Jon sat there, crouched on the ground. His arms wrapped around his knees as he pulled them tighter into himself. His chin tucked over them like he was trying to disappear into his own center. Jon didn’t know what to do anymore. All he could do was rock in place, mumbling to himself as he stared at it.
He knew he shouldn’t do it. He knew he shouldn’t have gone to him. He knew he should have just stayed home, where it was safe. Where he knew everything that could possibly happen. Where everything was predictable. But he couldn’t help it. He went because he couldn’t not go. It was scary how similar the two were. Him and it.
His hands constricted closely, his knuckles white with the strain as he replayed the words over and over in his head. “Fuck... just.. go...” His eyes closed as he tried to erase the last 24 hours from his head but all he could see was him looking away again. Faced with his back for probably the last time, Jon couldn’t forget it if he tried and fuck, he was trying so hard.
“Clearly you’re happy without me.” How could he possibly think that was true? Happiness began with his smile. Safety started in his hands. Comfort existed in his arms. Happy without him? Jon didn’t know how to breathe without thinking of him. His heart didn’t beat without the rhythm of his name. He didn’t know how to exist knowing that this was the end.
This was it. Exactly what he feared, dreaded and now reluctantly accepting as the inevitable end. This was always going to happen. This was preordained. This was simply meant to be. He tried to explain. He tried to tell him. He said he was scared of being broken and staying that way. Not being able to piece himself together. To rebuild his strength, his resolve, his will to fight against temptation..It just... wasn’t there anymore. There wasn’t a point anymore. He didn’t want to be strong. He didn’t want to be better. He didn’t want to be whole. Not if it meant he had to feel.
He didn’t know when he stopped pulling away and started reaching for it. There was no one moment when he felt his eager hands reach out or his legs crawling over but there he was. It was gripped between his trembling fingers, The thinnest layer of powder coating his skin, filling the cracks and ridges of his finger prints and he hesitated for a second. If he did this, then it was all for nothing. He said he changed. He said he didn’t need it. He said he moved on.
There was no time wasted on straight pristine lines of white stretched across the silver glass of a mirror. There was no rolled up dollar bill, crystal straw or metal spoon. There was no misaligned glamour in bringing the pathetic plastic bag up to his nose. There was only a sharp inhalation of breath followed by a stark burning light searing his brain that immediately scorched along his nerves.
Jon sat there, crouched on the ground. His head too heavy as he collapsed to the floor. His cheek rubbed against the rough threads of the carpet like they would scrub him raw. Jon didn’t know what to do anymore. All he could do was breathe unsteadily, thinking to himself that their apartment smelled like crushed flowers, failed wishes and him.
