Unframed reality (Sheriarty)

1

When you are high everything blurs out of frame, nothing really matters, you get out of the equation and become a simple spectator in a world of unimportant matters.

The world is still the same, your problems have not gone anywhere, but you are absorpt out of the take, like a camera boy on a film making company, whose only preoccupation has to be following the action with the lens of his recording device, suddenly all the problems pass by you and become someone else's or nobody's at all and you are free to enjoy the blurry vision of your unframed reality.

It is not like some people think, nobody turns on a beauty filter on the world and all of a sudden everything looks and feels appealing to you. It is more like you no longer care about the shit hole you get yourself in, for the drugs you need to stop caring about the shit hole you are getting in.

That's how I met Jim Moriarty.

I don't remember how I got here, I am hungover, my head pounds, I feel dizzy and heroin metabolites keep running up and down my bloodstream while I sit in one of the auditoriums of the university to which I pretend to go. I try to remember how much hours passed since I had my last fix, hopefully, less than I can roughly count.

All I know is that this morning I woke up on some stranger's settee and was already late to go find my chemistry lecture's auditorium, apparently, I found it since I am sitting in one. It is the beginning of the semester and the professor is really late.

You know when you are not high because suddenly the blurriness fades out and you are back in your dull and annoying reality.

Chemistry is my favorite subject, I plan to make a career out of it, worldwide famous heroin and methamphetamine maker, wouldn't that be a glorious outcome to my huge investment on unpaid classes and buying my weight worth of heroin for the last eight months? Anyway, that's the principal reason why I am still sitting in the auditorium when a quarter of the students have already bailed and a thick layer of sweat settles in and coats my forehead.

When I look at the clock I don't see seconds passing, or minutes, or hours even, I see the number of laps left before I start feeling the first withdrawal symptom.

"Sorry I'm late, traffic was a nightmare," a man with Irish accent speaks bringing me back to reality and I take my eyes off the big watch on the wall.

I look around and I am the only one left in the room. I check out the professor. He's young, maybe too young to pass as a college professor, he's not looking at the class, he walks straight to the blackboard and I take advantage of this to really check him out.

Tight skinny jeans, an even tighter white tee-shirt short enough to leave the waistband of his boxers at plain sight, suit jacket somewhere between the mess of books and papers and stuff he throws over the desk, right before he starts writing on the blackboard.

Definitely gay, not very organized and has a really low span of attention, low enough for him not noticing that the class is unusually quiet. I wonder how much time will pass before he notices he's only lecturing me.

"My name is James Moriarty, I'm your new advanced maths' professor, but you can call me Jim, " he explains with his marked accent, still facing the blackboard as he writes and highlights his name in giant calligraphic letters.

Maths.

Fucking unbelievable, I waited this long and this is not even Chemistry.

"Oh!" Jim says turning around all of a sudden, he buries his eyes into mine and I start wondering if I said that out loud, "we are alone."

"Fucking unbelievable," I repeat and Jim's eyebrows rise up.

He looks like the kind of polite professors that are always telling you to mind your language and then you find them in some pub cursing everyone after they drink half their first pint of beer.

"Excuse me, Mr—?" He falls silent waiting for my reply.

"I am not doing this," I say picking up my stuff and I start leaving the auditorium.

"I am talking to you young man, he stops me halfway to the door, he is in front of me and I don't understand how he got to where I am so fast, his hand is on my chest and his body is blocking my way out.

"What are you—, two fucking years older than me? Fuck off, young man," I retort pushing his hand aside.

Impulsiveness.

"I am gonna need your name," he answers, his face is serious and I feel like I am back at high school and I am being punished for visiting the toilets during class hours without permission.

I am tired, I need a fix, this discussion is dull and this professor a joke, this does not deserve my time.

"Sherlock Holmes," I respond, "can I go now?"

My hands start shaking and I clench my fists at my sides hoping this fool did not notice it.

Anxiety.

"You are not in my list of students," he says fixing his gaze on one of my fists for half a second, before he frowns looking back into my eyes, I realize he might not be a fool after all.

He knows.

"What—, do you have it memorized?" I try to divert the issue now settling down in his brain.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I have it memorized and you are not in my class," he replies, but his voice has lost determination and I know he is just trying to find a way to address the subject he now thinks is much more important than whether I am or not in his class.

"Well then James, I suppose that must only mean one thing," I start slightly interested in finding out if he has the guts to bring up the subject.

"Enlighten me."

"I'm a fallen Angel and I came here to save you," I let out the first stupid thought I have and wait for him to respond.

"Well then, go ahead and save me, Mr. Holmes," he whispers taking one of my fists in his hands.

"This is not my class," my voice trembles and I try to pull back.

"That is pretty much stated already, don't you think?" He forces me to extend my hand and proceeds to do the same with the other one.

My extended hands shake over his steady ones, he clicks his tongue and I jump surprised by the sudden sound breaking the silence.

Nervousness.

"There are other ways, you know?"

"Of doing what?"

"Distract yourself."

"Oh, but where is the fun in that, James?"

"If fun is what you want, I can help you with that."

"That sounds highly inappropriate professor Moriarty, are you flirting with a student?"

"Would it help you if I was?"

"Probably not."

"Well, even If I were, you are not my student anyway," I try to figure out if that means he was indeed flirting with me, but I can not concentrate enough to deduce him right now, "You are dismissed now Sherlock, " he drops my hands and walks out of the way.

My brain tells me I should stay and try to find out the meaning of this conversation, that it might start hunting me in some hours as soon as I try to sleep and insomnia gets the best of me, but I still follow my body impulses and walk out through the door.

My body needs heroin to function like my heart needs blood.