North & West

Twenty-Four

[a/n: i think this is my only author's note the whole novel whoa, but i just wanted to take a moment to thank you guys for all the support i've gotten for this and i cannot believe that i actually managed to complete my nano novel. the next chapter will be the last one, which is kind of bittersweet for me. enjoy xo.]

The craving was beginning to fucking kill me.

It was like a constant gnawing in the pit of my stomach, much like that of the pain coming from stuffing your problems so far down your throat they have no choice but to bundle together and form a rock that never leaves. Which, I suppose, was much like the craving. It was a problem – such a huge goddamn problem – and I felt like all of my senses were heightened.

The creaking of the metal chairs around West and I were driving me crazy, the screeching sounds going straight through me like an arrow intent on setting me off. It was like an itch beneath my skin, one I was unable to physically itch without ruining everything in the way, such as my resolve and willpower.

But God, did it really have to be so hard?

My attention was drawn to West beside me when he reached a hand over and began absently touching my fingers, his touch soothing enough to calm the emotions raging through me. I wanted a drink so badly, but more than that, I wanted to make myself worthy of West.

We'd been attending the AA meetings almost every week now, taking our place in the back row as if it'd somehow acquired our names and became reserved specifically for us. Due to the frequency of our attendance, I had begun to take the faces of the people around us and pair them with names. Some of them even talked to West and I so much they could almost be considered friends of ours.

If either of us were capable of maintaining a healthy friendship.

It became apparent to me that the reason West and I worked so well was because we were just as fucked up as the other, reliant on some stupid liquid without a single clue as to what direction we were going to take in life.

There was also the little fact that both of our names happened to be directions, right beside each other – a fact that I often found myself smiling at, half believing that it may have something to do with fate, just as West had eluded to himself believing in things such as that.

However, I wasn't feeling like smiling today.

I wanted to drink and smoke – preferably at the same time, if I could somehow manage it – and curl myself so close against West that he'd never forget the feeling of my body against his. I'd never been a particularly touchy person, more so believing in distancing myself – a rather impossible feat around a person such as West Monroe – but sometimes, I craved contact with West so much that I almost believed that he was the addiction I struggled with so often instead.

As if sensing that my thoughts were about him, West nudged my foot with the tip of his boot, the same scuffed boots I found myself comparing to a sidewalk marred only by the careless tread of other people.

“Hm?”

“You look like you're thinking really deeply about something.”

I almost told him that it was him I was thinking about, that he was a constant thought swirling about in my head. But I didn't; even after I'd told him I loved him – a little moment I found myself regretting every so often, hating how vulnerable and exposed it had made me – I still found myself grasping at the thin curtain that separated us and tugging it between us when I felt like I needed the distance. Which, admittedly, that need for distance seemed to diminish the more I tried to pull it back into place, almost as if even my resistance was resistant with the thought of pushing West away.