Super Rich Kids (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 10: Kissing an Addict

"I'm learning how to deal with an addict."

"And how is that going for you?" Dr. Murphy leaned back in his chair, that standard judgmental look tattooed on his face. I was internally cringing.

"It's like... I never know what to expect anymore."

"How so?"

"Our relationship is based on an air of unpredictability." I mimicked Dr. Murphy leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. "Sometimes it's calm and serene... and sometimes it's just a fucking mess." I ran my hand through my hair trying to understand the past four days of my life. "Not a bad kind of mess... just... we are a mess. Together, we are... a huge fucking mess."

I laughed. It wasn't a real laugh. It was humorless and haunting. "I'm a depressed nineteen year old stoner with a silver spoon in my mouth and suicidal tendencies. Not to mention the boy I'm seeing abuses substances for the sake of his creativity." I felt my posture falter, my arms dropping to my lap. "Fucking mess."

But I couldn't stop laughing.

****

"Stop pretending that you understand me Alexander!" I ducked, narrowly missing the remote control tossed a little too closely to my head. When did this become my life? Why was I even tolerating this? I knew the answer.

"I'm only trying to help you Abel." I kept my voice level, knowing this was only a part of the process. He was understandably irritable and in a few hours... maybe minutes this cold exterior of his will break down like fragile glass and I'll be there for him.

"I don't need your fucking help! I don't want your goddamn pity!" His hands made wild motions and I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around him, but I knew better.

"Well sorry for being fucking worried when I walk in here and you're passed out on morphine! Should I not be concerned?" I shouldn't argue with him. I knew that. It was like arguing with a child, completely and utterly useless and yet I still found myself defending my actions. I shouldn't have to.

"Why? You're not my fucking boyfriend! We occasionally fuck, but you're clinging onto me like a child and it's suffocating!" His words hurt. I wanted to blame the drugs coursing through him... or rather lack thereof. But deep down we both knew there was an amount of truthfulness that we were both revealing.

These truths weren't kind. They were razor blades that left me feeling raw and exposed. His honesty was brutal and it was enough to drive anyone else away, leaving him abandoned and alone. I couldn't do that though. He needed help, whether he liked it or not. The only problem is that I am beginning to second-guess my abilities to help him. With the help of others, maybe, but alone? I am just as lost as he is.

"Do you want me to leave?" I asked him, watching his eyes flicker with uncertainty. I could practically see the turmoil in his eyes as he debated being alone over spending the next few hours together. "I will walk out that door right now if you don't want me here." I spoke calmly, gesturing to the door to the right of me. His hands were shaking slightly, eyes bloodshot from the sheer amount of crying he did after I found out he relapsed.

He was disappointed in himself, but I was only concerned. It is a process. I get that we will be starting small. Four days clean is a struggle right now, but who knows, maybe in a month four days will be easy and we will be aiming for something longer like a week or ten days. He was impatient with himself and I could see how badly he wanted to stop but any off day or lack of better judgment could cause his downward spiral.

I watched a single tear escape his eye before he was rushing over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist with his head pressed to my chest. His body shook with sobs and I reminded myself over and over again that he was only upset with himself and that this was only the beginning. His arms tightened around me as if he was afraid that I would vanish right before him. I held him tighter in hopes of assuring him that I would be there for him. I'm not leaving.