Whoever said all good things come to an end is an idiot. Sure, things ebb and flow like the tide, but they don’t disappear completely, right? I hope I’m right. Finn makes the hand signal for “Let’s go for a rollie” and we head to the smoking area, now flooded with morning light. It flicks a switch in me. I’m turning off. Shutting down. Game over. Knockout. Exhausted.
“Carla?”
“Hmm?”
“You want the rollie or not?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.” I take the rollie from Finn and have a long, hard drag. I cough, but I’m not embarrassed. I’m tired, but still pretty high. “I can’t believe it’s fucking daylight. What have we been doing all night?”
“Having a blinder, tiger!”
“I think we did all right.” My lips curl upward.
“All right? You fucking loved it.”
“I did.”
A strange look pans across Finn’s face, serious and calculating. Do I look rough? Is my mascara gothed? Do I look like I should be in a body bag after staying up all night? I search his face for clues, then duck my head into my knees, hiding, but he touches my cheek, turns me to face him, kisses me.
We walk home, full of our own majesty. King and Queen of London, England, United Kingdom, World, Universe. As we amble across the bridge, the river stretching out for ever either side of us, I feel like I’m flying. Not crazy LSD “I can fly!” nonsense but, I don’t know, just happy and soaring in some other place. Some secret place where it all makes sense. A parallel universe, but better. So much better… I feel confident, pretty, and I have the guy. Un-fucking-believable. This is amazing!
I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want to stop being this girl. The beautiful girl in the foreground, not a smudge of paint in the background. Health damages be damned! New friends, new experiences, this new life: it’s going to be a masterpiece.
I wonder if the London Eye is moving. It can’t be. Must be the drugs playing tricks. We’re hand in hand, me silent and him singing “Water” by Traction:
Like a breaker I could carry you, thrill you, together we’d ride. Or I could draw you under, let you drown in my depths. Fill your lungs with me, drink me in and never leave.
I do have to go home though, don’t I? I have to sneak in, at least be there. It won’t matter if I’m not very vocal later, as long as I make an appearance. Anyway, Mum will probably be shopping/working overtime/on a business trip/networking/researching/generally not around. Delete as appropriate. Finn lends me his old iPod so I can listen to some tunes if I can’t get to sleep. I hope to be comatose in the near future but, although my body is tired and empty-feeling, my mind is still click-click-clicking…
Finn.
Finn.
I did coke.
I did pills.
Have I damaged myself? Don’t think about that…
Think about Finn…