I woke up and rolled over across the scratchy and crusty sofa and saw you lying on the floor naked, the side of your face pressed into a mess of your own bile and alcohol. The peeking sunlight reflected off of unfinished lines of coke adorning the table that teetered on a pile of books, inviting me with a stream of depression that pounded through my mind; while on the other side of me a bottle of vodka was seducing me with whispers of numbing beauty and ecstatic stupidity. I growled softly as I sat up rubbing my face with my hand half expecting you to be gone again when I opened my eyes, and trying to figure out what the hell you're doing here; I never expected to see your face again. I drank several shots and waited for the blur to take over, hoping to make your face a little less recognizable. I crawled up next to you and stared at you, still passed out and dreaming. I wanted to destroy you. I wanted to crush your face into the makeshift pillow of newspapers, ragged stained clothes, and beer-saturated towels.
You stirred and looked up at me; a smile was drawn across your pretty little face. You got up and tackled me to the ground, the sound of plastic crunching beneath us was soon replaced with the sound of your laughter; a sound I don't recall ever hearing before. But a silence interrupted when I forcefully pushed you off of me sending you reeling up against the wall. I got up and stumbled back to my bottle finishing off what was left of the vodka. I turned around and threw the empty bottle that exploded against the wall only inches from your head. I fell down into the couch grinding my teeth while I watched you pathetically sob in the corner.
I tossed what was left of white powder in the bag and watched you fumble with it greedily. Not long after you were wiping the tears away and looking up at me. After several minutes I reluctantly stood up and walked over to you, taking your hand I helped you back up and hugged you tight. Things never get better, and we're reminded of that every time we open our eyes after the death of another dream. And even though my hatred for you goes beyond what any words can express, and even though I would never hesitate to stab you in the back at every opportunity; you know I will always be here for you to come running to when the fear consumes you as the high fades, to care for the unbearable hangovers, and to reassure you that this is the best we will ever have.