Fuck Off (Commentary Crew Oneshots)

Clairvoyant

TW: drugs, addiction, pills

If I did a shit job of explaining rolling a joint, I'm so sorry that's my boyfriend's job deal with my stupidity. 

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 The lighting was soft and dim in the spacious apartment bedroom. Alex lay, still and empty on the cream-colored bedsheets, gray eyes looking unblinking at the ceiling. His thoughts came in slow and sluggish but unwanted nonetheless. He thought of the promise he'd made to George that he'd stop taking pills, thought of the few days of clarity that followed of wanting to get his life back together and keep it that way. He thought about George not letting him sleep the last night he got fucked up on xanax, thought of George crying that he couldn't lose another person he cared about, begging him to stay awake in the fear that he wouldn't wake back up. He thought about how guilty he felt for assuming George wouldn't care about his problems, leading him to hurt him so bad. But mostly, he thought about how badly he already wanted to break the promise he made only a week later.

Surely the damage wouldn't be done if George didn't find out. Surely if Alex kept it secret well enough, didn't let things get bad enough, didn't die in his sleep like George feared, no one would get hurt. He could be happy and thoughtless, joints jelly and hear painless as long as he kept it a secret. An even darker part of his brain reminded him of how he felt when George begged him to stop and told him he cared about him, reminded him of how loved Alex finally felt, but not without guilt.

Alex wanted to reach out to the plug his supposed friend had given him. Some of the cheapest farmapram in the country, shipped right to his door without him having to move a muscle. The part of him that loved and smiled begged him otherwise, begged him to spare all the people in his life, spare himself.

He was about to text when he heard a knock on his door. His blood ran cold, and he felt anger bubble in his veins at the fact that he would have to talk himself in or out of this decision once more. With a sigh, he answered the thumping with a bitter "come in."

"Hey, you alright?" George asked, inviting him self to sit next to Alex on the bed, an arm slung over his shoulders effortlessly.

Alex stared at him for a second, stuck on another fork in the road. It seems there haven't been many easy decisions since Alex's pill problem developed. He was always trying to pick between then and now, himself and others, pills and hard work to get better. Usually the more sinful mind in the debate won out. Now, the darker part of Alex's mind told him to tell George everything was good. The more loving part told him to get George's help.

He decided on the middle of the road in just enough time to cause concern but not suspicion, telling George, "I could honestly be a lot better but I'm sober right now if that's what you're trying to ask."

George nodded, tension filling the air despite his easy going position on the sheets. Alex watched curiously as his hand disappeared into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms, returning with a bag of ground weed, paper, and filters. He raised his eyebrows at Alex, clearly making an invitation.

Alex thought for a minute. This was new to him, despite all the bad thing he'd put into his system there was still something scary about new. While far more lethal, pills were familiar. Alex knew pills, he knew what they felt like, he knew how to use them. Weed was something he'd never tried, and that sent a shock through his system. However, he found himself nodding.

Georges hands, pale and soft, found their way to Alex's cold ones. He placed the paper in them, silently directing him in rolling the joint. He poured the green leafs onto the thin paper and placed the filter at one end. He guided Alex hand's to pack and roll.

"Do you have a pencil or anything anywhere?"

Alex startled at George's voice despite its lazy gentleness. He nodded, picking one up from the nightstand next to his bed. He watched as George licked a line down the paper, sealing the joint before using the pencil to pack it down on the end. He then reached into his other pocket, pulling out a lighter and lighting the end.

It was George who took the first drag. Plumes of smoke danced out of his faded pink lips, fluttering the the ceiling of the apartment. Alex moved to open the window, not wanting to set off a smoke detector. George took another drag, the tightness of his facial muscles loosening as his body became even easier and looser than before.

He passed the joint to Alex. All he could do was stare at it for a second. "Do I just bring it to my mouth and breathe in?"

George nodded, blue eyes sparkling and glued to Alex as he watch the joint meet Alex's lips, watched as Alex's face grew concentrated, watched as Alex erupted into a fit of coughing. George simply laughed, moving to take the joining back from Alex. This earned him a grumpy glare, only causing more laughs to bubble out of George.

"Let's try something," he told the younger, breathing in more smoke before turning to face the other, beckoning him closer, leaning in. Alex let George place his lips on his, opening his mouth and breathing in the smoke from George's mouth. He coughed once again, but less this time. The coughing was brief and gentle, and he found himself pulling the joint from George's fingers and raising it to his lips. This time, he didn't cough at all, and a warmth spread across his body.

Alex watched with jealousy as the joint was traded off back to George, as if he was watching his past lover get married. George smiled at him, sillier than Alex was used to seeing, eyes filled with something Alex wasn't used to seeing. Georeg was rarely a smiley guy, rarely an expressive guy, and rarely a loving guy. But as George handed the joint to Alex for another drag everything was different. A world of emotions danced in his pupils and he pulled Alex gently into his body so that Alex's back was to his chest as he leaned back against the headboard.

Alex giggled as the smoke rose from his mouth. He felt relaxed and content. It was different than what he was used to, different from benzos, different from alcohol, different from opioids. It was softer, warmer, less guilty, The pain was replaced with euphoria instead of the emptiness. He thought he could get used to the burn of smoke in his lungs if he was going to feel like this afterwards. And he could definitely get used to melting into George's chest while his tender hand rubbed circles into his hipbone. Alex realized why they called it a high for the first time.

"This is a better bad habit than pills, isn't it?" George asked, a hint of sadness in his voice. Alex knew the bad decisions he had made in the past put it there.

"Yeah, and I think you could become a good habit soon."