Drunken Lips

Something is buzzing and ringing next to me. I'm fully aware that I'm not dreaming it, but my mind is having a hard time waking up. Eventually I have the screaming object quieted and pressed to my ear.

"Hello?" I mumble in my sleep-voice.

"Elika? It's me. Brad."

I run my hand over my face in an attempt to wake up. Why was one of John's roommates calling me at--I look at the clock--three in the morning?

"I know I probably woke you up," he continued, "but John, uh, kind of needs some help."

My mind woke up a little bit more. "What kind of help?"

"He's drunk."

"How drunk is drunk?" I demanded, almost fully awake now.

"He's--hold on," there was a muttering in the background, then I heard John yell, "Elika! Hi! Where have you been? I miss your faaaaaaaaace."

I let out a sigh, then asked Brad, "When did he start drinking again? Was tonight the first time? When did he get home?"

Brad's voice got an air of annoyance, "I don't know, okay? Can you please just come help me out? No one else is here and I have a test tomorrow."

I let out a sigh, not appreciating his getting annoyed with me, and told him that I'd be there in a few minutes. I got out of bed and pulled on shorts and a bra, not really caring what I was wearing. It had been over a week since I spoke to John; we didn't really have much to do with each other after he talked me down from the edge. And, since then, I'd sort of just avoided him like the plague. He'd seen me far more vulnerable than anyone else ever had, and that was not something I would be reminded of.

I left the dorms and arrived to the on-campus apartments in just a few minutes. Their door was unlocked, so I just let myself in. They were in the kitchen, and I could just barely make out John's mess of brown hair leaning against the cupboards.

"They can't tell me I got that question wrong!" he yelled at Brad. "It's f*****g ridiculous, man, I studied."

Brad just nodded along, pretending that he either knew or cared about what John was saying. I knocked on the side of the wall, bringing their attention to me. Brad looked extremely relieved.

"She's here," John said, looking me up and down, his frown disappearing the more he looked at me.

"Bedtime for drunky," I said to him, easily hoisting him up and slinging his arm around my shoulder. "Pull out couch?"

Brad nodded, "All ready."

I repositioned John and began bringing him into the living room; he was oddly easy to handle. He was quiet and just went with it, his eyes trained on my face the entire time. Usually he would argue and tell me that I couldn't tell him what to do. I got him to lay down on the pull out couch before turning back to Brad.

"Is it okay if I just stay out here all night with him? He's acting differently."

"Yeah, of course." Brad went into his room and closed the door, leaving me to be a babysitter.

John laid on the bed, his eyes still fixated on me. I sighed, knowing what I would have to do to get him to sleep. Climbing into bed with him, I pulled John close. He wrapped his arms around my waist and put his head on the crook of my hip. My fingers ran through his messy brown hair, like I was petting a dog, as I lay my head back. This was the standard I had set when we dated; when John got drunk, I would let him fall asleep curled up to me. He loved it. He always said that it made him feel like a small child being held by a loving angel.

"Why did you actually come?" he slurred.

"Brad called me and said you needed me."

"I don't need anyone; I didn't think you would actually come."

"Okay."

"That means you can leave."

"Okay." I didn't move.

We sat in silence for such a long time, I'd thought he'd fallen asleep; but, every so often, he would move to look at my face, then back down. When he did it for the fourth time, I finally asked him, "What? Is my hair a mess?"

"No," he muttered.

"Then what is it?"

"You're gorgeous."

Without missing a beat I told him, "You're drunk."

John shook his head, "I think you're gorgeous all the time."

I let out a sigh, "I reiterate: you are drunk, John."

He let out a dreamy sigh, "Gosh, your skin always tasted so good."

I paused completely: my breathing caught, my hand stopped moving, and I just stared down at John. Did he really just say that?

"Like vanilla and honey," he continued. "Gosh, I miss that taste."

I didn't say anything. If I did, it would just provoke him to continue on to something worse. John shouldn't be telling me things like this; he shouldn't bring up the past like that.

He moved so that he was laying on his back, his brown eyes watching me. The tips of his fingers reached up and grazed the bottom of my hair. "Your hair always smelled like vanilla, too. But it looked like honey; is that coincidence?"

I swallowed and shook my head, forcing out an "I don't know."

His hand moved higher into my hair, reaching near the sensitive place on the back of my neck. "Sometimes I remember every aspect of our relationship. I remember so much, Ela."

I turned my face so that my bangs were covering my face.

"Do you remember the first time?"

I nodded my head slightly. I remember it perfectly. It was early in the morning, after he'd gotten off of work. He'd come to my dorm, like I'd asked, and laid down with me. Eventually I woke up, mainly because of him, and we started to make out. Things just escalated from then on.

John's fingertips brushed the skin on the back of my neck, causing me to gasp out. He slowly started to put pressure on my neck, guiding my face down to his without much fight or rejection. John arched his back so that he was leaning up a little, closing distance between our lips. Without touching, my lips tingled; I could only imagine what it would be like to kiss him again.

Again.

"No," I whispered suddenly. "John, you're drunk. If we do this, you will regret it afterwards. Especially when you're sobered up in the morning."

We stayed how we were for a moment longer, our lips just centimeters away from each other. His hand retracted back and a small smile was on his face before he rolled back into his original position. I turned my head to look away from him and rested it back on the couch.

Time passed and John fell asleep. Looking down at him, I realized that I was the biggest idiot that could have ever met John.