We're fucking on my bed in my room, broken glass and empty Doritos wrappers everywhere, my green and purple dinosaur socks laying on the floor, looking up at me with their sad and accusing little faces. The TV is on, mute; Buffy rerun.
Later, when it's darker and I'm sitting on the edge of the bed and rolling a joint, he just lays there with his arms behind his head and stares at me for a long time. I ignore him. There's a bruise on my thigh that looks purple in the twilight but it's actually a deep brown, blood in my mouth that isn't mine. The clock on the wall counts down to nothing relentlessly. I can hear him breathing behind me, slow and steady for a while but rough and uneven as time passes, and then nothing. I light up the joint.
I'm shaking. I drop the joint three times, burning a hole in the bed sheets. Smoke, the smell of old come and dirt and blood. Whole eras pass, and then: "Stiles?"
"What are you doing here?" I ask, inhaling. I'm kind of high already. I'm basically falling through planets.
"What do you want?" he asks. It's endless.
I'm aching, ruined. It hurts to even lift the joint to my lips and my lungs splinter when I inhale and this is all his fault, really. He did this to me; ruined me and left me for dead, made me need him and miss him when he's not here or this or whatever this is, we are. I turn to look at him.
He smiles, that nasty awful evil horrible smile; blunt white teeth, thin lips peeled back, and revulsion slithers through me but my limp dick twitches anyway. Something buzzes through the air, through me. I feel uneasy.
I guess I really did like him for a while, saw something I thought I wanted (or maybe couldn't have?), but that seems like it happened to someone else, somebody who isn't me. Time passes and people change, or they don't change and things just aren't the same and nobody knows why. Now things are just bloody and toxic and when it's late at night and dark and I can't sleep I think of all the terrible things we do together and just try to remain intact.
He's still staring at me with that terrible grin on his face. Like he'd like to kill me or something, now, take me out into the woods and fuck my corpse under the full moon. I swallow nothing, lift the joint to my lips and wince. Whatever.
"What do you want?" I ask quietly, smoke everywhere.
"What am I doing here?" he asks.