I've read Mira's message seventeen times already.
I hope you're over him by now. He's an asshole. I miss you.
It breaks my heart a little bit, again, because she left me too. I still don't know how to reply, so I don't. I don't even want to think anymore.
I put rose petals and lavender oil in the bath and smoke the custom indica blend I had delivered yesterday, just enough to take the edge off. Now it's good. I'm good. The water's as warm as I can take it and the candle flames shiver in the steam. Smoke drifts from incense on the windowsill and I'm heavy and light at the same time, sinking and floating, but I'm not really here. It's fine. I'm never really here.
There's a universe behind my eyelids and energy rising through my skin, through my bones and my blood, flowing from my heart along my arms to my hands. Flexing my fingers, picturing his face, his smile and everything I did just to see it. I imagine him as wax, melting. I imagine him as nothing.
Held by an ocean of something waiting to happen, there's a pattern waiting to be broken. Sometimes it feels like maybe all I have to do is want it enough and other times it feels like want has nothing to do with it and control is an illusion. Everything's an illusion. It doesn't matter.
Maybe this is ritual or ceremony or nothing more than need. I may not be closer to god, but I'm closer to something.
May you get all that you deserve
Fuck you, Brett.
1st January 2009
"What do you want?" Mira links an arm through mine and tries to skate along the frozen road, but it doesn't work and we just kind of shuffle a bit.
"To drink?" She left the party with more than she brought, because she's resourceful like that, but I thought we'd drunk it all already.
"No. Fuck no. I'd die if I drank anything else." She looks a bit sick. "I mean in general. Like, from life, in the grand scheme of things. That kind of what do you want." She hiccups and slips on the ice, but she catches herself.
"I don't know. It's barely even new year's day. I don't even think I could spell my own name right now."
"You rolled that joint though. While you were walking, no less."
"I can always do that. It's my special gift. Do you want some?"
"I can't. I really need to get my shit together about not smoking. I have to look after my voice to make all the student debt worth it. Ugh, I can hear that like my parents are saying it. Like literally, their voices in my head. Anyway, consider it my resolution. I didn't have one until just there now, so thanks for that."
"You're so sensible." She really is. I mean, we've only known each other a few months and I absolutely adore her, but every second I spend with her reminds me of what a mess I am, comparatively.
"I know. I sort of hate it sometimes."
"Don't hate it. It's a good thing. You're driven and focused and all that stuff. It's impressive."
"And you're not?"
"Not like you are. You have goals. I just have...I don't know, obsessions, I guess."
"But there must be something you want?"
"I don't know." I really don't. That's the problem. "I just want to play. Ideally in a dark room with no-one watching, but if it's going to be a job I suppose I'm going to need to do it in front of people."
"That is definitely part of it being a job." She tries to skate again, hanging onto my arm, and nearly pulls us both over.
"What about you?"
YOU ARE READING
Winter FollowsGeneral Fiction
One month, one city, five lives colliding with the forces of fate. A thrill-seeking tech genius with an appetite for dangerous extremes. A retired contract killer fighting to escape his past and himself. An underworld driver tempted deeper into a li...