The Drug In Me (Ronnie Radke Love Story)

Admit

All I can smell is light scent of I don't even know what. Its sorta musky and deep. It isn't enough to hurt my nose, but it's enough to intoxicate me with the smell. I don't know if it's his cologne or his shower gel or what, but whatever it is, it smells like hope.

But maybe I'm just being weird because Ive been laying awake for about an hour, laying in his embrace. I listen to him breathe, feel his heartbeat, and take in his smell.

I'm not sure why, but it feels utterly, fucking perfect. Everything about him. He can be funny, annoying, and cocky, but he's a really nice caring guy who just wants to help others. People judge him from his outward personality, but sometimes what's hidden away is what shows someone's true character. And Ronnie, well, Ronnie is fucking amazing.

Sure, he teased me yesterday, but the fact that he let me stay with him even after I bit him, accidentally of course, is pretty damn nice.

And the fact that he held me through it, helped me fall back asleep, and is still holding me. Well. It does funny things to my stomach. Like a tornado. Whoever came up with the butterflies apparently never liked anyone this much, because this is a hurricane, a sandstorm, a tornado going through me, not some motherfucking butterflies.

I've been awake for a while, but I can't bring myself to leave and get up yet. I should probably leave while I still can before Ronnie wakes up and questions me, but, I just can't. For one, he's got a vise grip on my waist, that feels fucking fantastic. And secondly, I really can't bring myself to move. I don't want to. I really don't want to. If I could stay here forever, wrapped up in Ronnie's arms, I think I'd be totally ok with that.

I know I can't, but for now, the thought is welcome. I don't know why I feel like this. Well, that's a lie. I know. I just don't want it to be true. I can't. I just can't. It isn't possible. But it is.

I hate to say it, or even think it, but Im pretty damn sure I'm starting to like him. The way he laughs at me, the way he smirks at me, the way he teases me, the way he ran after me, and the way that he carried me home because I couldn't walk, and held me in his arms when I couldn't sleep.

I like him.

I won't say I'm in love, but it seems pretty fucking close.

And if I don't do something soon, I could fall for him.

I could love him.

But, well, he could never love me.