Night in the Ruts

Only Me, Yeah? - Charlie

After Nicky kicked ass and after we were back at my house, I put on some records and climbed up to the roof.  After, of course, Nicky grabbed some Popsicles, Poptarts, and peanut butter crackers.

        "This is immensely terrifying when you're straight," he said, talking about the height and being sober for the moment.

        I shrugged.

        Earlier, when Nicky said 'Have you...' and just dropped the conversation, I was curious only a little.  But now, it was practically eating me alive.  And it seemed important, too.

        When the packet of Poptarts was gone, Nicky reached inside the pocket of his jacket.  "I'll be right back," he then said and began to climb back into my room.

        "No you won't," I say, grabbing on to his hair.  I'm not stupid, I know that he reached inside his pocket to see if he had any drugs.  "Can't you just be normal for one night?"

        "But I'll get sick," he whines.

        "Just don't think about it," I suggest, still holding on to his hair.

        Nicky seems annoyed.  "It doesn't work like that, Charlie," he sighed.

        "Whatever," I said back.  "You've never even tried it."

        "Psh, to hell I haven't!" he exclaims.  "Let go of my fuckin' hair."

        "No."

        "Dammit, Charlie, let go!" he nearly yells, now angry.

        "Please don't," I beg.  "Just... Um, tell me what you wanted to tell me earlier."  I've been trying to get him to stop with drugs for as long as I can remember.  So far my efforts have been fruitless for the most part.

        Nicky's glare falters for a minute, and he looks really confused.  Then he remembers what we were talking about and goes back to glaring at me. "Let me go for a minute–just one minute.  Only sixty seconds–and I'll come back and tell you," he says smartly.

        I raise an eyebrow.  "What is it?"

        He's standing on the windowsill, probably terrified, while he clutches the roof and I clutch his hair.  I bet if he weren't so pissed he'd most likely be sobbing because of the height.  He makes a big point of not looking down.  I can see the anguish in his eyes, but I don't let it get to me.  "Paper," he says slowly, practically fuming in the silent sort of way he fumes, "all I need is a piece f paper.  Can I please go and get the goddamn paper!?"  He had said all of that with deadly calm until the last two words, which he yelled.

        And at that, without any warning, I let go of his hair.  In shock, he slipped and for a moment was only hanging on with his fingers.  When he regained his footing, before going inside, he turned to look at me.

        Before he was able to slow his heart rate down enough for a glare, he was as pale as a ghost and his eyes looked like they would if he would've done everything Marky gave him and if it was all really strong and very real.

        And then he slid inside and returned moments later with a sheet of paper.

        He ripped the paper into the size and shape a cigarette would have if it were unrolled.

        From there, he went to work.  "Want one?" he asked.

        All I had to do was look at him.