Relapse (Phan)

ONE

I blinked my eyes open and immediately felt a pang of regret as my head began throbbing. What happened last night? I thought to myself. Upon rolling over, the answer to my question became very obvious. Patrick Del'Rio. Right.

I sat up as slowly as humanly possible, my head throbbing in hangover. I dragged myself into the kitchen where I downed more than my fair share of pain killers with some orange juice. I had just put some coffee on and poured a too-big bowl of Lucky Charms when a voice came from behind me.

"Making me breakfast, Love?"

"That's a good joke," I said sarcastically, grabbing Patrick's jacket off of the table where-oh God, we'd fucked on the table, hadn't we?-and chucking at him.

"No need to be rude, Phillip!" he smirked.

"Just go," I ignored his comment, waving him off.

"Text me!" he called over his shoulder as he left.

"Don't count on it," I huffed, shutting the apartment door behind him. I took a deep breath, returning to my cereal and trying, desperately trying, to forget everything that had happened the night before.

People don't talk about it, but sex is worse than a drug I think. I guess you could say I'd fallen out of one addiction and into another. I'd done well for the past three years to stay away from the pills that had controlled me for so long. But was I any better now? Was fucking random guys from uni any better than buying their medication?

I was pulled from my thoughts as my coffee pot and phone both shrieked at the same time.

"Whad'you want?" I asked, checking my phone as I poured myself a large mug of coffee. Three missed calls from Chris. Again.

I'd been ignoring the boy ever since he'd started ringing me again about six months ago. I had to admit, I was having mixed feelings. From the state of his messages, he seemed like a fine bet for a relationship. I wasn't too keen on the idea, but I guess it would keep me on one guy rather than whoever was willing. At the same time, I couldn't shake the idea of doing that to PJ. Not that we'd spoken recently.

Not much remained of my life in Manchester, really. Peej and I had lost touch a year after he went to America and after Dan and I broke up-well, I didn't really like to visit home much anymore.

Dan. God. The fact that it had been two years since we last spoke didn't make it any easier for me to forget him. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think about him; that I didn't miss him. I would've given anything to have him again: for him to be the one I was holding at night and waking up to in the morning.

Stop thinking.

Right. All that was behind me now. I had to keep going. Shower. Get dressed. Walk to work. The meaningless tasks that come with existence.

I got a job in a record store. I worked a lot of hours, sometimes even during class. It hadn't taken me long to realize uni wasn't really my thing, but I stayed because it made my family happy and kept Mum from worrying about me. I got okay marks, just well enough to not get kicked out really.

Anyway, I worked at a record store. I liked being around all the dusty old records and cassettes filled with music no one had thought about in years: it reminded me of Dan. Dan loved old music, just like the regulars who visited here. Dan loved the hum of vinyl: said music seemed dull without it. I didn't really agree, but I listened anyway, because he liked it. I probably sound obsessed. I guess maybe I am. But there are worse things a person could be obsessed with.