Free Landslide by Jenn Cooksey

traveling the second he looks away and starts tapping keys on the keyboard, so I give him his space and don’t question him.
    I grab my purse from where he’d put it on the back of a dining chair in the kitchen and setting it on the table, I go in search of my drugs.
    Oh my God, you are such an idiot…
    I’d left Holden’s house with that box filled with what should’ve just been a collection of inconsequential things , but what is really thought of apparently by Cole and me as pieces of him. I drove my grandma home, and then I came straight here without ever going into my house. My grandma had squeezed my hand right before she got out as I put her car in reverse, and she told me to try to remember that Cole might be needing a friend tonight too. I remember feeling so overwhelmed with anger and disappointment over not just Cole being a no-show, but over the whole entire week, too, that I decided I wasn’t going to be that friend, even if he did actually need someone. Then she told me that if he and I got to talking and it got late that I shouldn’t worry about calling or driving home. I guess it just goes to show how well she knows me. Although, sitting in my driveway before I left to come over here, it never even occurred to me that I might be here long enough to need something, let alone that I might be staying the night here, so it would’ve been nice if she’d reminded me or asked if I’d thought to put any Xanax in my purse. I hadn’t.
    Walking back towards the living room to ask Cole if he might happen to have anything to help me sleep through the night, my eyes hit an almost full bottle of Fireball and I figure, what the hell, using the excuse that I’ve already finished off a beer basically by myself so I probably shouldn’t be taking prescription drugs tonight anyway. Wrapping my hand around the neck of the Fireball and grabbing an empty shot glass, I pour and then down two spicy-sweet shots, almost immediately feeling my blood send bursts of warmth throughout my whole body, the sensation going all the way through to my fingers and toes before the cinnamon flavored liquor even hits my stomach.
    The second I cross the threshold into Cole’s bedroom, I’m hit with an enormous wave of utter exhaustion, the likes of which has my eyes watering uncontrollably with each yawn. Spying Cole’s iPod plugged into some speakers next to his bed, I think to myself that having some music quietly playing might aid the alcohol to help me sleep, so I climb onto his bed and crawl across it to turn the iPod on and the volume down. I don’t even look at what there is in the way of songs to listen to; I just tap shuffle and pull the blanket up before scooting down far enough to bury every inch of my skin under the downy softness of Cole’s comforter. After I’m settled, I simply close my eyes and pray for the ability to pass out.

5

    “Skinny Love”

    —Erica—

    Note to self: Xanax works way better than a little alcohol and half a cigarette as far as sleeping through the night goes. Booze on the other hand, combined with being exhausted and grief stricken, is awesome at adding up to semi-waking in the middle of the night with an addled brain that makes rash and not so great decisions which are based solely on selfish, wanton desires that are only further rationalized by a desperate heart and body, both insisting that if they get what they want right this very minute, the future and all it holds will be okay.
    When it was that I woke up crying, I don’t really know. Actually, I’m not even sure I was crying at that point yet, but I was holding onto the dream I’ve been plagued with for a week. The dream that always starts with me slowly waking to find Holden’s hands on me. In my dream, they trail over the heated skin of my breasts and his lips drop kiss after kiss along my shoulder and one side of my neck. My chest heaves and my body yearns so badly for him to continue touching me, to continue until he finally