❝I don’t think you can keep someone you truly love at arm’s length on purpose, they’ll always end up in your arms.❞
– Holly Nicole Miller
warning: contains swearing
“They say it get betters,” I say, taking a puff of the blunt.
I got the grass from Allan (who oddly enough doesn’t like weed, but prefers drinking the liquor from his father’s cabinet).
Sidney doesn’t say anything. She sits still on my bed; her legs pushed up to her chest while her chin rests on her knees. And emotionless, she stares down at her feet . But I know she hears me, I know she’s listening.
Apparently today is the anniversary for both of our traumatic experiences.
I can’t tell you how surprising it was to hear a knock at my door at 1:00 in the morning, and seeing that it was Sidney who’d been doing the knocking. It had been no problem hearing her soft taps against my window considering I’ve been awake all fucking night.
I guess you can say me and Sidney have gotten closer to an extent, but we continue to keep each other at arm’s length.
More her than me.
“They say it gets better,” I say again, taking a seat at the small table in my room. It’s supposed to be a desk, but the broken computer chair prevents it from being an actual desk. Mom had bought the table from some neighbor’s yard sale awhile back, saying something about how doing homework in my room will make me work harder and smarter.
Hasn’t worked for me yet.
I take another puff. “They say… Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about. But what they don’t know is… it takes you alive.” I amplify the last part.
I ignore the music that’s playing from Sidney’s phone. She’d created a playlist off of youtube, I think. Cuz all she’s been playing is this sad but intense alternative music that makes me wanna cry. But I won’t.
The weed’s helping with that–keeping my emotions at bay. When Sidney first came inside through my window, I offered her some. I don’t mind sharing. But she declined and just sat on my bed, in the same position she’s in now.
“They say it happens in a lot of families,” I say, taking another hit. I feel comfy, warm… Soft like a feather. I laugh a bit before adding, “and I had to be the person it had to happen to.”
“…Fucking great,” I mumble lastly to myself. Then out of no where, do I feel this mixture of anger and rage inside me come into full affect; my head starts throbbing with pain, and I’m shaking, and my hands are trembling… I take another hit of the blunt, thinking it’ll help, but the weed doesn’t work this time.
I feel water rushing to my eyes. “I had to be the fucking person it happened to.”
I stand up. I have to appear tall in able to cope with this internal war.
The blunt’s trembling in my hands along with rest of my body. I think I’m about to hit something with my fists, like a nearby wall, until a sudden feeling of sadness settles inside me.
I unclench my hands. I continue to tremble, but the feeling of someone wrapping their arms around my torso stops the shaking and trembling altogether. I let out the air I’ve been holding in since the moment I woke up this morning.
I wrap my arms around Sidney who’s hugging me. I’m hugging her back hard. We then begin to dance slowly to the music that’s playing from her phone. We turn slowly and slowly together–holding on to each other tightly, as if we’re the anchors to one another’s wrecked ships.
No more keeping each other at arm’s length.
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A/N: Tell me what you guys think.
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