Smith
I don't think there's enough water in the world to make up the tears I cried last night.
For the first time in a long time, I bought an ungodly amount of snacks. Cakes. Chips. Just anything that looked good. I devoured some, then threw up. Then I did it again. And again. And again. Until I could hardly breathe.
Oh, how I craved the feeling of my stomach expanding, just for it to be emptied minutes later. How I craved sitting in front of the toilet and scratching my knuckles and throat by forcing myself to get rid of the food I ingested. And minutes after, I'd eat more and do it all over again.
Binging and purging is my only source of comfort right now. It's the only thing filling the hole in my chest. It's the only thing distracting me. It's the only thing I can think about other than Diego.
Tate called me this morning, but I couldn't answer. I couldn't speak. I can't speak. Everytime I open my mouth, it's either to stuff my face or sob. So, instead, I sent a quick text, which led to the blonde asking me to come over.
I don't trust myself to drive, though. I don't trust myself not to break down crying in the middle of the road. I don't trust myself not to be reminded of Diego over everything. I can't trust myself to not crash in order to stop feeling so heartbroken and sick.
Somehow, I manage to pull myself together enough to leave the house. I meet him at Justin's house, and the second the two see my distressed state, they ask a million and ten questions.
I struggle to answer without sobbing. Thinking about Diego hurts. Talking about him hurts. Remembering last night hurts. Having no notifications from him hurts. Everything hurts so much.
"Do you need some weed or something to calm you down?"
Wiping my tears, I shrug at the suggestion. I doubt anything or anyone but Diego could calm me down right now. Remembering how he holds me or touches my hands when I'm anxious or upset makes me crave him more. It also makes me feel more ill. "I dunno."
"You want to try some," Tate offers.
Thinking of weed reminds some of Diego. How he smokes it when in episodes. How it helps him not think. How it calms his mind. And gosh, I need that right now since I can't have him. "I'll do anything to make me forget everything."
"Smith, it's not healthy to-"
"I know it's not," I interrupt. Justin sighs and gives me a look. I know I shouldn't smoke. I know using it to cope with a beautiful boy is unhealthy. But I don't care. "Please just let me."
Justin gives me another look and another sigh. He knows I'm not stupid, just sad. So fucking sad. "You've never smoked before." This is my first time getting heartbroken by a boy, so there's a first time for everything. "One hit, and that's it."
"He can handle more than one," Tate insists.
Justin rolls his eyes but has concern on his face. "I don't want him to get sick."
"Let him get stoned out his mind."
"Tate, no. Stop enabling."
"I'm not. Just supporting."
Before his boyfriend can argue, Tate goes to Justin's dresser and begins digging through the top drawer. It not log before he pulls out a pair of orange socks that I could never picture Justin wearing. He unfolds the socks, revealing a device that looks similar to a vape.
The blonde puts the pen in his mouth, inhales, and blows out smoke. He does it again. And once more. He then hands it to Justin, who turns his attention to me. "You're going to cough a lot at first."
