Pain 2: Him (H.S)

Chapter 3

[Conor is played by Alex Pettyfer]

The memories are taunting me; tainting my vision and all I can see is Alee's face. She's everywhere. I can hear her passed the ringing in my ears, I can somehow feel her delicate fingers on my skin. Do I want it to stop? Do you think I want it all to stop? No, if anything, I wish it would never leave. I'm just stuck with a memory for now. I'll get her back, she'll take me back. I know she will. She loves me.

Distorting faces swarm Conor's crowded living room as I take another spiff of the passing blunt and the high is beginning to kick in hard.

I miss Alee.

I lay back against the black leather couch, joining a group of potheads too high to even see straight, and I lift my chin up towards the ceiling, staring at the fancy chandelier trying to blow the smoke high enough to reach it but all I can manage to let out are broken circles trying not to laugh at how fucking ridiculous and high I am.

"It's not working, man." A faded senior beside me laughs. The heat is sleeping on our skins, especially his, and the sweat is beginning to bleed through his Metallica tank top as he takes the bud from my fingers. "You gotta make an 'O' shape, man!" He laughs harder, wheezing and screwing his eyes shut under the dimmed and misty roof. I'm not sure how high I am, but fuck, does my body feel amazing.

This is exactly what I need; a good damn distraction to help me. The music is loud and though the base is impacting my heart beat, it's faint and the Guns N Roses song sounds like drums and muffled singing, like hearing loud music from a different room. I bob my head to the familiar tune, imagining myself smoking with Slash; What a fucking legend.

"Harry, bro. Look at me." He whispers leaning into my face. He's so high I don't think he knows if his dick is intact or not. "Are you looking at me?" His red, sagged eyes bore into mine like some desperate loser in those chick flicks and I push him away laughing.

"Yeah man, I'm looking." I can barely hear myself but I sound funny. Have I always had an accent?

"Like this," He puts the bud between his lips and blows a perfect 'O' and like a child on Christmas morning, my eyes widen.

"Whoa, how'd you do that?"

"You have to be the O. Be the O, man!" His resemblance to Hyde is ridiculously funny. All he needs is the sunglasses and afro. "Here, take it." He coughs extending his weary arm for me to take the drug as his bulk fist pounds against his chest, "too much, Harry. Too much." He stands only to fall back down and I burst into a fit of laughter.

I miss Alee.

"Maybe one more." He grins taking in the high.

I only smoked tonight because Conor ran out of beer and some dumb ass dropped the ones in the fridge in the garage. It was gone by the time I got here but in a way, I'm glad it was.

I think I'm an alcoholic.

Funny.

I guess Alan was right; I am like my dad.

"Jesus Christ, Harry," Though my vision is fucked up, I can see Conor perfectly as he walks towards me passed the bundle of desperate assholes wanting to get high like me. "Yeah, that's enough." He laughs and I fall over on the couch. So soft.

He pulls me up and sits beside me, allowing my numb head to fall against his shoulder and I can't seem to stop laughing. "Relax man." He attempts to take my therapist from my fingers but I pull away.

"You know--you know what's silly?" I hear myself ask and I feel my eyes begin to roll back.

"What? What's silly Harry?" He takes the drug from my fingers to put it between his lips as the music gets louder.