Lost Thoughts

Drunk In Love

There is a very sudden and very obnoxious knocking at my front door.

I sigh, clicking a button on the remote, freezing the action unfolding on the screen.

I drag my body from the couch. I press onto my toes to check through the peephole.

A boy is standing on my porch. His lacks a shirt, but makes up for his shortcomings with a unzipped, blue hoodie. There's a hint of a bruise forming on his neck, another on his chest. His hair is not long, and yet a section of it forms a bun, while the sides of his dark hair fade to a buzz. His eyes are red, as are his lips. His jeans hang at his hips, showcasing the elastic band of his name brand boxers.

Xavier Park is standing on my porch.

"What?" I unlock the door and edge it open.

"Danny, baby." He swings his arms out as if he's waiting for a hug. I pretend not to notice the notion. "Can I crash here?" He slurs.

My name is Danielle, no one ever calls me Danny. They say it's too relaxed for my character. Apparently, I come off as uptight and snobbish.

"Let me just walk you home." I offer, my eyes flicker past Xavier. Across the well lit street I see the Park's estate.

"No." He shakes his head exaggeratedly. "Danny, my parents can't see me like this. They'll kill me."

Then don't come home at two in the morning, reeking of weed and alcohol, with hickies on your naked chest.

I don't say this, although I most likely should.

I'm not sure what it is. Maybe the slight swaying of his tall figure as he struggles to keep balance, or the blood shot eyes, and the unacknowledged sadness behind them. But, as always, I find myself opening my door wider for him to enter.

I duck my head out into the night, looking both ways, before closing the door behind me.

Xavier has already made himself at home. His shoes are left by the front door. He is lounging on my couch, in my spot, watching my movie.

Xavier sobers up at my house almost every other weekend. So seeing him splayed out across my couch is a familiar sight, and yet it continues to annoy the hell out of me.

"Hey!" I snatch the remote from him. He yanks his hand back, but he's drunk, he's high, he's partied out. His reaction is delayed. I've already paused the movie by the time his brain tugs his arm back.

It's actually quite amusing.

"Do you have any popcorn?" He asks. "For the movie."

"Zip up your jacket." I say over my shoulder. I shove a package of uncooked popcorn into the microwave, press a button, and wait to hear the little pops.

"Is my mannish physic bothering you?" He laughs more than such a cocky joke warrants.

I roll my eyes. "Where's your shirt anyways?" Curiosity makes me drops my gaze to his naked chest.

I only glance at him. If my eyes linger for anything longer than half a second, he'll take it as some sexual innuendo.

I'm not denying the fact that Xavier has a nice body--a really nice one at that-- but, unlike most girls in our class, I don't want to sleep with him.

He's cute, yes. But he's detached. Always drunk, usually high. Sobriety is a rare state for Xavier Park.

What people don't understand is that he doesn't need drugs and alcohol and sex he needs someone to listen to him. But first he needs to start talking.

I almost feel bad for him.

Xavier shrugs, only zipping his jacket up halfway. "I remember taking it off, but then--oh!" A sly grin tells me that he remembers something. He shoves his hand deep into his pocket and drops a wad of wrinkled ones, a few fives.

"What is that?" I take the popcorn out of the microwave and dump it into a bowl.

"I gave Mandy White a lap dance, and girls just start throwing money at me. So I got on this table and started dancing." He laughs, as if recalling good childhood memories. "It was like Magic Mike, you should have been there."

"I don't party." I shake my head.

I don't think I could bare the sight of Xavier parading himself around anyways.

Xavier rolls his eyes. "Clearly. But if you were there, know I could have given you a personal dance." His hand dives into the bowl.

I watch him toss a few kernels into his mouth.

"You're a real man slut, you know that." I mutter, grabbing the bowl and falling back onto the couch.

"And you're a nun." Xavier climbs over the back of the couch--almost tripping--to sit next to me. "But I love you either way."

He leans towards me, resting his head on my shoulder.

"Don't." I whisper.

"Why?" He breathes, falling for slumber. "You're so beautiful, and whether or not you want to admit it, I know you care." His words turn to liquid as he struggles through the toxins toxins, as well as the sleep.

"And you're drunk." I want to shift from under him, but I like the warmth he provides me.

"And tomorrow I'll be sober, and I'll still wish you were mine."

"What?" I suck in a sharp breath.

But Xavier is asleep, and I'm left speechless.

He's drunk off booze.

I'm drunk off him.

I can't tell which is worst.