DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry # 38 - gentle groove

⚠️ sex descriptions. Mentions of drugs/drug use ⚠️

'Yes. Thank you'. I answer, finding the physical strength to turn his side and throw my leg around his hip, although my body still feels heavy as stone. Last night I couldn't sleep, I was having withdrawals, feeling like shit, and he cured me with cocaine... I mean, Fentanyl. Now I'm feeling much better, and it's thanks to his determination, his concern and his 4:30 AM Fentanyl treat. But my head still hurts a bit, and I'm lowkey afraid to ask him if he has Ibuprofen, 'cause he might as well give me opiates again. And man, I don't wanna develop an addiction to opiates.

Like Jon Bon Jovi would say... your love is like bad medicine, bad medicine is all I need. Just replace 'love' with 'infatuation' and 'medicine' with 'Fentanyl', and you'll have a pretty tight insight of the kinda relationship that we're building. Line after line, day after day. But what can I do... I think I love him, Fentanyl and all. If my heartbeat isn't lying to me, and I don't think it is, I'm starting to have the early symptoms of being in love. I will not easily forget the way he stuck by my side when I was a fucking mess, checking up on me, asking me how I was doing every five minutes, cradling me into his arms until I fell asleep on him. And woke up in the same exact position of last night, as none of the two of us had moved an inch.

I address a little smile his way, and he smiles back at me as he tucks a strand of my very, very cherry red hair behind my ear. His motion accompanied by a muffled, low, sleepy 'Cherry' coming off his mouth. And he laughs a bit with it, 'cause the fact that I box dye my hair this shade sometimes triggers his hilarity. My embrace around his hips instantly gets tighter, because I'm fucking smitten and I can't change it about myself. I can only change it for the worse, if he keeps being an absolute babe to me, while I haven't done anything to deserve his little lovergirl treatment.

I mean, we fucked, and it was bloody amazing, but he didn't have to stick by my hip after the deed. He stuck by my hip indeed, gave me the cuddles and the smooches, paid for my dinner, smuggled me into his hotel room, gave me more cuddles and smooches all night long, instead of fucking my brains out. I started to feel like crap at some point, and he worried about my state. He checked up on me until I fell asleep. I woke up, all over him, and with further hindsight... I can say that he hasn't changed a bit since last night. He's still here, seemingly still into me, still a total sweetheart.

And I wonder why he keeps being so good to me. I get it, he's a simp, he probably does this with every woman he sleeps with, no deeper ends intended. He is a very nice guy by default, unless he's in a mood or on his 25th drink of the night. Or unless you're a man and you're getting on his last sane nerve. He appears to be much nicer to me than he is with anyone else, lady or gent. But doesn't he know that his ways with me are dangerous? That they're fucking deceiving ? That he may as well be treating me like this to feel good with himself, but he's making me fall for him? Or maybe, I say maybe, is he doing it on purpose to make me fall for him ?

If I look at him, I wouldn't even say that he's trying. He looks... quite real. Real and very, very undone. He doesn't look like the one guy who ruined me in a backstage room after his set, he doesn't even look like someone who knows how's it feel to be inside of me ... he looks like my little, sleepy head, perfect boyfriend. Trying to hold back an eyelid slide, because guy is just as devastated as I am. A little smile on his face, swollen lower lip still present, because I brutally assaulted him last night, and I lowkey feel like I wanna apologise for it.

I don't know anything. The only thing I know for sure is that I don't wanna get out of this bed ... like ever. But I know that I will have to, reasonably soon, because we're leaving for Denver in no time, and we're seemingly running late to catch the tour bus. But let it be clear, we don't give a shit about it. I care more than he does, that's for sure ... but he makes the rules, I just oblige to them. If he wants to lay in this bed until someone furiously comes knocking on the door because he's the only person missing on the tour bus... well then, I'll be his accomplice.