Most of us come home from a long hard day at work, or a stressful day at school, and we collapse on our bed and we fall apart. We're all walking around with these broken things inside of us, and we don't know how to fix ourselves. So most of us resort to drugs, or alcohol, or sex with random strangers, or starving ourselves, or cutting. We're all addicted to something that takes away the pain.
Even I'm guilty of this. I'm addicted to many things, like good times with good friends, and the feeling I get when I haven't eaten in a few days, and the rush I get when I do something illegal, and the high the drugs give me. At least I admit it. But that doesn't mean a damn thing if I keep doing all of the bad stuff. It doesn't mean a damn thing if I'm doing lines off of the bar at Buck's, and it doesn't mean a damn thing if I'm rolling up joints in the back of the DX when I visit Soda and Steve, or when I'm drinking Jack Daniel's at seven in the morning because I have nothing better to do and I can't stand the thought of another fucking day.
"Bre, you comin' or what?" Steve asked, snapping his fingers in front of my face to get my attention. I nodded, grabbing my purse and following him out of the front door and out to his car. We drove to Buck's, where most of the gang already was. I followed Steve inside where he met up with Soda and Dallas. I stayed by the bar, watching everyone else. I always felt so god damn awkward around everyone, like I don't belong, like they don't really accept me or something.
I'm just Steve's little cousin. A little tag-along that follows him around because I don't really have any other friends. But the drugs are my friends, and that's who I like to spend time with. So I got up and walked to the bathroom, taking a joint out of my purse and lighting it up. I smoked for a bit before I popped some X and went back down to where everyone else was.
The drugs would put me in a good enough mood that I could actually socialize without feeling too obnoxious. I danced with Steve and Soda, and we laughed and had a good time. Soda and I were pretty good friends, being the same age and dropping out together. He was always easy to talk to. Steve knew I was fucked up and I knew he didn't like it, but I couldn't bring myself to care about what he thought. I danced with people I didn't know and I tried new drugs, and I was having fun. I was living.
I sat down and people watched, smiling at how good I felt, and smiling at how happy everyone was, and smiling at the fact that this was real and it was happening. Everyone was there, Blair and Audrey, and the Curtis's and Dal and Jelly, and the Cade's, and the whole gang was there having a good time. And even if I couldn't call myself part of the "family", it was still amazing to see so many people that love and care about each other so much.
I talked to Jelly and Dawn for a bit, ordering plenty of drinks and keeping myself at the peak of my high for as long as I could. I couldn't let this feeling go. I felt too good, too free. The drugs were the only reason I had friends, the only reason I wasn't still sitting at the bar like a loner. I needed the drugs, and the booze. I needed them to make my life bearable for one more night. Just one more night before I went back home to my empty bed and woke up to an alarm at some ungodly time in the morning.
xo Bre
