apartment 23 // mitchel cave

11

mitchel's p.o.v.

i don't think i got any sleep that night. after being off the blow for a few months, i hadn't realized how strongly it would have hit getting back into it. from what i can remember, i spent most of the night pacing around my living room and trying to write songs. i'm pretty sure they are all nonsense and pure shit. that's what coke will do to you.

when i came down from the insane high, reality hurt ten times more than it did before the blow. the guilt came crashing down upon me and smacked me right across the face. it was almost too much to process. we didn't even fuck, so why was i feeling this way?

i stood up and walked to my bathroom to get a shower. i felt disgusting. i stripped off my clothing and stepped into the shower. i turned the water on and allowed the steaming hot beads of water run down my body. i stood, motionless, for a solid ten minutes just zoning out before realizing that i was still in the shower. i washed myself and quickly turned off the water. by the time i had finished, the bathroom was filled with a thick amount of steam. i wrapped a towel around my waist before i wiped away the condensation from the mirror and stared at my reflection. my eyes were bloodshot as hell and my hair was a tangled mess. i put my hands on either side of the sink and lowered my head, just staring into the white basin. two drops of red liquid hit the basin, causing me to look back at the mirror. a thick amount of blood had trickled out of my nose. i quickly grabbed a towel and held it against my nose, silently cursing to myself. fucking cocaine. always fucking up everything.

i walked out of the bathroom once my nose decided to stop leaking blood like a faucet and went to my bedroom. i lay down on my bed and faced the wall. the drop after the high was always the worst. i got up and walked over to my single window. it overlooked a fairly empty street; i could only see a few people walking along the sidewalk. i don't know how long i stood there just staring at the empty street. i thought about all the people who have travelled on this road. had they felt the same way as i do now?

i hadn't realized the headache pounding in my head. once i regained my "focus" on reality, it hit me extremely hard. if i went to the kitchen, i would be forced to face that white powder, still laying on my coffee table. i decided to suck it up and deal with it. i sat down on the hard floor by my window. i rested my head on the wall and watched as drops of blood started dripping out of my nose again. i didn't even pay attention to the noise of my front door creaking open.

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angeline's p.o.v.

i woke up on my floor with a killer migraine. i could have sworn i went to bed last night; i must have woken up sometime throughout the night and just decided to go back to sleep on the floor. oh well.

i stood up and looked around the room. bottles of alcohol i didn't even realize i had drank littered my coffee table. i quickly grabbed them all and threw them in the recycling. at least i can try to make myself feel like a good person when i recycle.

i had a vague recollection of what happened yesterday. the most vivid memory i had was what had happened in the morning with mitchel. i shoved that to the back of my mind. if i continued to think about it, i would end up in a vicious cycle of drinking myself into a coma and then waking up and starting again. i cared about my liver at least a tiny bit.

i couldn't take not speaking to mitchel for another day. i was worried about him. despite how i had went on an alcoholic rampage through my apartment last night, i knew how he was too. i hope we wasn't somewhere, like a random park bench, sleeping after getting insanely drunk. at least i was smart enough to stay at home.

i went over to my coffee table and picked up my phone. i quickly tapped out a text to mitchel.

i've thought about us. i'm ready to talk.

i took a deep breath before hitting send. i felt anxious waiting for him to answer. the problem was, he never did answer. i sent him various texts that morning, ranging from "hello?" to "are you awake?", before deciding to go to his apartment. i left my apartment, not caring if i was in a giant sweatshirt and leggings, and walked over to his door. i stood their a few seconds before working up enough courage to knock. i knocked three times and waited for him to open the door. he never did. i knocked again. still no answer. i had become worried. i decided to try to open the door, hoping that he had left it unlocked. i turned the doorknob and the door gave way, letting me in to the dark apartment. i walked in slowly, looking around the room. the only source of light was coming from the end of the hall; his room. i walked towards the center of the room, noticing a small baggie on his coffee table. the baggie was filled with a white powder; cocaine. i took a soft inhale and grabbed the baggie. i couldn't believe him. how could he do this? i decided to take the baggie and slipped it into my back pocket. i would dispose of it later.

"mitchel?" i called out, praying for an answer. no response.

"are you in there?" i asked. i slowly crept towards the hallway, my anxiety through the roof. i didn't know what to expect when i got to his room. maybe i would find him sleeping in bed with another girl. another face that didn't belong to me. i felt selfish; he wasn't mine.

i opened up the door slowly and peeked my head into his room. i found him sitting on his floor, his head against the wall.

"mitchel, are you ok?" i asked cautiously. i walked over to him slowly until i was right behind him. i walked over to his side and bent down. he had fallen asleep. i noticed a few drops of dried up blood on his hand and the floor. i mumbled "fuck" under my breath and ran my hand across his back, trying to wake him up. i saw his eyes open and he looked up at me. there was dried up blood around his nose.

"angeline?" he asked. his voice was hoarse.

"mitchel..." i said softly. i sighed and wrapped my arms around him, embracing him. we stayed in that position for around a minute or so, until i decided to break our embrace.

"why did you do it?" i asked, obviously referring to the cocaine.

"i don't know" he mumbled, looking down at the ground. i grabbed his hand; it was cold.

"come on, let's clean the blood off your face." i gently pulled on his hand. he nodded and stood up, following me in to his bathroom. he grabbed a washcloth hanging by his sink and soaked it with warm water. i gently wiped away the blood around his nose. he looked exhausted. i grabbed his hand and wiped off the blood that had dripped from his nose. he sighed when i let go off his hand to clean the washcloth.

"i'm sorry you had to see me like this" he mumbled. i turned towards him, looking him in the eyes.

"i'm worried about you. you don't have to be this way mitchel."

"i know, i know. let's go to the living room." he said, grabbing my hand weakly and walking to the living room. he sat down on the couch and patted the spot next to him. i sat down, facing him.

"i think we need to talk. specifically about this," i pulled out the small baggie from my back pocket, "and us." i said, looking him in his blue eyes.

"okay," he mumbled. he looked down at his hands as he fidgeted with the rips in his jeans. i felt bad that he turned to drugs after because of me. i felt guilty.

"i'm willing to make this work. we just need to take our time." i said softly, placing my hand on top of his. he looked up at me, his gaze softening.

"really?" he asked. i nodded in response and he smiled. i had been dying to see that smile again.

"there's one condition though..." i said. i figured he knew it was coming. "the drugs have to stop. i cant bear to see you like this."

"i had to do something. the guilt of pushing us too fast was making me feel empty," he mumbled. i shook my head.

"you don't have to feel this emptiness. i'm right here." i said softly. he adjusted his hand and intertwined our fingers together. he gave me a soft smile to which i returned.

despite everything that had happened, i had a feeling everything would be okay.