The leather belt tightens around my upper arm and you tug it with your teeth as you secure the buckle. You trail your fingers down my arm, leaving goosebumps in your wake as you curl a hand around my wrist, holding it down to the table. You prod with your other hand at the crook of my outstretched arm, feeling for my pulse and flashing me a quick smile that makes a vein in my arm jump as my heart falters.
When the needle bites into my skin, I whimper, and you look up, the intensity in your eyes softening, our noses brushing before you close the distance between our lips, sliding your tongue into my mouth as you press the syringe down.
And then the crook of my arm is stinging, and you lick away the filament of blood sliding down my skin, kissing the inside of my elbow, before unwrapping the belt from my arm and tying it around yours.
You move quickly, routinely, confidently, your eyes dancing in anticipation as you flick the vial of the syringe in your hand, turning it upside down; and through half-closed lids I watch you shoot up. Your head falls back in ecstasy, a low moan escaping your lips as the drugs infiltrate your blood, and then your mouth is on mine and my veins are singing and I don’t know if it’s because of you or the heroin but I’m hot, burning, and I need you closer, closer, closer.
We’re a tangle of hair and sweat and skin, and your hands are on my thighs moving upwards, inwards, scratching desire into my flesh, your fingers digging into my hips. I’m gasping, my heart racing as you nibble at my neck, leaving a tiny trail of kisses and bruises.
I love you, I say, and then you’re inside me and you’re panting into my ear that you love me too, you love me irrevocably, brilliantly, endlessly: you love me, you love me, you love me, you love me.
When I wake up, my head is pounding and my heart is in my throat and my mouth is full of cotton. I croak out your name and you stir beside me, rolling over, slinging an arm around me and kissing me sloppily. When you ask if I liked it, I look into your eyes, clouded but gorgeous, and admit that I like you more. You laugh and fall asleep on my shoulder, your fingers intertwined with mine, and I stare at the ceiling and marvel at the sensations in my body, coiling in my stomach, warming my toes.
I throw out all your needles when you leave two months later, and when you knock on my door as I’m getting ready for bed, your eyes bright and your voice slurred and traces of white powder on your upper lip, a dizzy blonde hanging onto your arm, asking if you can spend the night on my couch, I shut the door, tears stinging my eyes, and dig my nails into my palms till I bleed.