I enter into the warm kitchen after slamming the door shut, leaving Harry outside. My body shakes slightly with anger and frustration.
How can he even suggest I'm hallucinating?
Fuck this, it's too damned hot in here.
I need some fucking drugs right now, and I don't even care what. Hell, with the anxiety pooling like a hurricane in my stomach, I might as well snort some Xanax and chill.
Harry stays outside as I grab my bag and slip on my shoes. With a grunt, I exit into the hallway and shut the door to his apartment behind me.
It takes me ten frustrating minutes to isolate myself from any fans. I'm both surprised and proud at myself for not exploding at any of them, especially with some of the nasty things that were yelled my way. Varying things we shouted, such as how I only use him for his money, or how I'm pregnant or something equally bizarre.
As if I could get pregnant when I can't even have sex. Harry can't even touch my boobs without me losing my mind.
God, Harry's right. I have such bad mental issues; I'm a lost cause. I don't know why I even try with him anymore. I don't deserve him. He deserves way better than me, someone who he can touch and feel and love physically without fearing they will freak out when he touches the wrong place the wrong way.
Maybe Harry and I shouldn't be together.
Stop it. You're just angry at him for saying you hallucinated.
How could he even say that to me! He knows how much I struggle with my mind, how could he even suggest that there's even more wrong with me?
I already know I'm massively fucked up.
I drop my bag to the floor of my apartment, locking the door before sludging over the dried blood embedded in my rug. Immediately, I head for my bedroom.
Shit, I better clean before I get mucked and can't walk anymore.
Grabbing the broom from the closet, I spend a good fifteen minutes making sure that no glass is left in the carpet. My vacuum makes the weirdest noises but does an effective job at removing all foreign objects, with the exception of the yellow daffodil pollen. I give up there. I can do that another night.
Pulling out the bottle of Xanax from my bedside table, I grab one of my razor blades and my wallet and make my way to my couch. I place each of the items on the glass table and pull out a twenty-dollar bill.
I empty six of the pills onto the table and screw the lid shut. Flipping the bottle over, I crush the pills beneath the lid into a fine white powder and cut up any leftover chunks with the razor blade. The blade, which dances between my index finger and thumb, cuts the decent-sized pile of powder into five thick lines.
With a smile, I turn on some ScHoolboy Q and grab the bill. I roll it up tightly and carefully slide it up my nostril until I flinch and feel it cut the flesh.
Lowering my face to the table, I align the bill with the line closest to the door. I press against my other nostril and inhale slowly, the white powder soon slowly disappearing through the green bill. I instantly feel the burning at the back of the membrane and tilt my head back, placing the bill down and massaging the right side of my nose to make sure all of it absorbs properly. I close my eyes and enjoy the burn as the first sense of calmness overcomes me.
That's my favourite thing about snorting. It's instantaneous, taking less than 10 minutes at most to set in. My perception of the world starts to alter as I down the second and third line, alternating nostrils. It sort of feels like my sinuses are stuffed but I know they aren't.
I sniffle and then quickly swallow the nasty pharmaceutical taste dripping down the back of my throat. That's the only thing I dislike - the drip. After sniffling to prevent it from running down my face, it has to go somewhere. It's a metallic, pharmaceutical flavour, and it isn't the greatest until you start loving Xanax like it's your only friend.
Someone knocks on the door but I don't hear it through the blasting bass of the music. I line up my face with the final white line of drugs, but the door swings open first. Harry steps in and kicks off his boots before halting at the sight before him.
"How did you get in?" I ask. I down the final line and tilt my head back, massaging my nose.
If he loves me as he says he does, he won't leave me over this. And if he does leave me, I deserve it. I'm too fucked up for him.
"What are you doing?" He asks. "And you gave me a key, remember?"
"No, I don't," I answer honestly. "It's Xanax, Harry. To help me relax."
"You're snorting Xanax?" He asks softly. He takes a seat next to me, the cushions lowering at his weight.
"Yeah."
"You can do that?"
"It's water soluble," I shrug. "Anything water soluble can be effectively snorted." I sniffle. "Why are you here? So you can torture me some more over my 'hallucinations'?"
"No," he murmurs. "I didn't want to leave you upset, Aubrey. I hate seeing you like this."
"Well, it happens, you know. I get angry. I'm human, I have emotions."
"I know that," he says.
"You're going to make it worse if you stick around here," I tell him.
"Maybe I will, maybe I won't."
"And?"
"I'm not leaving," he tells me. "I want to be with you, Aubrey. I'm sorry for what I said."
I lean back against the couch and lay my head back, staring at the ceiling. The effects of the last line are getting to me. I feel tired, the biggest side effect of Xanax, but I feel very comfy and calm. It's great.
"You don't care if I'm high?" I ask quietly.
"Not really," he murmurs. "I mean, I don't like it, but I'd rather be here and make sure you don't do anything stupid."
Like overdose?
Ha ha.
"I might need help walking in a bit," I tell him. "And I won't remember most of this. And I will talk a lot, probably say some shit I shouldn't, just so you know."
"Help walking?" His eyes widen.
"Drugs, Harry," I say, turning to him with a dopey smile. "They fuck up your head, and your balance."
I try to stand up but fail. It takes me three times to get up onto my feet, and once I do, I stumble forwards into the table and knock it forward a few centimetres. Harry hides a smile, biting his lip.
"See?" I grin. "Now watch me try to get to the kitchen."
It takes me ten seconds to reach the island. However, I am all over the place, stumbling like a man drunk off his ass.
"How much did you fucking take?" Harry laughs.
"Don't laugh at me!" I exclaim. "I took a gram and a half."
"Is that a lot?"
"The regular street amount is 2 grams. People usually take 1-2 grams to get fucked up."
"You're not planning to do more, are you?" He asks.
I shrug. "Maybe. As the night goes on, the already-working drugs will decide." A drunken smile dances on my lips.
-
"Youu rreally think it was a hallusssination?" I slur, hanging off the couch upside down with the top of my head nearly touching the carpet. My torso lays across Harry's, his hand rubbing gently over my back.
"I'm not sure," he says.
"You can tell me, Harry. I won't remember anyway."
"I really am not sure." He bites his lip. "I mean, I think it's more possible than not."
"So you d-do think I'm crazzsy?" I mumble.
"I don't think you're crazy, baby," he murmurs. "Not at all."
"People who hallucinate are crazy. They take meds to control what their fucked up heads make." My voice is slow and low, my head barely able to piece together the words. As the two extra pills I snorted start to really set in, talking continues to increase in difficulty. It's comparable to writing an essay through the use of alphabet soup. I think Harry notices.
"I fuckin hate these noightmares," I mumble. "They're so real. I can feel everything. He rapes me, Harry," I whimper. "It's so awful. He rapes me over and over."
His face drops slowly. "What?"
"In my drreams," I slur. "Andrew rapes me. In my bathroom, and on my bed."
"Every night you dream of this?" He says lowly.
"No," I shake my head dramatically. "Just last night. That's why I screamed."
God, I feel so zomped out. My head is so foggy and I can't see too well anymore. Everything is blurry.
"But they're going to come back tonight," I mumble. "They always do."
"I need-" I hiccup, "Some help getting up."
Harry sits up, grabbing my arm and pulling me up. I fall forwards into the couch and Harry hides a smirk.
"Stop ffucking laughin' at me," I grumble. "I can't walk, Harold."
He rolls his eyes.
"I love you," he tells me as he pulls me back against him, wrapping his arms around my waist. I turn and spend two minutes nuzzling into his incredibly soft sweater, revelling at the texture.
"You're so soft..." I breathe. "So soft..."
"My sweater is soft," he laughs. "Not me."
I shake my head. "No," I pout like a child. "You are too."
I lift his shirt from the bottom with no shame, placing my hand against his toned torso. His abs protrude beneath the skin, and my fingers drag down them. His skin is really soft, too.
"You're just as soft as your sweater," I murmur, dropping my head to his bare torso. Harry jumps a bit at the sudden movement and dropping of weight onto his stomach but quickly adjusts.
"You're really high," he laughs. "It's adorable."
"I thought you'd hate me like this," I mumble. "Drugs can be bad."
"I'll never hate you, baby," he murmurs into my hair. His hand soothingly massages my thigh in repetitive circular motions.
The intensified nerve response as a result of the chemicals circulating my system cause this simple movement to feel more pleasurable than ever attainable while sober. I lean my head back into him, closing my eyes and revelling in the amazing feeling.
"You have no clue how good that feels," I whisper.
God, it's making me both horny and tired. Then again, the drugs are sedative enough as it is. I can barely hold my eyes open.
I clench my thighs together as a small warmth appears, twisting uncomfortably.
"We should try again," I say quietly, turning and pressing my face into his warm side.
"What do you mean?" He asks.
"Ya know," I slur. "Stuff."
"Stuff?"
"Sex," I mumble. "Before you started crying because I used to get raped."
"You want to try oral again?"
"Ew," I whine, sticking out my tongue. "That sounds so weird. I hate that word."
"What would you like me to call it then?"
He's so nice. I love him so much.
"I don't know," I shrug.
"Are you horny, baby?" He lowers his head to mine, lips pressing lightly against the hair covering my ear. I can feel the warmth of his breath tickling the cold skin beneath my hair. My stomach swirls at his words.
Oh, God, am I ever.
I moan softly into his side and clench my muscles again.
"Mmm?" He hums with a throaty rasp and heat rushes to my core again.
Fuck.
"Yes," I heave quietly, blushing. I'm embarrassed but I'm braver now since I snorted a ton of anti-anxiety drugs earlier. My movements are sloppy and my head is slow, but I need to relieve this pressure, and I'd love to be able to share this with Harry.
But I should down one more line.
Harry's lips dip down to my neck, spreading warmth as they meet my skin. Goosebumps flare across each limb of my body and the butterflies in my stomach seem to multiply in a half second.
No, Harry's lips can wait. I want this to feel better, and I can do that through drugs.
Not any drugs.
Cocaine.
Fuck, I've been craving coke for daaays. I should definitely do some. I mean, Harry is here to watch me, right? And I can just tell him it's pre-crushed Xanax leftover from another night. I'll be fine.
Another part of my head says no but I ignore it.
If you overdose again, you're screwed. Harry will know and kill you, and probably find out about the other one too.
"Come," I tell him.
"Where?"
"Ma room," I slur slowly.
Harry shrugs, helping me up onto my feet. I wrap my arms around his torso, one arm slipping up under his shirt and shocking his hot skin. He jumps a bit.
"You're so cold," he yips. "Geez, we better get you under those covers quick-" His head dips down to my neck and his lips attach to my skin, suckling harshly. I giggle loudly and push his head away.
"Carry me," I grin.
He swings me up into his arms dramatically and I laugh loudly at the sensation of being swept off my feet. The wind feels so weird. My motor skills are so slow, everything feels weird.
"I love you so much," I mumble as Harry kicks open my bedroom door and carries me in.
"Me too, baby," he breathes down my neck. "So much."
He pulls the covers up and lays me down. "Under you go," he smirks at me.
"Under you go," I argue dopily. "Trust me."
He raises an eyebrow but listens to me. As he slides into the covers on the right side, I sit facing the door. I reach for the tiny bag of cocaine and pull it out. It plops onto the bedside table softly.
"You're doing more?" Harry asks, reaching his hand out to my thigh. I nod.
I empty out the baggy onto the table and pull out a piece of paper from the top drawer. Rolling it slowly, I turn it into a small tube and stuff it up my nose.
A numbness instantly spreads in the back of my mouth, sparking the prime difference between Xanax and cocaine. I lean my head back as the head rush slowly sets in, a whistling noise starting to buzz in my eardrums. My heart begins to race.
"Can I try some?" Harry asks. I almost choke as I line myself up with the second line. I freeze with fear.
"Uh," I cough.
"What?"
I bite my lip.
What the fuck do I do?
Do I tell him it's cocaine? Or not, and let him to do it?
I don't have any excuses coming to mind now for why he can't.
I'm going to be an awful person.
"Ssure," I shrug. "Just... be careful. You've never ssnorted anything, have you?"
He shakes his head.
I slide over. "Okay, so j-just roll up the paper again, as tight as you caan, and put it up your nose until it can't go any further. Then just press against the other nostril and suck in. Don't go too fast, or it will go straight down your mouth and you will choke. Slowly. It should feel numb." It takes me a while to tell him, brain slow with benzos. God, I sometimes hate being with others while I do benzos. It makes me hate talking.
"Okay," he says quietly.
"You don't hhave to," I say, trying to make him stay away from it. "It also might make your dick soft."
He bites his lip anxiously. "I sort of want to try it. See why people do it."
I nod.
I grab his hand and squeeze. "I lllove you, Harry."
He turns to me and pulls my face to his, lips colliding harshly. His tongue slips in past mine and I moan. The warmth of him against me makes my core burn again. I clench my thighs again.
My heart is racing so fast. Had I not taken anything to calm me down, I would be in full-blown panic attack by now. The rush of adrenaline forces my hands into his curls. Harry drops back against the bed with me on his chest, lips still attacking each other in a rough motion. His hands slip to the bottom of my shirt and begins to pull it off. Raising my arms, I allow him to slide it up my arms and toss it across the room. I straddle him with a grin.
"You say it will make my dick soft, but yet you're wet as can be?" His fingers touches my belly button and sensually drags upwards, passing between my breasts. It stops at my chin and raises it a bit. He looks directly into my eyes. I can't help but blush deeply.
"Ay, baby?" He murmurs into my ear.
"Mm," I hum, closing my eyes as his touch. His hands entwine in my hair comfortably as his lips suckle harshly on the patch of skin beneath my ear, a bittersweet mix between pain and pleasure.
"I think you're just trying to fool me," he whispers seductively in my ear. "Try to keep me sober."
I mean, I'd like that, yeah.
"But that's not gonna work on me, beautiful."
He flips me and I don't even realize until a few seconds later when I'm left confused facing the ceiling. Harry's leg is draped across my torso, pinning me down.
"Hey," I pout dopily.
"What?" He asks.
"I'm not going to stop you. You can move your leg." I roll my eyes and bite my lip. "In fact, mmmove over. I want an-nother hit."
Harry surprises me after lifting his leg from me by rolling the piece of paper quickly and stuffing it up his nose so that only a third of it shows.
"Exhale," I tell him. "If you ddon't, you might accidentallyy blow away all of it."
He does as I say and lowers his face to the table. I tap my leg nervously, watching him closely. He aligns the paper with the first of five lines of cocaine, and inhales, muscles flexing slightly as he presses against his other nostril. I clench my teeth together as the white powder disappears up the paper.
I am a horrible person.
"Lean back, ssniffle, and rub- rub your nose," I instruct him. If he's going to do it, he might as well do it right. "And uh, you need to snort water in a f-few minutes. Otherwise it will ddeterior- deteriorate the membrane."
"You didn't," he points out, eyes clenched shut as he leans his head back and rubs the side of his nose in circles like I said. "God, this burns."
"That's my ffavourite part." I grin at him.
"My whole- whole mouth is numb," he sputters. "Like, it feels like I can't- swallow," he gulps. "Ew."
"I used to hate that, too. I just got used to it." I pat his shoulder lightly. "Move oover, babe."
"My heart is racing so fast," he tells me, finally opening his eyes.
"Your pupils are fuckin huge," I murmur. "Geez."
"So are yours," he laughs loudly. "God, this makes me want to talk until I can't. I mean, I don't like how heart my heart rate is, because it scares me, but Jesus, I could talk for hours."
Harry downs a second line and I push him over as he rubs his nose again.
"Scooch, ya bum."
Harry's scarlet mouth curls up into a smirk.
I take the paper and shuffle it up my right nostril and align myself for what seems to be the second-dozenth time tonight. My eyes roll back into my head out of pleasure and entertainment as I revel in the gorgeous burn that is oh-so-destructive cocaine. I finish off the last two lines and collapse back onto the bed.
"Ccome put those lips to good use, pretty boy," I smirk at him.