Ecstasy

Johnson

Quick A/N: He's a liar that number doesn't even work imma cry now

Memories come rushing into my mind. It's like somebody reached into my head and tore away the veil that was holding back my life. I remember everything. The drugs, the sex, the betrayal. And then I'm two people; the me who doesn't remember, the innocent me, then the me who has done unspeakable things. We're rolled into one.
I run my hands through my hair, sighing loudly and shakily. Then I stand up.
"Honestly, Jack, I'm not sure I could ever forgive you," I tug on my hair.
He nods, wiping at his sopping face with his sleeve. "I understand," he says.
I walk over to him and rub my fingers under his eyes, wiping away the tears. I kiss his forehead and stroke his eyebrows. "But I do."
He leans back to look at me, an expression of confusion flitting across his perfect features. "Huh?"
I start laughing. "Oh, Jack Gilinsky, I love you. But I also hate you for what you did to me. And I promise that from now on, I will never ever take any more drugs. Not even weed. Now, we should invite all our friends over. I haven't seen them on forever!"
A huge smile bursts across Jack's face, lighting up his eyes. He throws his arms around my waist and pulls me onto his lap, attacking my lips with his. I kiss him back, and we flop over onto the couch in out intense make out session.
Finally he pulls away from me. "Jack," he says, breathless. "Let's go upstairs."
I nod lustily as he tugs me up to our bedroom. For the first time in ages, my mind feels at rest. Not like it did before the memory thing, but... before the drugs. It's not itching for more.
I kiss Jack's hand lazily as he opens the door. He drags me over to the bed, and we both collapse onto it. He puts his hands above my shoulders for support as he kisses my neck and lips and behind my ears and my eyelids. I reach up and tug off his shirt, and he complies by flinging it off. I prop myself up on my elbows as he helps me take off my shirt, too.
Soon we're both naked. Our bodies move in perfect sync, and neither of us needs to say anything. The room is filled with the quiet noises of our lips meeting and parting again. The sheets tangle around my hips and one of the blankets fall off the bed. I don't notice, because I'm too occupied with Jack.
He moves down my lower body, leaving a trail of kisses wherever he goes. I can still feel the ghosts of his lips on my skin.
He kisses my hip bones, and I arch my back involuntarily out of pleasure. The world outside doesn't exist, only me and him.
After a while we're done. I lay with my head on his chest, idly playing with his fingers. His skin is hot and sticky with sweat. His fingers catch around strands of my knotted up and slightly damp hair, and he tugs them out. It only hurts a little, but it's that kind of pleasurable pain.
"We should go to Portland," I murmur sleepily. "Or maybe Washington."
Jack grunts softly. "For what?"
I shrug slightly, my shoulders barely moving as my eyes drift shut. The sound of sirens wailing and a dog barking in the distance rips through the cold January night. "I don't know. I like it there."
I end up falling asleep to the feel of Jack's caressing fingers before I hear his reply.