drunken honesty

I remember between us, we never were honest with each other unless we both drank our cognac because the only thing we shared in common was our inept ability to be each others' everything.

In jumbled up lettering, I would get her messages at 4am asking me where I was - "wehre aer yu?". I would write back saying that I was at the same club that I had told her earlier. I was on the cognac, her stumbling fingers that texted that message told me that she was on it too. She'd write back with a terse, simple "wyh theere?"I left the club and went to where I knew she was. I found her hunched over sitting on the sidewalk, alone, head on her lap, convulsing, trying to throw up - a stark contrast to the beautiful white dress she was wearing. I sat down beside her and held her in. She laid her head on my lap, "b, I'm here" I said.

We stumbled to the cab stand and took a taxi home. From there we spilled into each other like our moments of relapse. She was my beauty, she was my ugly. She was my ecstasy, she was my comedown. She was my high, she was my hangover. We were each other's redemption, but also each other's pusher - whichever vice we took, we took our hits together.  It was always shot for shot with her as we would always push each other to our mutual demise - hand in hand, at least we'll go together. We were addicts to each other, but slaves to ourselves.

I cleaned her up and put her in bed. Already sleeping on the ride home, she continued her blissful comedown as we arrived at her flat. As I closed her bedroom door behind me, she muttered a barely audible "thank you" that just seeped out of her closed lips. I came back to kiss her on her forehead as I later took a cab back to my own flat. The next morning I get a text, "what happened last night?" as she honestly did not remember.