Find Me in the Abyss

Prologue

Don't get attached.

It's a warning. I'm getting too close. Too comfortable, but he is so warm. 

Don't get attached.

His kisses are so addicting, like a drug. His lips are slightly chapped, with his lower lip swollen from biting it all the time. A nervous habit I come to learn about later on. But he continues on, pushing through his nervousness, pressing kisses into me as if I were something sacred. Someone special. 

A lover, I questioned to myself. 

No.

No because lovers don't go months, almost years without talking to one another to one day going at each other like they can't keep their hands off one another. 

No because a lover would ask him where he got his bruises and how did he get that new scar on his shoulder. I would ask him why he must have few drinks of whiskey before he feels safe enough to straddle my hips. Kiss me like I'm someone special to him, even though I can clearly taste the whiskey right off his lips. 

Don't. Get. Attached.

But that warning isn't there for nothing. 

I continue to tell myself that this thing means nothing. Whatever you would call this relationship between the two of us. But I soon start to question myself as the night continues because, I too, soon start to relax and let myself get carried away with his kisses. 

Don't. Get. Attached.

I think what gets me the most is the way he looks at me. With alcohol flowing through his veins, his eyes are still shinning bright blue with intensity. 

And I knew I was sinking farther down the grave I had dug myself.