Addicted

Email: die729go@gmail.com

Password: *************

It was mechanical. The way I walked into my room, threw my schoolbag onto the cold floor, crashed onto my bed, booted up my laptop and logged in onto Facebook.

Facebook (6)

One friend request. Five notifications.

Oh. The friend request is from some chick. She made a pouty face at the camera. There's a personal message.

Hey dahling!

Met you at the party last night. Call me!!!

xoxoxox

I ignored it. If it were yesterday, I would have accepted the request. Then called her up and gone out clubbing with her tonight. But no, it weren't yesterday. It was today. And no, it’s not just the difference of one day, it is 24 hours. And yes. It made a difference. A big difference.

I made a mental note to respond to it later, when I was in the mood. Why? Because that chick was hot, and she could hold a couple of drinks.

Notifications. Some random freaks commenting at some picture. What do I care?

Some dude posted on my wall. "Do you think Diego would ever go to jail?"

The dude answered no.

Naïve little boy. If he knew the place I was last night, if he knew what I went into my system almost every night, he wouldn't have said that.

How did this fucking happen?

I wanted to scream. But I didn't. My mother downstairs had enough to worry about already without adding a-psychotic-son-who-screamed-for-no-apparent-reason to the list.

I was thinking about my mother. Wow. I didn't know that I was still capable of sympathetic emotion.

My phone buzzed. I rolled over onto my back, fished the phone out of my pocket.

Downtown, St7, bldg 2, 9pm

The location of tonight's party. The sender was the closest thing I had to a friend in this city. Well, he would bribe the police for me if they happened to come across a drunk me. A drunk, underage me.

This city. My home, for now. Where I am supposed to be a junior at high school, preparing for medical school. But no. My routine ran like this, bunk class, drink, party and then smoke when I couldn't sleep. I mean, smoke when I can't sleep because I'm wondering what on earth I am doing with my life.

My hell of a life.

I looked at the time. 7:18pm. Still have an hour and a half before tonight's hangout. After which I would have a hangover. Over and out. Ironic. More like a play on words.

Distant memories. Grade 7. The day of the English exam. A girl, my classmate, my friend, was trying to teach me poetic devices. And me? I was cracking perverted jokes, not about the girl but about the poem in my head and convincing her to let me copy off her paper.

Wow. Coincidences. There she is. Online, right now.

Me: Wassaaap!! 7:19PM

It’s been so long since I spoke to her. I moved from the city where I met her, the city where I had friends, less than a year ago. Around ten months. More than enough time for once cell to become a living being, right about enough time for my life to take a u-turn.

JW: Long time!! Nothing much… You tell me! 7:19PM

Tell her. So much to say…

The city. I never regretted leaving there, coming here, except in those moments of sub-consciousness, before falling asleep, after waking up. That city had as much life in it as a corpse as compared to this one. The city I was in now, throbbed with life, and had so many winding, unending and dead end pathways.

‘Unending’ and ‘dead-end’ sound so wrong in a sentence together. But it made sense. If I was walking on an unending path, with no destination, no desires, no love, no life; I was at a dead end now wasn't I?

We were chatting about school, exams, those mundane topics of discussion used to fill in the gaping holes in our monotonous lives, when she said the words that became the turning point in our conversation.

JW: Chuck studies! So what else do you do? 7:29PM

I don't know why I did what I did next. People who knew me would say that it was out of character. Hell, I thought it was out of character. Because Diego has always been strong. Even back in grade school, Diego was never weak. I was the one the scrawny kids ran away from. The gangster, the bully. Nobody knew me. Except for one, maybe two people. That girl was one of them.

Maybe that's why I did what I did. Because I trusted her. Most of all, because I was tired. Sick and tired of my life. I didn't like the person I had become. I was scared of the person I had become. And so I did what I did.

What did I do? I told her. Everything. Even those nagging thoughts at the back of my head, the thoughts of being afraid of what I had become. It was hard. Putting down all those thoughts into words. It was harder when I thought that someone other than me was reading these thoughts. The thoughts which were hiding in the darkest, most private corners of my mind. But then I realized I was talking to her, and it didn't matter anymore. At least, not as much.

She didn't judge me. She accepted what I was saying. She didn't give me the 'right path' lecture. She said that it was okay to be having fun. She didn't tell me that it was wrong; she asked me what I thought. I told her what I thought.

She might have been shocked but she didn't show it. Or maybe it didn't surprise her. Thought she knew me. Nobody's above presumptions, I suppose. But… I thought she knew me.

Probably the fact that I was saying all this was more shocking than the actual event. Hard to believe that Diego was kneeling, confessing, feeling remorse.

Wait. She's seen me like that already. She's seen me, Diego, in tears. Back in the days the hard exterior covered a softer, even nice interior. But now, I felt that it was gone. I was not a good person. Not anymore.

I told her that.

JW: You are a good guy, I know it's been a while but I knew you. And besides, if you can say this about yourself it kind of means you are a good guy… At least according to me…

Wow. She believes. Believes in me. Been a while since someone did that. It feels… Nice. I was shocked at the wetness on my cheeks. Thought I was stronger than that.

It sucked. What all I had done, it sucked. Because I have never thought that drinking and smoking is right. I still don't. I just do it. And the part of me that doesn't like it, just watches me as I kill myself. No, not through lung cancer or liver damage. I kill myself in my mind. Every time I down a shot, I die a little bit. And I didn't care. Except in those dark corners of my consciousness, which were now not that dark anymore. I felt exposed, helpless, naked.

Now I stripped off my skin.

Me: I know I can talk to you anytime, that's the reason why I told you all this. No one else even knows that these thoughts exist. I trust you because I know you are a friend.

And then I laid my heart at her feet.

Me: I know you are a true friend. I don't have people like you over here.

And no. she didn't shy away. She didn't accidentally-on-purpose step on my heart. Nope. No chance.

She stuck by me and said that the distance didn't change our friend ship in any way.

JW: Thanks…

I guess she was a little flustered… So cute.

Me: Oh please…

That probably didn't help. So I changed the topic. Asked her what's up with her. She said she was messed up.

Me: You were never messed up.

She wasn't. Ever. She had always been strong. Like a warrior. A fighter, not a follower.

Maybe I never got to know her the way she knew me. Maybe I never paid her as much attention as she did me.

***

I'd like to say that I haven't picked up a cigarette since that day. I'd like to say that I blew off the parties and had a maximum of one or two drinks since that day.

But I can't, because I'm sick of lying to myself. Nothing's changed. Well, almost. I didn't go to the party that night. Went for a walk on the streets instead. Thought about my old life and my new one. Thought about her, a lot. Fantasized about crushing her lips with mine, taking her in my arms.

I walked with my hand in my pocket, clutching a pack of cigarettes. Around 12 am, before turning into the street that led to my house, I did what I had to do. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise. I took out a cigarette, lit it, and raised it to my lips.