Misfits (#2)

22.

"You're an asshole." He tosses the bottle back into the compartment, slamming it shut.

I mock gasp, "If we're stating the obvious, I have something to tell you."

He glares.

"I'm pretty sure you have a drug problem." I say, like a teacher talking to a kindergartener. Hudson looks like he wants to punch me in the face. Or kick me out of the car and leave me in the dark we're driving through.

I know he wouldn't though. He so loves me.

It's quiet for a minute and I watch as soon, the tapping of his fingers lessen and he loosens his jaw slowly. I know that the Xanax won't be setting in yet. It'll take at least half an hour but Hudson's been so dependent on drugs, for so long that even the knowledge that he's taken something starts to calm him.

Behind the jokes, it scares the fuck out of me sometimes. We know nothing about his addiction. Not really, anyways. All we know is how deep it runs. I think of drugs, I think of Hudson whose pocketed them since he was a boy. They're one and the same, coexistent, inseperable - Hudson and drugs.

I shift in my seat slightly and break the silence, "Have you ever thought about it?" I pause, "Quitting?"

He's quiet as he drives, one hand on the steering wheel. I look to his side profile, all sharp lines and darkness and harshness. We've all been moulded to mature because of circumstance. Misfortune.

I wonder what it is that Hudson went through because if you believe me and Luca have messed up heads, Hudson's is an entirely different void. We've always known it though. His darkness differs to ours. Drastically.

He scoffs almost, gently, "I gave up on myself a long fucking time ago. I won't work towards something I don't want."

"You don't want to be clean?" I ask quietly.

He says without much hesitation, "There's no point starting a race I've never wanted to win. It'll always be a waiting game."

It hits in my chest. I think Hudson has the strength to beat it, to overcome it all. I think he could win the race but he says it himself. He'll stop himself short, before the finish line.

I think Luca always believed he would be sad for the rest of his life. Stuck in the anger that's rid him helpless since he witnessed his mother's murder, had to raise his little brother. Luca found something to live for. Someone to love.

Hudson has nothing to fight for that stands higher than drugs. Never will, I don't think, even if I love seeing the best in everybody. He's a big vessel of self-sabotaging habits and a one way path to destruction.

And I, I wish I had something to fight for but I'm trying. To not drink myself into oblivion anymore.

I just gotta search for sunshine, like Vy said. Keep going, like Vy says.

And yet, all I'm starting to think about when I need to search for safety, is her.

She is fucking perfect.

"I think I'm screwed." I say quietly. I like it when my mind runs to Violet Amory's green eyes and her soft skin. I like when she pops into my head, I want her to stay there. I prefer the sound of her voice than anybody else's. I want to talk to her in bookstores until the world drowns out.

I'm a little high, even after just a few drags. But Violet Amory makes me a little less lonely. I want her for myself.

"You want who for yourself?" Hudson asks.

"Ballerina." I mutter and blink a few times, "Why is your weed so strong?"

"Are you hung up on Violet Amory?" Hudson pulls his face back and his entire body falls tense. Even his hands, that tighten around the wheel like he's just been electrocuted.