Addict In Black ✔

Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN: ESCAPE

You'll learn odd facts. Like that certain persons simply will not like you no matter what you do. Then that most nonaddicted adult civilians have already absorbed and accepted this fact, often rather early on.
That sleeping can be a form of emotional escape and can with sustained effort be abused. That purposeful sleep-deprivation can also be an abusable escape. That if enough people in a silent room are drinking coffee it is possible to make out the sound of steam coming off the coffee. That sometimes human beings have to just sit in one place and, like, hurt. 
That there is such a thing as raw, unalloyed, agendaless kindness. 
That if you do something nice for somebody in secret, anonymously, without letting the person you did it for know it was you or anybody else know what it was you did or in any way or form trying to get credit for it, it's almost its own form of intoxicating buzz.
That anonymous generosity, too, can be abused.That there might not be angels, but there are people who might as well be angels.
-David Foster Wallace

"But what if," My voice is slurred in my dream and it doesn't make the demon stop kissing my neck at my voice, because I'm not saying stop. "I never get over you?"

It scoffs and kisses up my skin until it's black, dark eyes meet my own. "What do you mean?" It asks and I know the demon isn't happy and I don't like it.

"I mean what if I wake up every fucking day of my life and want you so badly that I can feel it in my bones? That's a real thing you know, missing someone that much. Sometimes when I can't see you my bones feel like they're going to break."

The demon frowns, leaning in to gently kiss my neck. I didn't know demons could be gentle. "I'm not going anywhere, you don't have to miss me. You're mine, I want you and I'm not giving you up."

Despite the confidence in it's voice, I don't believe it and continue anyway. "What if I keep waiting for you, and you never come. What if you're the one?"

"The one?"

"The one for me," When I say this, it smirks. "Don't look so, so smug. I'm serious." It rolls it's dark eyes, but tenses below me with what I say next. "What if she takes you away from me?"

"She won't."

Again, with that confidence. Rolling my eyes I let the conversation go and kiss the demon, never noticing how the world around us was burning.

With the demon, I'm immune to the flames.

I gasp awake once again, thinking this is getting old to myself as I roll out of bed and stand on the cold tile, making me shiver.

If addiction was a sleep pattern, it would be easy to describe.

Addiction wouldn't sleep soundly. It would toss, turn, kick and sigh all throughout the night.

It would try to understand all the mysteries of life instead of sleeping, leaving itself exhausted before a new day even starts. It wouldn't know what it's like to get a new prescription for glasses, and suddenly see the world again. All it would know is how to squint, the blurry world mixed with disappointment and gratitude.

Addiction wouldn't dream.

Because of this it wouldn't be able to talk about their night with everyone else, wouldn't share something everyone does.

It would wake up feeling like it's forgetting to say something, and realize just after it recognized that feeling that it has no one left to share it with -even if it wakes up in bed with another addiction.