l o s t [m.h, g.d]

9

Boundaries between the three of us disappeared almost altogether. We fell into a routine of light alcohol and drug abuse. I knew this would happen after that first night. My old habits died especially hard. Matty stopped making any attempt to disguise his intentions towards me. George made light over it but I could tell it worried him. Bothered him. We spent days driving around in the van. Finding new places to smoke. Walking through the fields surrounding the town. Or walking along the beach. Eventually they stopped asking questions about me. They knew they wouldn't get any answers.

Some days going outside was too much. They made music and I listened. We played video games in our underwear, smoking until we were silly. We made bottle bongs. Smoked actual bongs. Tried to trip for half an hour on white noise. The place began to get messy. Sometimes none of us showered for days.

I became more and more evasive of what I was feeling for them.  If I was on a bad trip or a come down, I would sleep in George's bed, wrapped up in him, warm and allowing myself to feel safe. Sometimes we'd all sleep together in the same bed. I would nap with Matty when George went out. The sofa became a distant friend, only necessary if I got too baked or fucked up.

Most of the time I could distract myself from the way I felt inside. Matty and George. Drugs. Alcohol. Almost anything. But it would only catch up with me later on. The cold empty feeling, the thing that was stuck there. The guilt and the self-loathing and the numbness. If they were both gone. Like they were gone now. I wandered around the flat in Georges t-shirt. I smoked endlessly. I sat on the wall on the balcony, dangling my legs over the edge. I wondered when they would come back, who they were seeing, what they were doing.

I questioned how I'd become so obsessive. So wrapped up in our little world. This was dangerous for me and I knew it. But I sprinted headlong into it.

I heard the door open and close. I was in Matty's room snooping through his notebooks, trying to find out if any of the lyrics were about me. My head shot up. I dropped the black book in my hand and barrelled through into the living room. It was George. He dropped a couple of bags and a guitar on the floor.

'Matty's coming back later-'

I flew at him, jumping and wrapping my legs around his waist. I pressed my face into his neck, inhaling.

'Whoa.' He laughed. 'Are you alright?'

'Don't ever both go out at the same time ever again.'

'Sorry.'

He carried me over to the sofa and dropped me onto it. I pulled him down beside me, climbing into his arms again.

He eyed me. 'I think you just like me because I'm big enough to carry you places.'

'That's one reason.'

I nuzzled my head under his chin.

'Seriously are you alright? Are you on a trip?'

'I was. It wore off a while ago. But I still feel a bit weird.'

'Weird.' George repeated the word back at me. He removed a strand of hair stuck to my lips.

We sat for a bit. George smoked a cigarette, his head leant back against the settee, eyes closed.

'How did your session go?'

'Good. Fine.'

'Where's Matty?'

'He needed to pick some stuff up from Ross.'

'Are you tired?'

'A little. Do you wanna chill out with the questions?'

'Sorry.'