“Only When I’m With You”

The smoke curled from your lips like a sigh you didn’t know you were holding in. You leaned against the back wall of the gas station, hoodie up, earbuds in, pretending the world wasn’t there. The joint in your hand had burned halfway through, and you didn’t even feel high anymore—just foggy, like your body and your mind were never quite in sync.

You hated going home. You didn’t even call it that anymore.

Home was just a place where voices were too loud, and doors slammed like thunder. Where you were either invisible or the target. Where nobody ever asked why you started disappearing so much—they just rolled their eyes when you did.

But Kevin asked.

Not in a pushy way. Just… quietly.

You still remember the first time he saw you high. You thought he’d judge you. Instead, he sat next to you on the curb and handed you a bottle of water.

“Your hands are shaking,” he said.

You hadn’t noticed until he said it. And for some reason, it made your chest tighten.

You didn’t say anything. Just looked at him.

And he didn’t leave.

He never left.

Now, on this evening in late October, you texted him again. You weren’t sure how many times you had in the last week. Probably too many. But he always came.

-“Can you pick me up?”

-“Yeah. 10 mins.”

You didn’t even have to say where you were. He already knew.

When his car pulled up, you stubbed out what was left and slid into the passenger seat. Kevin glanced at you. Said nothing. Just handed you a hoodie of his—one you always ended up wearing—and started driving.

Neither of you talked for a while. The windows were cracked, and your hair blew gently in the breeze. He played that quiet music he always did—stuff with soft guitars and sad lyrics. You let your head fall back against the seat, eyes closed.

“You okay?” he asked, finally.

You opened your eyes. The streetlights made stripes across his face as he drove. “I don’t know,” you said. “I feel like I’m floating all the time. And not in a good way.”

Kevin nodded, eyes still on the road. “You don’t have to smoke every time you feel like that.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “But when I’m high, I don’t feel anything. And that’s… better than feeling everything.”

He pulled into the old park at the edge of town. The one nobody really went to anymore. He killed the engine, and the silence fell like a soft blanket.

Then he turned to you.

“Can I say something?” he asked.

You nodded.

“I don’t think you’re broken. I think… you’re just tired of fighting stuff no one else sees.”

You swallowed hard. The tears came up suddenly, like they always did—without warning.

“I hate it there, Kevin.”

“I know.”

You let your head fall onto his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close.

“I don’t feel high right now,” you whispered.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked gently.

You shook your head. “No. I feel calm. That only happens when I’m with you.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Not like a movie scene. More like a promise.

“I’ll always come get you,” he said.

And you believed him.

For once, you really did.