believe me, the way she bites her nails and then wonders why her paint jobs never stay nice, the way she takes an hour to get ready for bowling but ten minutes for a fancy restaurant. I love it all. There is nothing I would change.

I hugged her tighter. She leans on my chest. Her chestnut hair is illuminated with light from the TV. Her eyes are the color of beautiful enstatites. Her skin is soft like her lips which are a beautiful baby pink. I love her.

She and I, I am convinced, are the perfect match. We both like to point at people being idiots, point out the wrongs in society. We like to judge people. We like to bicker in public and cuddle in solitude. We like to compete to see who can take longer to get ready for a date. She likes to flip me off when I forget an anniversary. She likes to snap me out of depressive episodes by promising me something she rarely promises. She likes to make jabs about my argumentative personality. I like to shower her with love. I like to scare the shit of her. I like to make fun of her friends.

She is my sickness and my remedy. One moment she tears down my mental health and the next time she's building it up.

She doesn’t know about the Marijuanna. At least I hope she doesn’t. She’d probably ask why I use it. She would demand an answer. When I break down and tell her, she would surely call me stupid. Would she break up with me? What would she do? Would she tell the team? Would she get me kicked off? Would she stay and help like Kuroo did? What if she doesn’t and she hates me? What would I do then?

The negative thoughts are coming back.

What if I got high in front of her and I hurt her? What would I do with myself? What if I did the same to Kuroo? He just came back into my life. I could lose him. I could lose her.

I feel myself beginning to hyperventillate. My breathing is speeding up. My heart is drumming in my head. It's not loud enough. The thoughts are louder.

What if instead of hurting Mika directly, I hallucinate and cheat on her? Would I get as bad as Tsukishima and Kageyama are becoming? Would I yell at anyone who tried to take my addiction away?

Just a little. Just a little bit. I want some of it. Where did I put it?

The silence, the movement, it is unknown to me till I feel her lips on mine. Her soft lips. I instantly melt into it. It carries my thoughts away and calms me down.

My remedy.

Her lips leave my own. They form words. “It’s ok,” she says. Her voice is like chunky caramel.

“Let's rest.”

I nod. The TV is turned off. We lay down on the couch. Covered in the blanket, we wrap our arms around eachother. I love how she can make my thoughts disappear almost completely.

“You can tell me when you’re ready.”

Almost.