Lynx and Dior Savage fill my lungs as I breathe in the familiar scent of Olly Oshae my knight in Nike joggers. The same pair I bought him for his birthday last year, or was it this year? No definitely last year. He turns 18 soon, and it's terrifying because it means he can run, he can leave. He can leave me. The thought haunts my dreams turning them to nightmares as I watch his Honda civic drive out of our little town in the middle of nowhere and never come back, leaving me in the dust, a simple memory in his past that he will only remember when he's reminiscing, maybe when he discusses his childhood with his wife, or his kids, telling them all about his deluded and messed up friend from his youth. Who by that point will most likely be dead. At least I hope I will, because if I have to continue on this existence without him there's no point in existing at all, I'm barely surviving as it is now, living is laughable and thriving is a fantasy. Olly is my delusion. My point of escape. The safest of my drugs.
He makes me high on life without needing to ingest something that'll cause my already struggling body more damage.
Tucked at his side I feel my walls collapse and my fight subside, letting emotions fully win as silent sobs wrack my body, my spine weakening and grip tightening as I hold on for dear life, praying for a chance at peace and serenity.
My full body shakes, either from crying or the other thing.
A strong arm stiffens around me, quite literally my lifeline. And as we wander through the forest, moonlight caressing his features I take note of the lines at his eyes and the little crook in his nose from when he broke it when we were seven, playing haphazardly on our scooters. If I was asked I'm sure I could recount the number of freckles on his face, a result of countless nights spent staring at his profile while my body fought the sleep I craved.
And that thought is a flash to my future because I know as well as he does that we will do the same tonight.
Our silence is loud and comforting, both of us knowing exactly what the other is thinking without voicing said thoughts. So, as we let the quiet air envelope us, our ears only put to use from the odd snapping of a twig, hoot of an owl or crunch of a pile of autumnal leaves.
But for once I think I want him to say something, because now I panic this might be the time to push him away for good, that I've finally gone too far and he thinks I'm not worth saving.
So, as we emerge from the woods without another word, his t-shirt soaked through and my skin clammy from the rain seeping through his coat I feel my throat constricting, panic clawing at my insides. And without realising my feet have ceased movement and I'm stuck at the line between the carpark and the overgrown edges of grass and weeds, nettles biting at my ankles.
"Come on Kat, its freezing you'll catch your death of cold"
Maybe I want to.
Won't it be easier for you?
Is what I want to say, the words stay at my lips, hovering, but I swallow them back down and stare at his profile. The same face that I've seen through every stage in life from baby fat to broken noses, I even know that the scar between his eyebrows is from running headfirst into the dining table at the big age of 6, he laughed the full time his mam bandaged him up while she cried in worry and parental guilt. It's ironic really because all of my scars were inflicted by my parents, how can the same job have such different executions? All children cry the same so why are we are only some cuddled and other corrupted.
"Do you not get sick of it Ol?" I ask quietly, insecurity being 100% of those words
"Of what?" he asks gently, returning to my side
"Putting me back together"
"No, never and I never will, so get out of your own head Katie, please, let's go back to mine so I can warm you up, then we can watch telly and go to sleep" his eyes soften, the green of them more vibrant under the moonlight, "tomorrow is a new day, we just have to get through this one"
