We’re Used To That

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Cough.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Cough.

Splutter.

Spasm.

Juddery exhale.

I really hated that shit.

I always made it a point to make sure that I fell asleep before her around that time, because otherwise it was an insurmountable battle to sleep through her disgusting nocturnal noises. Turning over to her I could see her modest and bare chest rising and falling, then rising, shuddering, and falling again. It seemed that every other breath was a fight for her, trying to wrestle the air from some unseen entity that wanted her dead. She’ll lose eventually. Sick of waiting to see who’d win this time, I rolled her onto her side and climbed out of bed, pushing my way through the layer of stained and ugly clothes on the floor I finally made it to the sitting room and threw myself down onto the remains of my sofa.

I didn’t need to sleep that night anyway, didn’t excuse the noise she insisted on providing, but still. I felt around blindly to see if there was anything to keep me entertained until Mason came back. I eventually found a somewhat battered spliff, which got me moderately excited until the realisation hit me that I had nothing to light the damn thing with. With nothing else for it I started groping in-between the cushions of the sofa to see if I could find a lighter. I found many things. Loose change, bottle caps, cigarettes, old photos and some shit bits of jewellery. All useless crap, until I eventually found what, at one point during its existence, was a white lighter, though at that moment it seemed to be carrying the scars of a lifetime of abuse and servitude. After flicking it into life, and being surprised that it still worked, I lit up my spliff and tossed the lighter back into my room. It still had some use yet.

As I took a drag, and let the smoke start to burn away all the tension in my body, the bittersweet melancholy that came to me often when I was on my own started to wash over me too. That feeling of total freedom. That sensation of having no boundaries holding me back. That thought of me being able to do whatever the fuck I wanted and have nobody get in my way.

Then the crashing realisation that I don’t really want to do anything, not yet at least.

I exhaled deeply, as my breath hung lazily in the air.

I could just about make out through the grime on the rain-speckled window that the sun was just about to come up. I remember thinking that Mason surely couldn’t have been that far behind. Almost as if on cue the door swung open with a clatter, and a very damp and dishevelled looking Mason stumbled in. He wasn’t carrying that blue carrier bag with him anymore, which was good; but he didn’t seem to have anything else in its place, which was less good. After half-heartedly kicking the door shut, he looked at me lying on the couch and rolled his sunken eyes at me. It always bothered him how I used to sit around in the buff. Nevertheless he nodded his head and patted his front pocket, putting my mind at ease. He got it.

“It’s all good then?” I asked him. He just tossed aside his keys, threw off his coat and exhaustedly sat next to me, trying his hardest not to meet my eyes, or any other part of me.

“You know, every time you ask me that fuckin’ question, all it does is remind me that no, it’s not all good.” Still without looking at me, he blindly reached behind the sofa and retrieved an as of yet unopened bottle.. “That’s why I have this.” Pushing myself away from him slightly to avoid the ever-increasing pool of water around him and the sofa I looked towards his abandoned coat.

“Seems like went alright today though at least. I mean you got it, that’s all that really matters yeah?” He just grunted at me, with that typical toxic growl behind it as he began drinking down whatever was left in that bottle. At that moment I could hear muffled footsteps coming from my room and turned to see a similarly nude Lauren in the doorway.

“Why’d you leave?” she asked me. I was never allowed a minute to myself, never. I had to have this malnourished, vindictive and pasty leech attached to me always.

“You were breathing too loud.” I replied. “You were like choking and shit, it was annoying.” She just let out a harsh laugh and whipped her scraggly hair behind her in what I’m sure she imagined was an alluring fashion.

“Well maybe if you kept me entertained I wouldn’t need to go to sleep would I?” I could feel my face contorting, almost painfully, in a vain attempt to show my disdain for her. She always enjoyed making me look small. “Do the one thing you’re fucking good for and get in here.” She then spun on her heels and out of sight again. She needed to be taught a lesson, that much was certain. I pushed myself up off the sofa, ready to give her what she deserved, but something made me turn back to Mason. He hadn’t moved at all, still just sat there, head down, eyes forward and bottle in hand. He was rapping the bloodied knuckles on his free hand against the bottle, in what seemed to be a conscious decision to calm himself down.

“Does it hurt?” I asked him. He gave out a quick laugh, not unlike the one Lauren gave earlier.

“Of course it fuckin’ hurts.” He said, the venom behind his words much less hidden this time. For the first time since he came back he looked up at me. “But aren’t we all used to that?”

I felt like I was looking at him for the first time. He really didn’t have anything. Nothing except a now half empty bottle and the sound of dripping water. I just shrugged at him and gave him a weak smile.

“You’ll be alright.” I told him, as I turned back towards Lauren and my room. But as I stepped through the doorway, I could’ve sworn I heard Mason ask me.

“When?”