Waiting at your house on a Friday night soon ticked into a Saturday morning that smelt of stale cigarette smoke and restlessness. Somewhere between three or four and crazed hours on the internet, I heard your footsteps and your keys and I ran behind the door to listen and wait like an obedient cat. And for what seemed to be the longest time, all I heard were the fumbling of keys, metal scratching against metal, your hand slamming against the grilles.
I know there are days where you catch me and it’s you doing the catching most of the time because I’m amazingly incompetent at picking myself up. But that morning I found a large, warm body slipping and crashing into my personal space that I couldn’t catch in time.
The bathroom was further than I remembered it to be. On the way to there to clean you up, your elbow met my jaw, your arms snaked around my neck too tightly and your mouth found my collarbones; and I remembered how out of control you can you be. I wonder if it felt the same when I turned on the showers in your face, if you felt trapped, if you felt the exact confusion and betrayal of reality when all you wanted was someone to say it’s okay. Trying to sleep is difficult but waking up is much harder. I wanted to assure you that it will be okay, but I noticed blood swirling down the drain and I realised my nose was bleeding. It must have been when you tried to grab the showers out of my hand and you hit my nose instead. Sopping it up at the basin, I also see a hint of a bruise forming at the bottom of my jaw. The last time I woke up from a stupor, you told me all I gave you were scratches down your arms and across your chest. I think maybe you win this round.
Maybe there’s something about two bad people who want to make each other good, especially if they really try to be good kids in the end. But sometimes, the tiny creatures come out to play and everyone gets thrown off track. After putting you to bed, I spent the remnants of morning drinking and smoking on your couch while you slept. And I crawled into bed only when you woke up saying sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, please come back to bed. I asked, how much did you have; you slurred, I forgot but it was one too many and I was just trying to forget some things.
Okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. We all fuck up.
There were ten thousand things elapsed that morning, but drunk people never understand what they do or say; so I tucked it at the back of my head and prayed that you’ll never say it especially when you’re sober. I showed you my purple bruise when we woke up in the afternoon and had cereal in bed. You tried to kiss it better. I smiled.