Page 81 of Am I the Only One

“Maybe just a little bit.”

“No maybe about it. You’re gone.”

“Like it’s such a bad thing to be gone,” I say, and I can’t tell if the words are actually coming out as slowly as they seem to be or if it’s just in my head.

“What do you want to be gone from?”

With all walls down and no more inhibitions, I latch on to his question as if the more I think about it, the more sober I’ll become. But he’s right, I’m entirely stoned and that thought alone makes me laugh. “This is so not me.”

“What? You getting blasted?”

“You do realize I could probably lose my license for this. At least, I think. I mean...I don’t really know, but it seems plausible,” I ramble, wondering if I’m making any sense.

He then picks up the pen with a huge smile on his face and holds it back out for me to take. “What’s one more hit then?”

I reach out, but he pulls it back, teasing me, and when I lift my bottom up off the seat to get closer, he pulls it back again. His playfulness causes me to laugh and stumble over my feet. He’s quick to move, grabbing my arms and guiding my fall so I land next to him on the couch. Giggles erupt out of me, and I’m not just stoned—I’m stupid stoned.

When I look over at Luca, he wears a straight face, and it silences my laughter as I meet his mood. “Why so serious?”

“Because I’m waiting for you to answer me.”

One of his hands is still on my arm as he slides it down to my wrist. The touch should feel awkward, but, truth is, it doesn’t. “What was the question?”

“What do you want to be gone from?”

I lose myself in his gentle voice, and give him the honesty that only sobriety has the power to keep secret. “Everything—life ... the campaign ...”

“You seem sad, and I’m not just talking about now. Every time I come here to talk to you, I feel like I make you sad.”

I look into his eyes and wonder if I’m really that transparent or if he’s just that intuitive. No longer able to poise myself, I freely admit, “Life is hard right now, and I doubt anyone would understand. It’s just ... I feel really alone.”

“Do I make you feel alone?” he questions, closing a bit of the space we have between us.

It’s hard to tell if he’s the cause of the heavy beating in my chest or if it’s the pot. Either way, its thumps make my senses hyperaware. His hand on my wrist, which is keeping me close to him; his cologne I’m breathing, which is a stark contrast to Tripp’s; the fluttering in my stomach, which is reminiscent of the butterflies I thought died long ago.

Maybe they were, and it’s Luca who just brought them back to life.

With one hand still on my wrist, his other touches my cheek and slides back into my hair. If I weren’t so high, I’d push him away, stand, and tell him he should go. But I am high, so when he pulls me toward him and kisses me, I don’t resist. My eyes fall shut as he moves his lips with mine. My head dip dives as if I’m on a roller coaster. I’m spinning within my inebriation, floating freely all the way up to cloud nine where there are no doubts or regrets, only euphoria.

I’m so far from reality, doped up and beyond aroused that a single touch feels like a million, overwhelming me. So many sensations engross me that I don’t even realize my frenzy until I open my eyes to find I’ve already tossed his shirt across the room.

His mouth is all over me, dissolving the already blurred lines. We move at a rapid pace, frantic for any kind of comfort we can get in our shared heartbreak. My hands fumble with his belt, and as one second slips into another, I shove his pants down and let him finish tugging them off his legs.

It’s hard to tell if Luca is my painkiller or the dope I smoked, either way, I don’t care.

It’s a maniacal time warp, and before I know it, we’re naked and he’s nestled between my open legs, slipping a condom on. My soul screams when I grab his hips, urging him to move faster, and he does, thrusting himself inside me. The pleasure is heightened to the nth degree. I’m a myriad of sensations as we move eagerly with each other, and I swear I’ve never felt more alive as I do now.

Through the fog of lust and gratification, I hear the door slamming against the wall. Flashes blind me, and I pinch my eyes shut, but Luca keeps moving. Hysteria combusts inside me, and I don’t know what’s happening.

“Kiss me,” he demands, and within the chaos, I do, all the while losing my grip on reality.

What the hell is happening?

Suddenly, there’s no more weight on top of me—no more heat, no more pleasure.

Opening my eyes, my vision distorts, and it takes a few seconds to form any semblance of clarity. When I somehow manage to clear the haze, I’m met with a nightmare.

Another flash blinds me momentarily, and as soon as I realize what’s going on, I go stone-cold sober.

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