I'm alone in the Boy's messed up bed with pastel sheets and bloody pillows. I'm soaked through with sweat. My legs ache from chasing dealers in my dreams. How long have I been here? We were drifting, drifting.. I can't remember..
The bedside table is an apocalypse. Everything is soot blackened bloodstained and desperate. I'm checking my body for signs of a rattle. Not yet, nothing but a vague dread. The tail end of my buzz will carry me home if I hurry. Sunglasses, money, phone, phone... fuck, no battery.. oh fuck.. I'm sure I can feel a rattle starting. Hurry, hurry..
The Boy peers at me from the doorway and smiles shakily, totally spaced out, teeth stained with tanins from the wine we drank til 5am.
"Hey, you're up? I was just gonna wake you, J is on. Hey, you've bitten up your lips baby.. You were moaning in your sleep, what did you dream about..?" He cleans dried blood from my face with a corner of the pillowcase.
We score then walk to mine in the dirty morning light and get back into bed. Short story; we fix, we gouge. It's heaven. We curl up like children, letting love wash over, shotgunning a joint. I think; 'Sex has become so abstract that I fuck strangers to give him what he needs.' We rock each other to sleep.
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