addict

an entry piece for nyterides' writing competition

"Addiction is tricky. For example: a man who quit smoking for 11 years spent 15 seconds in an elevator with a man smoking a cigarette. He gave in. What I’m trying to say is I think I love you again." -Thefi

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I can’t get you out of my heart.

I want to know why you’re still here, cluttering the deepest, most secretive parts of my brain-- hidden in the lonely corners of my heart that I thought I’d occupied with something else. I can’t see you, but I know you’re there. I can feel you. I can smell you in a crowd of people. You’re subliminally parted on random, spacious people that I do not know. And I do not know how to escape you. I’ve tried, you know I’ve tried. I tried so goddamned hard to purge you of me. I just want to know the hell do you keep finding your way back in?

It’s been four weeks since I’ve seen you last. I’ve picked up a 12-step guide to recovery, but all I’ve done was find your name between the lines. We saw each other at Starbucks, you ordered something I’ve never heard of before. I didn’t recognize you at first, but then they called out your name. Emeley! And a bomb dropped in my stomach-- I spilled coffee all up the front of my shirt, it splashed onto my laptop. 

You’d cut your hair. It used to be so long, almost down past your waist. You’d also gained weight as well, but not in a negative way. You used to be so skinny. Barely even a hundred pounds. And you held yourself differently, too. It was like your psyche still shone but it was covered by a kaleidoscope cloak that shrouded your esse. 

And you were beautiful. You have always been beautiful.

For the past four weeks I’ve been trying not to think about you. I’ve filled by days with pageless books about the cosmos and the stars, but somehow, all I read about was you. You are the universe, and I am just a tiny star, thousands and thousands of miles away.

I've just pulled into your driveway. I've tried to stay away but I need to see you again. The engine cuts and silences a loud ballad mid-word. I unbuckle my seat belt.

 As I knock on your door, I’m tapping the needle and injecting you into my veins.

 It takes you a few minutes for you to answer, but I can hear you coming to the door. The lock clicks and slowly, it opens.

“Jacob?” You say, and the high sets in.

 "Um, hi, Emeley."

"What are you doing here?" You open the door wider. A cat rubs itself against your calves. "You can come in."

"Okay," I say, and the cat scatters into a bedroom in the back. I'm engulfed in the thick smell of patchouli oil, and I wish I could say that I'd forgotten what your house smells like but that would be a lie. I walk into your living room and sit down on your couch (the same couch we found at a yard sale. The same house I almost broke my back moving), and you mute the TV.

You sit on the cushion next to mine, a small cup of chai in your little hands. "Can I, uh, can I get you anything?"

I shake my head. "Nah, I'm fine."

You nod and sip your coffee, watching the soundless TV. I swear you can hear my heartbeat. I hope it's not distracting you. We sit in silence for a while; the cat hasn't returned.

Finally, you speak. "What are you doing here, Jacob?"

"I miss you."

 You sigh. "I know, but... Jacob, you know what happened between us. We just... I don't know."

I remain quiet.

"How have you been? It's been a while since we've talked last."

"A couple months," I say. You take another swig of chai. "And I've been okay, I guess. I've started a new manuscript."

"That's great!" I watch as a new light flares in your eyes. "Wow, it's always been so amazing to me that you've been able to do that."

"Thanks."

"And... um, thanks for the dedication, Jacob. I didn't think I was... worthy of that."

"Of course you are."

Silence. You put your cup onto the coffee table and sink into the couch. You exhale, and I can feel your skin cool mine. It sends chills down my spine.

"I mean it, Jacob. Thank you."

"Yep."

"So, uh, have you, you know, met anyone new? Any new girls?"

"You're different. If that counts."

You sigh. "It doesn't."

A few seconds tick by. I ask, "Why'd you cut your hair?"

"I needed a change."

"It looks nice."

"You need a change, too."

The silence quickens my heart beat. Bump bump bump bump bump. I'm anything but calm, but I calm the storm inside of me. I need to prove to you that I can be okay. I need to prove to you that I've changed. 

And I echo my thoughts aloud, "I need you."

"You don't."

"Please," I lean over and rest my elbow on the head of the couch. A thousand fireflies spark through my veins as I tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You aren't impassive anymore.

"Jacob..."

"Tell me you don't love me anymore. Tell me that and then I'll leave."

"Jacob," you say, but you don't recoil.

"Say it and then I'll leave."

"I... I can't."

And then I can't help it. The strings inside me break and I kiss you. And you kiss back. Tears run down my face as we embrace, and I'm telling you I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. And by the tears running down your face you tell me it back.

I stay the night at your house, intertwined into each other like a lemniscate The next morning the sun breaks through the window; I’ve relapsed, I know I have. But as I hold you in my arms I tell myself that it’s okay, because relapse is a part of recovery; and one day, I will finally be able to free myself from you.