Eden

Issac

I should have planned better and gathered my thoughts but it had been months and all I was needed was to hear his voice and know that I wasn't in this whole fucking mess alone. or maybe I was and I was clinging to him because he was the only familiar thing in my fucked up life now.

My hands still shaking, I can't tell if its the drugs from last night, the alcohol or the fact that I'm here in this parking lot with everything unplanned. My mind was moving a million different ways not knowing where to settle, my mind becoming much like my life, a mess. A tangled mess that seemed unfixable everywhere I seemed to turn.

I stared at the phone, its blinking light giving me a headache, he was here.

Oh my god.

He was really here, in the flesh. Waiting for me.

Oh my god.

I shouldn't be here.

I know I shouldn't be doing this, but something makes me stay planted to the sear

Travis told me  it was a bad idea.

I  told him I wouldn't go, and I  wasn't but there was something in his voice that told me to give him a chance.

I didn't want to lie to Travis but for me it meant closure.

Travis was just a fucked as I was, but he didn't understand and I didn't expect him too.

but it wasn't his fight with my  inner demons it was mine and mine alone.

I find myself walking into the old run down coffee shop that use to give me comfort. my nose still running, my eyes still red. my hands still shaking I can't make them stop.

God why do I keep doing this to myself.

but he's sitting there, he looks at me when  I walk in the door as if he has been anxiously waiting for me.

His face mirrors the awkwardness I feel,  he stands and rubs his hands together.

We don't know each other we have never met.

but we're bonded I search my mind for a moment his name has been there.

david? no that name belongs to another.

Issacc.

I think his name is isaac he looks like an isaac, his pinched, slender features, his height and grunge style clothes tells me he's a  model with a past.

A James Dean, a Brando Marlon.

Trouble.

I walk towards the table

I reach out her hand as she walks towards him.

I'm Eden

He gives me a nervous smile.

Whatever words he wanted to say died on his lips.

We gather at the far end of the diner, cramped in a small space; our knees almost touching as we sat across from each other, he's here in my face looking how I feel.

A need for cigerette.My heart is racing, the lights are blinding and I'm coming down from my hight.

My hand are still shaking, I thrust them under the table between my legs hoping to make them stop.

"You're doing it again"

"Doing what?"

I looked towards his shaking knee with a raised eyebrow and made eye contact with him before taking a quick sip from my lukewarm bitter coffee that was contained in a cheap Styrofoam cup.

"Oh"

He smiled shyly and stopped, he shoved a long slender hand around his cup of coffee and swirled it for a moment. His other hand snaked its way through his messy locks of dark hair and his hazy green eyes focused on the clock that was above my head on the wall behind me, he smelled of cheap liquor, expensive cologne and cigarettes. He was just as nervous as I was; he only smoked when he was nervous it was a habit his brother had picked up on too.

He looked cold hunched over the seat, his eyes glazed over giving his guilty secret away he was high.

I stare at the table memorizing the patterns, the swirls in the wood ingrained in my head,maybe this was a mistake.

"It wasn't really a car accident was it?"

It was the first time in 15 minutes we had spoken, I looked up from the table and found pools of green staring into sadness of brown.

I opened my mouth to tell him the truth, but nothing came out, the words dying on my lips. "was he on drugs?"

I closed my mouth, his eyes searching for an answer. An answer we both knew I had. I swallowed hard my eyes searching for an escape. Because I could run, I could run and never face the truth. I would have to see him again, I could move, I could forget this whole thing.

"Eden" I looked back into the pools of green and sighed. "yes" the words linger in the fragile air.

Yes.

the word carried its weight around us, he sat back in the booth and covered a hand with his hand and ran it down his face, his face crumbling every centimeter his hand ran down.

"I should have been here" his voice cracked into a sob. "I should have fucking been here, but I cared about was that stupid fucking band and making it to LA" I looked away with watering eyes, trying to find more words to say, I wanted to tell him everything.

I wanted to tell him how none of this fault but mine.

I  never got a chance to tell him of the past

or at least how we had ended up in that broken city, the dirty apartment on elle street filled with bugs and grey carpet that should have been beige at some point, the carpet that was stained with the blood, the tears and the broken dreams of everyone who had ever lived there before them.

I never told him how many floors, she and her friends had scrubbed to escape that hell hole, they lived in for 3 years.

The sleepless nights, the drugs we put in our systems to fill the voids, to stop the numbness when the depths of the night seeps in our bones and we  felt like giving up.

The way I held his brother when he sat on the edge of the tub surrounded by filth and hate, digging into his skin mean words that chased him daily,  as blood flowed from his wrist dripping sadly down his arm.

It was a closed off part that even I  tried to forget.

How it was my fault the city I had dragged him to the city and watched it eat him alive.

It should have been me,  I wanted him to tell him, it should have been me. I wanted to die so bad.