V is for Vicodin

Joint At The Hip

Hey guys! So, full disclosure, they're actually not going to use joints to get high, but it's still pot and it was a cute title, so I went with it anyway, lol. Anyway, I'm very excited about this chapter because I'm introducing a new character that's actually straight out of the novel but that they failed to include in the movie. I went back and read every page she was mentioned on, so I kind of restated some of that while putting my own twist on it as well (this is all more so towards the end of the chapter, but a little at the beginning too), but just know that I will never be able to write this love triangle like the great Donna Tartt. She's spectacular, truly! Her paragraph about Theo missing and characterizing Boris when Kotku comes into their lives is completely flawless and nothing short of amazing- I'm not even going to try and begin to replicate it! Also, sorry for making Theo bitch and rant about Kotku for like 15 paragraphs, but he does have a lot to say about her and Boris in the book. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think! (P.S. In case you were wondering what Boris said in Polish, it was 'You're a nutjob!')

Boris and I were crap communicators. It was as simple as that. Sometimes we could have the longest talks and the deepest conversations, and other times, there was so much tension in the air that we sold ourselves to silence. I think it was just that we were afraid of the truth, the truth that we were stuck on each other like glue. It was for that reason that phone conversations weren't our thing. Our relationship was too interpersonal for that, but of course, we used it if necessary.

With each time we were intimate and I was sober enough to think clearly and logically, I asked myself if he felt as I did. Even if the answer was so far out of reach, I asked that he would save the distant answer, hold it long, and reflect on it time and again. If each touch was a message, I asked that he would signal softly anything on his mind. And I would react to his touch so he knew that it wasn't wrong, it was mutual. Boris was an itch that I couldn't stop scratching. Our spark was the beautiful destruction of an unattended candle and his disorder brought order to my life. We understood each other's pain.

When we slept together, it was only ever when under the influence. Even if it was on our minds at other times, neither of us wanted to look desperate or needy, but when we were drunk, all of the rules didn't seem to apply anymore...because there were none. Anything went! There were no boundaries of any sort, it didn't matter who started things and who finished them. We were each other's entirely. Whether we had actually done the deed or had just happened to pass out in the same bed, we still passed it off as the same regardless, acting like it was always just the alcohol talking.

And then it occurred to me, maybe we were friends with benefits. Maybe that's what this was. We were close, we were reckless, and most of all, we were just two intoxicated, horny teenage boys. Somehow this label made it acceptable to me, but really, I knew what we had was deeper than I was willing to admit. I told myself all kinds of things to justify it in the eyes of others. There was just no use.

But then again, sex was the only real time I could act on my feelings, the only time I could make sense of what this was, what we were, who I was. When communication wouldn't suffice, we would just lie in bed together, sheets draped over our chests, legs entangled, holding onto a perfect moment that we'd engrave in our compromised memories the best that we could. And blissful were those moments when we didn't care what anyone else thought, where we lived in the moment and nowhere else, when things were better than they had ever been. Yet he continued to look over his shoulder and down at his watch, eyes darting as if distracted or afraid of being caught. And afterward, whenever one of us snuck out of the house, it was always a question of Do we kiss? Do we hug? Or none of the above? Our relationship was a dance with dissonance, and yet, other times, complete harmony.

One morning, however, when we woke up, the taste of beer, vodka, and god knows what else lingering on our tongues, our bodies aching from head to toe, I could feel this growing distance between us. He was more skittish than normal, his face stricken with guilt like a toddler who scribbled on the walls. Did he regret what we did or had he done something to me? After that one off interaction, everything started to add up. He was in love...with a girl.