Our fallen souls [EN] (High Enough) : VOLUME 1

10 - Blake

 I walk away from the hideout, completely stoned. This place makes me claustrophobic, my demons resurfacing as soon as I'm near the stuff. I had to fight not to touch it. A joint and a few hits helped me release some of that tension.

I walk into a grocery store and grab a bottle of vodka. My bloodshot gaze reflects an image of decay in the glass door. I head for the roof, trying not to bump into anyone along the way. The ladder to the residence seems endless, and I struggle to keep my balance with the bottle in my hand. Beads of sweat bead on my forehead, each step takes far too much effort when I'm high.

Then I see her.

From behind, but I recognize her beyond a shadow of a doubt, it's her. The shape of her body, that familiar fucking walk, it's her.

What the fuck is she doing here?

My mind is muddled, drowned in a mixture of drugs and conflicting emotions, but my fucking heart is beating wildly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I say abruptly, my voice betraying both surprise and annoyance.

That's all I needed. The one I'm most anxious to avoid is standing in front of me, looking like a fucking angel.

"I'd like to talk to you," she stammers, her fucking words hesitant, as if she's afraid of my reaction.

She scrutinizes me for a long time, as if she's analyzing me, as if she's trying to read me like a fucking open book. I don't know if it's a habit with her, but it makes me bloody uncomfortable.

"And you thought it would be nice to interrupt me while I'm drowning in my fucking drink?" I retort, my voice tinged with sarcasm.

"Blake, you're completely stoned..." she begins in a soft, almost compassionate voice.

"So what?" I interrupt, a bitter fucking sneer on my face. I open my fucking bottle and drink from the neck, seeking some semblance of comfort in this meaningless act.

"Your brother told me it was better for me to talk to you than him," she continues in a more confident tone.

"It doesn't make a damn bit of difference whether it's him or you," I retort, not really measuring the fucking malice of my words.

"Okay, I know you don't like me, and I don't really like you either, but I'd just like to know what's been going through your head."

"It's none of your business."

Determined to drink quietly, I sit down next to her, trying to ignore her as best I can. I take a cigarette out of my pocket and light it. With a deliberate gesture, I take another sip of vodka, letting the bottle rest between my legs.

She approaches me cautiously, her fucking eyes scanning the bottle of vodka with fucking hesitation.

What the fuck is she doing? Why is she approaching that fucking bottle?

"What the fuck are you doing here? Give me that back."

I extend my hand towards her, but she instinctively recoils, refusing contact. In an almost mechanical gesture, she brings the bottle to her lips. "Maybe you should stop drinking, you probably remember the last time," I spit.

"After the crappy day I've had, I feel like I need it as much as you do."

A light laugh escapes my lips, tinged with irony.

"I don't think so," I murmur softly, letting out a hint of sarcasm.

His gaze fixes on me, desperate to capture even an ounce of my attention.