The Alliances We Make (Twisted Thoughts)

Prologue

Maybe he was right, I shouldn't be driving. I blinked against the blurring road, in the darkness of the night, all the streetlights appeared to be smudges of luminosity. It was getting excruciatingly hard to see, my eyes burned as they tried their best to stay alert and focused. The alcohol and powder and pills all overpowering the measly salad that wage war against everything in my stomach and blood stream. My brain screamed as if it were attempting to blackout or just flatly pass out, while my adrenaline was on fire. I kept my hands knuckle poppingly tight on the wheel, my foot carefully on the pedal. Pushing my begging brain to work overtime to function and focus.

No one was on the road. Well, past three in the morning, I kind of expected it to be this quiet, although I hadn't expected staying at the party for that long. I certainly hadn't expected him to show up. A shiver of exasperation road up my spine as I did the best I could to ignore the silent presence sitting reluctantly in the passenger seat. His nervous nail biting and constant never-ending picking and fidgeting was fucking sending me into a rage. Could he not just sit fucking still? For once in his sad, pathetic, miserable life? He was nothing but a burden. If I had any kindness, I'd talk him off the ledge of some towering bridge. Although, I'm sure he'd just bail out like all the other failed attempts. Or just be to shit at finishing the job. Bloody coward. He just kept looking at me, with those sad, defeated puppy eyes.

"Can you please slow down...?" He murmured. Always in that soft little, tiny barely there voice. He was barely there, he didn't even exist to me. Be a man, speak up! "Please... just..." He trailed off, those eyes getting even sadder. My fingers tightened on the wheel, and my foot pressed down harder on the accelerator. Some shithead on the opposite side flashed their high beams at me to slow down. Oh, fuck right off!

He shifted, anxiety reeking off him like a strong odour. I knew what he wanted. He had wanted to drive, accusing me of drinking too much. I wasn't in the right frame of mind, he said. I scoffed now as I did then. Fucking pussy. Didn't he trust me? I thought we had 'trust'. Isn't that what he always mopped about. So much disgusting, weak moaning on and on about how much he loved me, how he cared, how special, how this, how that. Just so we can have 'trust'. I have broken that now, I suppose, but that was hardily my problem.

Well, it was he's fault I was angry! It was his fault that I left the party. It was his fault in general. I was fine- 'We' were fine- until he had to ruin everything. The royal fucking 'we'. Oh my god, everything, everything, was we, we, we, and we. It just wasn't me. It wasn't me. It wasn't me...

IT WASN'T FUCKING ME!

You have me, I love you so much, you'll always have me. Until every star in the sky, every star in the galaxy dies away, you'll always have me.

I could vomit. He really does make my sick to my stomach. I can't even look at him. "Don't fucking look at me! Do not fucking look at me!" I screeched, my heart an audible blaring bassline to the blasting radio I had on to drown out him out. He loves me? He has me? Piss off! Who ask him? Who decided that? Who invited that bullshit?

Tonight would have been fun, drinking, boozing, having a few laughs with some pretty boys. It was my life. I could go out and party to my heart's content. Why not? I could pretend, it was better that way. It was meant to be fun, but, no, he showed up. I should have burnt that letter, I should have swiped the messages from my phone. Anything to hide that I stopped taking the pill months ago, that I had lied to him, and now the consequences were left on my answering machine to return a call which my 'boyfriend' just decided to check on.

Eight weeks.

Two months.

I was lucky he didn't find out sooner to be honest.