"You get off on it, don't you?" Your tone was lowa telltale sign that you were all ready hammered.
"Hush up and drink up, would you?" I quietly, but quickly ejected. The pacifist in me was trying to control you just enough to avoid argument, but the antagonist in me was stealthily waiting for your standard retort so I would have good justification to smash your slobbering face in, and like it of course.
"I know you do, Babe. Admit it, you like it." You whispered intently, like it was our dirty secret amongst the midnight walls of our apartment and the buzzing streetlamps outside.
You leaned in close so you were inches away from my visage. You suddenly made a grab for my scarred wrists and arms, and pulled me directly in front of you with soundless, but dynamic insistence. "Looks to me like you do. All your scars prove it; they're a telltale sign, baby. You're constantly cutting yourself. What other motive is there, huh?"
You clicked your tongue at me, working against my last passive nerve.
"Don't worry Babe, I won't tell. My little sadomasochist." You proudly surmised with a pat of my head, as you still whispered, your low, sinister chuckling throwing me into a full scowling silence, as I glowered at you dangerously.
Most people would have taken that as a telltale sign of backing-off. But no, not you. You had the gall to continue like it was nothing.
"And so what? If it gives you a thrill in this ordinary, colorless world where you and I merely exist who am I to tell you to stop, right? If you like the control, and the rush, and the pure pain you can actually feel, and not have to fake, why should I tell you no, right? I bet nothing else compares to it, does it? You're addicted, like me."
Your shrewd grin in the darkness caused my knee-jerk retaliation to go into effect. The antagonist in me was rooting from the stands.
It was always an unexplained wonder to me as to why alcohol made you so uncannily perceptive, when at any other given time you were as thick and dense as fog.
"Just shut your damn mouth!" I growled.
I was about to turn awayanother telltale sign of mine (according to you)when your hand was upon me in a nanosecond. Alcohol also seemed to give you lightening-fast responses, despite the widespread fact that people would experience slower ones. I sometimes think that I was foolish enough to believe you were the complete opposition of every common explanation.
"Oh come on, Babe," You coaxed thickly as your hands grabbed a hold of my shoulders-blades, despite my waspish snarl. Another telltale sign of mine that you obviously misread as you nonchalantly sniggered in my ear.
"We're just talking." Your superior, but infuriatingly calm voice floated near my ear as you rested your chin on my shoulder. "You always bitch at me that we don't talk enough, and now is a time when I'm attempting to make real conversation, and you're going to go off like a baby? I know it's what you're good at, but at least try to act your age for once, will ya?"
"Get your hands off me!" I spat childishly, true to form.
You obviously weren't reading any of my signs tonight since you merely stood there, not moving, your hands lying exactly where they were. You seemed to be lost in your own reverie, your tone hypnotic and surreal. "We're just two lost souls against the world; you with your blade, and me with my bottle. This has got to be the greatest love story ever told, eh?" You simpered, but the sarcasm in your tone seemed remote.
"No other person is going to accept us, and we are who we are; we can't change. And I get it, I really do. I get your addiction like no one else would. I'd never label you as a psychological disorder, or put some religion on you to 'save' you, because there ain't no cure for what we got."
"What's that?" I feigned apathy, but all ready I was regretting this whole conversation. It was secretly causing me to long for you to continue to talk to me like you were now: real and honest. The antagonist in me was not amused by this course of deviating action. Nor was my pacifist.
"Affliction of the soul." You confirmed plainly. "We're fucked-up, and we'd like to stay that way." You leaned forward to wink at me with that coy smile again.
"I'll have you know," I smugly declared just as plainly, as the antagonist in me went into full provocation now, and would not sit back and listen to you anymore. "I'm not planning on doing this for forever. I'm quitting one of these days. It's just until I"
You laughed loudly, even for an Italian. "Oh sure Babe, of course you are." You snickered, as the sarcasm in your voice was more apparent now. "I am too
" Your voice trailed off though, becoming distant and low once again, as if you weren't too convinced of that either. "Just not tonight, of course." Your frivolous sniggering was suddenly back again, as you took a giant, covetous swig from the bottle, winking at me in mock promise.
I looked down at our kitchen floor, ashamed: another telltale sign of mine. You were right, though. About everything, of course. I was never going to quit. I loved it too much, as did you, obviously.
It was the only thing that could take the edge off of living day to day. Nothing else could comparefor the afflicted souls, anyway.
"You know what the fucked up thing is?" You suddenly asked with telltale premonition in your tone.
I could feel the rushed dependency of being with you like this start to settle in like a warm, soft blanket before I had the sense to stop it, though your continuing hushed voice was lulling me just as sweetly and softly as before.
I could all ready feel both the pacifist and the antagonist in me throwing up their arms while brandishing their fingers at me and shaking their heads.
"We're going to be alone in our addictions. I mean, we're together, but we'll always be alone in this." You gestured to your bottle and my wrists. "Because there is no comfort for addicts. The only comfort addicts receive is that which the addiction supplies. And addictions are completely selfish and self-absorbed." Your sagacious expression pinioned me from behind in the darkness.
I could all ready hear both my conflicting sides laughing their asses off at me. "Sounds swell." I rolled my eyes in disgust. "Why do you always have to be so goddamn intense?" Another telltale sign of yours. I felt the urgency to reach for my trusty blade magnify all the more.
"That's the truth for you, darling." You were gazing off into blank space in earnest again. "It's always sadder than fiction."