Gateway Drug | Volume I

Gateway Drug | Part Twenty-Five

Warning(s):
Explicit language
Violence
Mentions of drug abuse

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1981
Humming of the air conditioner, middle of night traffic passing by outside, and utter quietness of the apartment settles around us, Nikki's fingers massaging at my scalp, my unruly hair splayed out across his one pillow we're sharing.

He's looking up at the ceiling with his eyes closed while I just look around the room for a few minutes, deciding whether or not I want to say what I'm thinking of saying.

"What are we doing?" I ask, turning my head a little to look at him.

He licks his lips and matches my gaze, smirking.

"Getting ready for round three." He replies in a low tone.

"No, I mean..." I can't help but smile before turning over on my stomach, my chest against his, our faces inches apart. "...this. Us. What are we doing?"

"I'm having fun." He tells me. "You're not having fun?"

"I am, I guess I just got a little confused about it is all." I shrug. "I mean, we don't really act like we like each other aside from taking our clothes off."

"I like you." He says almost defensively.

"You like me when I'm on top of you, or bent over a sink, or on my knees—"

"No, Viv, I dig you." He tells me with lack of humor. "Not just when we're foolin' around."

"Really?"

"Yeah. What, you don't like me?"

"I do." I admit, smiling a little. "Yeah, I do."

There's a pause between us and he takes advantage of it.

"Saint Vivian." He says snarkily and I don't miss a beat.

"Devil-Spawn."

After a couple more moments, he's sighing out.

"So, like, do you not mess around with other dudes?" He asks me curiously and I shake my head.

"I've never messed around with a guy before. I haven't even had a crush before."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious."

"Oh, well, no pressure or anything on me." He scoffs.

"No, there's not because I have nothing to compare you to." I chuckle, licking my lips.

"Well," he moves his hand from my hair to rub up and down my bare back as my fingers draw little designs on his chest. "I have plenty to compare you to."

"And?"

"It's..." he thinks a moment, choosing his words carefully. "...different."

"Good different or bad?"

"If it were bad I wouldn't let you hang around." He explains and I roll my eyes and hit his chest lightly with my hand, making him laugh a little. "No, it's perfect." He tells me, smiling arrogantly. "You're perfect."

I know he's full of it, probably saying that to every other girl he's had in his bed, but I don't want to think about it.

He's saying it to me, now, and whoever those girls are, are completely irrelevant.