Pursuing Nirvana.

e l e v e n

Brayden had slept through the remainder of the day, all through the night, and most of today, in a coma-like state. I've never seen someone sleep so long and so thoroughly, it had to be some sort of record.

Right now, it was about six in the evening. He had just begun to stir. As soon as he woke, he stood up without a word, and staggered into his kitchen, mumbling curses and complaints about being starving.

I laughed to myself, food was the only thing on his mind right now. Forget his loving girlfriend laying on the couch, who had spent nearly two days with his "comatose" self.

........

Brayden marched back into the living room, clutching a family-size bag of Doritos to his chest with a soda in hand.

"So there's some people I would like you to met," Brayden announced, nudging me to move over.

"Yeah?" This is interesting.

"Yeah," He plopped down on the couch.

"They're good guys, you'll like them." He smiled widely at me, like he was proud of his idea. I retuned the grin as he ripped the Doritos open, grabbing a handful.

The thing that puzzled me was, why is he suddenly all about me meeting other guys? Last time I checked, me talking to a guy that isn't Brayden was the reason he was hungover yesterday.

"You're probably right," I replied with a smile.

My mind reeled with the possibilities of what kind of people Brayden would be friends with. They probably wouldn't be what I hoped for, which was genuine clean-cut guys who have at least a bachelor's degree in something. Much to my dismay, they would most likely be just like Brayden; punks.

........

No words could describe the security I felt with Brayden by my side again, joined by the hands. My face was frozen in a smug grin that may have seemed phony to people passing by, but the feeling was totally genuine, and only I needed to know that.

As we walked, I admired Brayden. His deep blue eyes, narrowed and focused on something unknown ahead of us. His thin lips pressed tightly together in deep thought of only God knows what. The single almond curl that fell messily just above his right eye, swaying ever so slightly with every long stride he took.

My focus lowered to our hands, swinging gracefully between our hips. Every now and then, Brayden would squeeze my hand in reassurance, gliding his calloused thumb comfortingly over my soft knuckles.

A pit began to grow in my stomach as I noticed the silhouettes of four tall figures appearing boldly in front of the setting New York sun. The corner of Brayden's mouth turned up into a smirk, those figures must be his friends.

As we approached the figures I realized my assumptions were correct. All four boys were clad, head to toe, in punk apparel. Black jeans, tattoos, and t-shirts for bands I had never heard of. None of them offered me welcome. Their hard eyes bore right through my soul, appearing to decipher my every thought before I had spoken a single word.

"Guys," Brayden finally spoke, "This is my new girlfriend, Cecelia."

I smiled and gave them a small wave, "Hi."