rehabilitation. [heroin, pt. 3.]

2/24/10.

It has been six months now,
six months since I took my last hit.
It was a heated August day, when we sat together
on the rooftop of a parking garage.
You draped your arm across my shoulder
as you inhaled your stick of nicotine.
I sipped timidly on a water bottle of vodka,
and I turned away from you.
Body language speaks louder than any words
that you and I could have said.
This time, it was different.
This time, you held onto me,
and my heart remained as cold as stone.
You whispered to him that I’m a tease,
and you knew it would only encourage me to
take on more, take in as much as I could.
You made my heart flutter,
and my adrenaline rush.

That night we slipped into a concert,
some hardcore concert that interested you.
I sat at the table,
while you lost yourself in the crowd.
No matter if we were in the same building,
you were always a little too far away from me.
What you didn’t know, was that the other boy
that we came with was kissing me.
My heart was his, and none of us knew.
My body remained yours, however,
and when you returned to the table,
both of you put a hand on my thigh.
Both slid higher, dug your nails into my flesh.
And neither knew the other was there.
I was losing myself in this intoxication,
losing myself past a point of return.
You made my heart flutter,
and my adrenaline rush.

Before we left, you stopped,
pulled me close in a corner.
You pressed me gently against the wall and kissed me.
It felt wrong, but I only needed more.
When we took you home that night,
you kissed me for the last time.
It was the first time our tongues touched,
and it would be the last.
I overdosed that night.
I realized I needed to move on,
I had had as much as I could take.
This time, it wasn’t you who ran.
This time, it was me who left you
for someone else, someone better.

My addiction is over,
and you no longer
make my heart flutter,
or my adrenaline rush.