I'm packing a bowl on my bed when my window abruptly opens. This surprises me because, well, I'm used to windows closing. Much like I'm used to bridges burning. 

Justin Timberlake stumbles, and I mean literally, through my window and tumbles on to my hardwood floor. The shock of it all causes me to inhale so deeply that I am now coughing like I'm choking. My eyes are watering, my throat is burning, my lungs are deflating, and I suspect I may be dying. I also suspect I should start locking my windows. This is how horror films start out. However, this is also how pornography films start out. I'm currently unsure of which of those two directions this could go right now. I assume, considering our last run in, that I should leave it up to him. 

After my coughing fit subsides, I realize Justin is towering over me. His eyes are glazed over as if he's drunk.

"We have to talk." He says.

"Yea." I say.

"You're fucking nuts."

"Yea." Looks like we were getting straight to the point.

"No," He tries to stand, but is too drunk and falls back on his ass. "You're the most insane person I have ever met. There are soap operas that would use you for character inspiration."

I smiled at him, a condescending sort of smirk, and brought the bowl up to my lips. He removed it from my lips as I was lighting it and put it against his own. He sighed contentedly and accepted his spot against the wall underneath the window.

"You need therapy. You're probably the most unhappy person I've ever met." He continued. "And it's all self-inflicted!" He laughed a little at this.

It's funny, really. Having someone notice all the things you hate about yourself and voicing them out loud. Goddamn hilarious.  I grabbed my bowl back from him harshly. I inhaled deeply, taking comfort in hearing the embers crackle.  We continued passing the pipe back and forth until there was nothing left but ashes.                                            

My head felt like a hot air balloon. I was half afraid it was going to drag me up to the ceiling as if filled with helium. I wrapped both of my wrists in my comforter in an attempt to prevent my potential floating. I looked at Justin wondering if he noticed any levitating. He didn't seem to, but it also looked like his eyes might have been closed, so he wasn't much help. 

"Is it normal for me to want to strangle you so often?" Justin broke the silence.

"I think so." I answered honestly, burying my arms deeper within the blankets. 

"You're impossible."

"Probably."

"You ruined my date." He spoke lazily. The weed had calmed his fight from earlier and replaced it with something much more muted.

"What does that even mean? That she refused to fuck you afterwards?" 

"Figures." He scoffed. "What the fuck is your problem? I tried to be your friend, which is more than I can say for anyone else in this town. Are you aware that no one likes you here?"

I could only nod before I felt the tears coming. I tried to stop them, but it was like a damn levy broke behind my eyes. Soon my whole face was flooded with something warm, wet, and salty. It was like I had absolutely no control over my body. I dropped my head into my cloth laden hands as the sobs racked my body.

"Oh, fuck. Lucy. . ."

The bed shifted under his weight as he insecurely pulled me into his lap. His arms were strong and warm as I let them envelop me. I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and hid my wet face in the curve of his neck. The harder I cried, the tighter he squeezed. Honestly, I don't even know exactly why I was crying or why I was letting him comfort me. This person who I've seen as an enemy for as long as I could remember, but this emotion felt bigger than myself. It all felt too much, too heavy, and for right now I was too tired of lugging it around to care that I was embarrassing myself in front of yet another person. 

o

"I can't do this anymore." My voice was muffled as it was fighting to radiate past my comfortable position in Justin's neck. I was sure that after this I was going to have to replace his shirt as I was sure my mascara and lipstick had already ruined it. 

"Can't do what?" He spoke softly.

My response came fast and without mental revision. They were the thoughts that haunted my mind for the past few years, but became especially prominent within the past few months. They were thoughts I hadn't voiced outloud to anyone, but had admitted many times to myself. I was surprised at how easily they came racing to my vocal chords as if they were body checking each other to be the first past my lips, to float around the room only to drop to the floor like anvils. These things were too heavy to let another person in on, but they were also too heavy to keep to yourself for too long without going absolutely mental. 

To his credit, Justin stayed incredibly calm while my admissions of potential mental illnesses and thoughts of suicide bombarded him.  He didn't try to tell me I was wrong, or crazy, or just too high and non sensical. He just listened and rubbed my back rhythmically.  I had fallen into a comfortable dream like state of being too high and exhausted when I felt him try to maneuver us to a more comfortable position of laying down. 

"I ruined your shirt." I mumbled.

"I have another." His voice and movements gave away that he was still high. Even though we were now laying down, I kept close to him only moving away when he pulled his now wet shirt over his head. I moved back instinctively, my head finding his shoulder again. His arms stayed wrapped around me, warm and now bare. Our legs were tangled together with me nearly on top of him, trying to hold onto this moment that would surely be over with the sunrise. 

`

"I'm sorry." I whispered. Even though I thought I was finished crying, a few more tears escaped with my apology.

"Shhh, baby." His voice was as soft and sincere as mine felt.  I didn't even care if it was the weed talking or not. It just felt really nice to be called that.

Before I let sleep overtake me completely, I moved to take my shirt off. It felt restrictive and damp and uncomfortable. Plus, there was something about skin on skin, especially after a few hits, that felt incredibly wonderful. I turned over, taking Justin's arm with me and tucking it close to my chest. He complied graciously, contorting his body to fit the curves I created. He wrapped around me tighter than he ever had and as I was finally drifting off, I felt him kiss the back of my head.

"I love you." I heard myself whisper as I passed out.