Too long, too slow, the night wears on—I want out, to be gone; to disappear, to be free. Instead, I’ll find her. She always saves me.


I stumble out from under my lonely sheets, fingers stretching into the night. I know she’ll come.
She has to.

* * * * *

Drip. Drip.
Two.

* * * * *

Soon, she does.
Her bittersweet metallic flavor fills my mouth, thoughts, heart. Her acid seeps through my veins. The night disappears. Together, we defeat it.
My sheets aren’t so lonely anymore, but the beads of sweat clinging to the arch of my back are making my eyes water. I stand.
“Honey, don’t go,” she giggles at me, but I only crack a sliver of a smile and stagger to the bathroom, checkered tile floor cooling my too warm heels. I grab at the wall trying to find the elusive light switch, however, when the fluorescent flicker on, my eyes burn. I turn them off.
Back on and I blink until I can see. Everything glows. The striped wallpaper glitters and crawls like ten thousand tiny beetles. The candle has a filmy rainbow halo like the people from the painted ceiling of the Catholic church on 9th street.
I turn to the mirror. My eyes are dark, pupils like trash can lids, I can’t stop shaking. I grip the sink, finger warm, burning holes in porcelain. I let the faucet run, water spilling down the drain, meet my own dark eyes again. Grin.
My teeth are glowing. My face is glowing. I run my tongue over my lips, savoring their warm saltiness. Life is great, she is great, I am great.
I am on top of the
WORLD.
I lick my lips again, flick the lights off and return to lie with her. She is glowing, illuminating my cheeks, leaving trails on my vision.
“I love you,” I whisper, burying my face in her sharp scent.
“I love you too, honey.”
I smile once more into the dark, tongue dry, goose bumps covering my arms.

* * * * *



She leaves me early that morning. It’s agony when she leaves, but she always does. Today is no different.


I’m exhausted from the lack of rest but I know I wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while. I have a warm feeling, an afterglow perhaps. Dry mouth and tremors have taken over my body.


I try to recall the night’s events, but like every time, everything is blurry. It’s been months since I could clearly remember my times with her. She tells me it’s because I’m so focused on the moment; I forget to try to remember it.


I want to go outside. This room is too small.


The sun shines too bright off the sidewalk and into my eyes. I squint.


“Danny! Hey!” A friend of mine shouts from across the street. I sigh. I’m too tired to handle his optimism. I wave, hoping he doesn’t come talk to me.


He comes to talk to me.


“Hey, Danny! It’s been too long since I’ve seen you! How is therapy?” He practically whispers the last question as though he didn’t want to ask. And he shouldn’t. I didn’t need therapy. I never did, and I never will.
“I didn’t go.” His eyes change like tiny moon chameleons. “I didn’t need it. Now, I have somewhere to be, so…”
“I—Okay. See you, Danny.” He turns, shuffles back across the street.

* * * * *

It’s night, too soon. Too soon. Without her, life is gray, dull, bland, like stale cereal. I can’t live without her.
The room is too dark, too cold, too empty. Any warm feeling is gone. I am lost only in my thoughts of her, flashbacks to times with her. I have to be with her.
I look for her. I have to escape the night. She must come. She always does. I find my little bottle, like eye drops. She’s going to come.
Nothing comes out. It’s empty. I’m empty. She won’t come. I’m trembling. How can I find her?
My fingers shake, tiny earthquakes. I fumble through my drawer to fins my phone, scroll through my contacts until I see her face, all teeth, warm eyes.
I can’t call—I haven’t paid my phone bill in three months.
I grab all the coins in my wallet, stumble down the stairs, run across the street to the pay phone. I have $1.65 in change. I punch her number into the grimy keypad.
It rings. Once, twice, three times. Four.
She’s not going to pick up. She said she loved me. She’s leaving me. She’s not going to pick up.
“Hello?” She answered. My words are clinging to my tongue. “Hell-ooooooo?”
“…Where are you? I need you.”
“Danny? “ She sounds upset. Why is she upset? “Danny?”
“Why are you upset?”
“Danny—I—You can’t keep doing this Danny.” She sighs. “It’s over. It’s been over for four months. Stop calling me every time you get sober and can’t get out. It’s over.” Click.


She said—She said she loved me. Did she? She…


I stagger back to my apartment. There has to be more. There has to be. I grab the bottle. Nothing. I have nothing. No one.


I have another bottle.


I trip on the way to the bathroom, but get there. I fling open the cabinet.
I’m clenching the small glass bottle in shivering fingers.

* * * * *

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Five.

* * * * *

Soon. I go back to my room. Where are the pictures? She was lying. I have proof. They’re in a box. Under my bed. Under my bed. Here. I rip open the box. Photographs spill out. I grab the top one.
March 26th, 2014. Five months ago.
Another. Four months ago.
Another. Five months ago.
They’re all old. The most recent one is from four months ago. We need to take more pictures together. No. There are no more pictures together. I don’t want to see anymore. I have to find her. I can’t find her. I have to.
I know where her apartment is. That’s where she is. She’s close. I can run there.
I run there. She’ll be there. My vision is glowing, moving, like a ghost. My body is cold.
I’m outside her door. She must be here. The door is locked. I slam my back against the door. It laughs at me. I laugh at it. I slam against it again. It cracks. The crack shivers. I shiver. I’m cold. I have more goose bumps. I slam against her door again. It breaks. I laugh. It doesn’t.
Her room is empty. It’s dark. Where is her furniture? The floor shimmers, a swimming pool of linoleum. Where’s her worn blue bedspread? The small wooden chair she loved so much? I hear her laughter on the balcony. I’m there, peering into the night.
She is not. I look down to the busy street below. She’s on the sidewalk. She’s giggling, beckoning me to join her. I want to join her. I climb over the handrail. My toes barely cling onto the edge of the building. The granite cuts them. She’s smiling. I smile. I jump. She laughs.
I’m moving fast. The cars below aren’t moving as fast as me. The lights around me leave rainbow trails. I’m cold. I laugh. She laughs. I’m about to be with her. She fades into the sidewalk. I hit the sidewalk.