I'm Not Leaving // lrh

12 || nyc, i love you but you're bringing me down

brooklyn, new york
10:00pm

L

"Jeez Amara. That's fucking bleak."

"I know," She coughed, "Sorry. Weed makes me weird."

"No it doesn't." Calum giggles.

"Yeah that's like. Your default." Jesse chimes in.

I listened the trio as they smoked a joint on the fire escape and felt the memories rush through me as she recalled them. But it wasn't exactly like a memory. Both moments, now and back then, were happening simultaneously. I was surprised I could remember a lot of it. That's not typically the case.

Amara didn't tell them about the dress I cut or about the conversation we had the next morning. She didn't mention the fight at the bar or the one we had out on the curb. Just what went on during the night out. 'Yeah that was fun, despite, y'know Luke's thing.'

I felt the need to barge out there, apologize again. All of us being here with her in New York is probably what got her thinking about it.

I mean, I remember some of those days, the beginning of the end. It only lasted a few more months.

And sure there were the times when she'd get a little too drunk and turn into a fucking hot mess. It used to make me so mad. And embarrassed. Because I knew she did it just to get back at me. And it worked.

And together? Oh it was a nightmare! And we'd be loud, make messes in liquor stores, opening snacks, breaking wine bottles, she'd skip on the tops of fast food establishments tables, be the one getting into bar fights that unlike me she actually won, and fall down drunk on the sidewalk while puking everywhere but the toilet.

We were tornado of sorts.

But Amara always got herself together. She'd detox. Do a juice cleanse. Take a violent shower. Go to yoga. Go to Pilates. Eat nothing but Kale for a week straight. Spend an hour and a half in the sauna. Apologize to everyone profusely. Whatever. But I never did that. And if I tried, it never stuck so I always resented her for having more self control that me.

I wanted to talk about how she was the one who showed me New York for the first time. The real New York. And not just me. All of us. It was one of the first places we ever went to together. And it's fuzzy. Like a faded Polaroid. But we stole. Ran. Took advantage of our youth. It was the first real fun I've ever really had after like totally numbing myself.

I guess she doesn't remember it that way. And that's okay.

I went back into the kitchen with Michael and Ashton as they made notes about the things they liked in Amara's place.

The pilea plants. (She had them in her bedroom at her parents house too)
The record collection. (Alphabetized)
The primary colored alphabet refrigerator magnets. (CUM was spelled out when I got here)
The magnetic poetry set I tried to use. (She didn't have a poem up and it made me sad to think it isn't something she ever has the time for)

We clunk our beer bottles together, Corona's. A staple.

We ended up making the pink margaritas all together and we went through the tequila pretty quickly. So back to beer's it was.

"Do you think she's got limes?" I wonder, wanting one for my beer.

"She does. I like it. She's practical." Ashton chuckled.

"No way, she has like almond milk and stuff."

"Wait for real? Little miss one bite and I'm full?"

"Yup." Michael's surprised, motioning towards the open fridge, "See?"