ADDICTION: NON FICTION

by Siobhan Glass


    “Come back and get yr water bottle and lets play”.  Text received at 10:19 am the morning after a night of shenanigans.  Lets play.  For some reason the child like deliverance of this sexual invite only makes me fantasize harder about the person who sent it.  I think about the excellent music collection he has, and the dancing that could be done, and the laughing, and the sex.  The incredibly playful and possibly violent sex all over his apartment because the roommates are at work.  I am addicted to these thoughts.  Once they begin, I can’t stop them.  

     At a party one time I grabbed a pair of scissors and jabbed them to his neck and told him I wanted to play with knives.  My friend and I were into knife play at the time.  Or at least the idea of it. He grabbed the scissors from me and gently glided the blade down my face, sending a thrill through my soul.  I thought about this the night before too, at the party.  The party where we locked eyes on the staircase.  The party where he pushed me against the wall on the stairs and kissed me over and over.  The party that his girlfriend was at.  The party I left my favorite water bottle at.  I left it on the roof after letting some girl drink some water.  She was very drunk and very thankful for the water. 

    It's kind of funny to me that I even had a bottle of water on me.  “Water is for FAGGOTS”, I had screamed at a drunk bitch in the past, as I swayed side to side with a giant bottle of Jim Beam clutched in my hands.  I used to pass out in my winter coat and boots because I was too drunk and proud to take them off.  I only would drink water as an afterthought, to heal the pain of the night before.  But I’d still prefer to ease the pain with another beer, or a cocktail, or a few cups of strong coffee.  But that was then.  Now, I carry a water bottle, and I rarely get raging drunk.  I miss it.  That morning I thought to myself, “I miss my old life.”  Then I fantasized more about him.  I thought about 2 years ago when we made out at another party, but how it was ok then because there was no girlfriend. I had sought him out at work.  It was his first week.  I liked his eyes.  They were kind of squinty.  I asked him to keep a look out for a book about gypsy’s for me.  Then I told him to come to the party in Williamsburg later, off the Graham L stop.  At Liz’s friends house.  I was so excited.  I bought a personal bottle of clear Bacardi rum and kept it in my back pocket, thinking it looked cool.  I pulled it out to swig out of it in the kitchen at this party.  I dropped it and it smashed into a billion tiny shards of glass.  The place was covered in glass and rum.  I cleaned it up then marched over to him.  Mike.  We started dancing, which turned to making out all over the party.  We made out all over the party until everyone else was gone.  

    I went to his house one night after a heavy pre-gaming session with my best friend.  My lust took me from Greenpoint to Gowanus.  I got lost when I got off the subway.  He came to meet me.  It was cold.  I think it was fall.  We went to his room and drank a huge bottle of Svedka, played records, and made out.  We got naked and rolled around on his air mattress on the floor.  We didn’t have sex.  We never ended up having sex.  It was almost like a game of anticipation.  The desire was so heavy, but it never got to the climax.  I like to think after years of build up that it will be a tsunami that I’m incapable of understanding until it happens.  The imagination can only go so far.  Back to reality.  Not.   I thought about him pushing me into the wall for a few hours as I rolled around in bed, trying to drink enough water to ease my blurred vision. I think about going to pick up my water bottle.


Siobhan Glass lives in New York. Her favorite word is Gowanus.