Chapter 1
“You’re intoxicating.” I said lazily. Our noses were touching, and I could see the blurry outline of Martin’s bright blue eye and the side of his cheek. His cheek moved slightly as a tiny smile graced his thin lips.
“I think you mean intoxicated.” He chuckled lightly. It was one of the rare soft moments that we had together. A cool summer’s day after a light storm had sent us looking for warmth under the covers in his bed. I’d been there so many times that he had jokingly bought me a toothbrush. He accidentally picked up a toothbrush meant for children of two years old. I had laughed so much when he presented it to me. I wish I still had it now.
“No.” I whispered into his lips before lightly placing mine on his. “Intoxicating is definitely the word I meant.”
Martin was a little older, a little taller and a little wilder than me. Alright, a lot wilder than me. We had met on pure accident and his cheeky smile and striking blue eyes had pulled me in. Before I knew it, I was in his pockets every day. I enjoyed times like these when we could pretend like everything was fine, normal. I knew deep down that it wouldn’t be like this forever and I would have to return to reality shortly, but I clutched this moment so tightly I thought it might break. I breathed him in trying to feel every second of electricity from his fingertips on the small of my back and the passion in his kiss. His blonde hair was cut short but there was enough for me to run my fingers through it carefully and hold his face steady in my palm. Why couldn’t we always be this way?
Martin sat on the edge of the bed digging through his bedside table drawer. I knew what he was looking for and I sighed loudly and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see it. He’d obviously found the pills he was looking for because I felt his weight leave the mattress as he walked into the small bathroom that was just off his room. I opened my eyes and looked around the small bedroom. Some dirty clothes were piled near the door to the laundry. Martin lived in a tiled room downstairs to a large three-bedroom house. His room was built in after the house was built and opened into the laundry and garage. He had a small bathroom that had a spa bath taking up most it, a small shower, toilet, and basin. The house looked over a deserted beach that spanned for miles in both directions. We loved to go jogging together in the mornings when Martin wasn’t hungover. His housemate was rarely home which was nice as we had to go upstairs to use the kitchen and I wasn’t really in the mood to make small talk. I lived half an hour away and I tried to make our time together calm and easy because usually I was coming to collect him from the pub down the road when he’d lost all his money in a poker machine and made an arse of himself as he sloshed around the place spilling his drink. I spent a lot of time holding him while his world crashed around him as he was coming down from a nasty high or helping to nurse his hungover brain. The truth is that I was never “his” and he was never “mine”, but our love ran so deep that we were more than lovers and friends – we were each other’s anchor, saviour and undoing all in one. I looked at my reflection in the large dusty mirrors on the doors of his closet. My auburn hair was tousled after a night of sleep and love. Yesterday’s makeup was smeared below my dark eyes, and I gave my reflection a harsh eye roll. I threw the covers back and padded into the bathroom to find Martin sitting on the edge of the spa bath, waiting for the calming effect to take hold of him with his eyes closed.
“Marty?” I whispered; he raised an eyebrow in response without opening his eyes. I moved to stand in front of him and pressed my palms to his stubbled cheeks, lifting his chin slightly. His warm hands snaked around my middle and pulled me closer to him so that my breasts squeezed against his chin. He nuzzled them softly and opened his eyes to look into mine. I could see his pupils had shrunk down allowing his bright blue irises to shine as a smirk pulled at his thin lips. The oxy was kicking in. I didn’t question him; I didn’t want to fight or have him think I was trying to “control his life” as he had accused in one of our previous arguments. I sighed deeply and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. A rumbling storm in my brain that threatened to slip out in tears through my eyes as I recalled our conversation from the previous night. The one where he told me he was leaving the country and going back to his parents. The one where he sealed the expiry date of whatever this was that we were doing. I wish I’d known then what I know now and held him for so much longer than I did that day.
