Stage Dive, drug infested story of sex and death Options

[PurpleDaze112]

This is a story about some chicks inlove, doing drugs, adn the inevitable death of one of rthe lovers. Please give me feedback if you read it. As harsh as you can get.

Stage Dive

I stood very casually at the edge of her bed. Among the IV tubes and heart monitors, I looked dirty. I could tell by the way the nurse pushed their patients a little faster, mothers held their newborns a little closer. I could feel a little macabre smile come to my face, like I was saying Don’t worry, women. I’m clean. So clean I’ll make you jealous, pour more bleach into the wash, put more Mr. Clean on the floor. That type of thing normally made me laugh, but not today. I was too sad today to laugh, or smile, or f**k again.

She looked very thin beneath the sheets. Very, very thin, more than herself, more than me. Not the sexy, wiry way it normally was, but a scary, unfed, hungry way. Her hair was limp and wet hanging down her shoulders and chest to fan out onto the mattress. I used to comb it at night, until its waves were totally straight and then sink my nose into the deep black to smell her shampoo. But that was a long time ago. Under her eyes was purple. The lids had grown so narrow I could see her eyes moving back and forth. I held the metal bed frame, it looking like a cage to hold her in. Squeezed it, very softly. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t know the bed resting girl in front of me, the one with a pale liquid being shoved into her arm and was too dead even to speak know I was there. I couldn’t see her on the bed. She was the ethereal one, with a name like God, always capital and so holy you can’t write it down. My baby, the Alpha and the Omega. Something about her was so unreal and I couldn’t pin it down. Only when I touched her and we would feel each other’s skin just to taste the salt I knew. This room was taking my breath and hers until I couldn’t see, the fluorescent lights blending with the power cords and tubes. I took it, for her, until I couldn’t anymore. It turned out only one of us could live.

Outside it was sunny. I didn’t like that. I wanted it to be raining, pouring outside so everyone would know that someone was dying. That’s what they say, right? When someone you love dies it rains because the angels are crying. I pressed my fingers into my arms, feeling my veins and the leather there. But what if you don’t believe in angels? What if your God dies? I closed my eyes and stood there outside the hospital. People were leaving and coming, some never to come home again. They would die in that sterilized refugee camp, with no one but a nurse waiting to punch in her timecard to hold them. A man pulled into the lot, jumping out of his car almost before it was parked, running towards a woman and a little girl with a scarred face and burns. The man was Asian, the woman was black, and the girl was a mixture of them both with the slanted eyes and dark brown skin. He kissed the woman on her forehead and kneeled to look in the girl’s face. She didn’t do anything, just stepped into his arms and held him tight. I watched them doing this, but no one noticed the too skinny kid on the steps. Before long the three left, him carrying the girl and her reaching into her pocket. Car keys, probably. I breathed to myself, letting the hot air sink into my lungs. Their happiness was too much for me, so I left.

I don’t know the area around the hospital, so I went to the bus stop. I hate taking the bus. It pushes you to one side and crowd you on another, unitl you almost fall on someone’s lap. When we had to go somewhere that was too far to walk, she let me sit on her lap. I said no at first, but she just shook her head. She’d tell me I’m skinnier than her, so sit down. I would, and we’d make out until we reached our stop, no one caring that it was two girls who kissed. Two girls, holding hands like kindergarteners like to draw. Today I was by myself. There was a girl standing there too. She was about twenty one, smoking a blunt. There were dreads snaking down her back and she wore a low slung pair of drainpipes. “Fallon, that you? Where’s Laleh?” Olivia Kaley, our dealer. She smoke, I shot up. I shrugged. “Dying.”