Nonfiction
I can’t remember his actual name. We all called him something else. He was a beautiful child, and he always came baring gifts. Cocaine, heroin, weed, ecstasy, or acid. Sometimes the other roommates got tired of him being around so much. They said that he “wasn’t a part of our family.” Well, he was beautiful. That alone was reason enough to keep him around. That, and the fact that he always brought good times along.
Of course, I liked him. And this was before I had even admitted to myself that I liked guys. Sometimes when we were high, he would get really close to me and let his skin brush up against mine. The two of us were always just on the verge of falling over the edge. I wouldn’t have minded it one bit if we had, to be honest. Whatever was holding us back came close to crumbling more than a few times.
