Dealing

He never left. Of course not. We were already one. One life split between two people, bound by an energy much greater than the anger or the sadness. I loved him, more than I had ever loved anyone or anything before, and more than any person has ever loved any other person. That I can promise.

It was big and it was scary.

We continued working at our gas station, me retiring to my apartment at night and him in the morning, we spent every second we had together, and if we couldn't be together we were texting.

We smoked and listened to "Pop Hits" playing softly in the back ground for days, never changing, noting moved but the cat. We couldn't sleep, we barely ate and broke contact even less than that. I let him melt into me, and me into him.

We talked and planned and shared, laying a whole life before us, too high to motivate our selves to make the money.

Our only hope was to stop spending. But how? How do you stop spending when you spend $280 a week on marijuana and little more on Taco Bell?

Deal.

We would become small town drug dealers. The math was simple. Buy an ounce for $280, sell half at 200% and smoke half. Reinvest. Suddenly we're smoking for free.

The math was simple, everything else wasn't.

"I smoke two joints in time of peace and two in time of war. I smoke two joints before I smoke two joints and then I smoke two more." -Sublime

Cliche, I know. But this is how we were living. In five days, we smoked almost that whole ounce, we made maybe one sale.

How!? How the fuck did that happen!?

We needed to quit. Had to. We'd spent better than a grand on weed alone in less than a month.

We were addicted. No matter what your great grandfather told you bout marijuana, we were addicted. Wanted it. Needed it. Craved and lusted for it.

We wanted one thing more,

Life.

We wanted to live a long, happy, life with lots of babies and too many dandelions on our perfect grass. Or maybe a long, happy life on a farm, with lots of babies and too many chickens sneaking into the house when the door was left open. Regardless of how it played out, we wanted a life worth something more than dime bags and drug deals.

We quit.

It was awful, no sleeping, no eating, fevers, vomiting, and anger. All too present. Living off Rockstars and Monsters, and praying that the other one would cave first so we would have to feel guilty about getting high again.

We did. Caved. Both of us. We went to a friends house and indulged in 12 joints that I can remember. Too high to drive for the first time in years. We left with 2 grams. Half of a normal buy, and when we got home and sobered up a little, we cried.

I'd never felt so disappointed.

We ended up smoking what we had bought and started our quit again.

Please Don't Leave

Day 3ish. Heavy on the ish.

Three days into "hanging out with Quintin, I caved. even though I had told him I need some time between relationships, I just couldn't wait any longer and I told him I was ready to tart dating.

So we did.

The three days following that were fast, and dramatic. He kept telling me that something Very important was going to happen on Monday, but he couldn't tell me what it was until he was sure himself.

I was confused and worried. I though for sure I would lose him, just like that, in the blink of an eye. I didn't know if he was going to jail, if he was moving away, if he was running away. I wasn't sure if I would be a part of whatever Monday had to bring, or if I could be a part of it. so I kept worrying, and asking, and guessing, and letting myself jump to conclusions, and worrying,

We spent the next 36 hours together, no sleeping, no eating, just time,

And when Monday finally made an appearance, and I had gone to work, belly angry with nervousness, unsure if I'd ever see him again as I left  my apartment, to tired to deal with whatever it was that day was going to bring me I just trusted. Trusted that he would tell me what was happening at 3, like he promised, trusted that he would be there at 5 for his shift, trusted that I wouldn't lose him.

I tried my best to wait for him, but 3 passed and so did 4. I hadn't heard from him all day. suddenly it was quarter to 5 and he wasn't there, he hadn't called, he hadn't texted, hope was escaping me quickly.
Had he been arrested? Did he crash his car? Was he dead? Was someone else dead? Thoughts racing a million and a half miles an hour through my head, too fast for me to keep up. Was he safe? I had no idea where he was going when he left my apartment and I had no idea where he was now.

I couldn't wait any longer, I asked our boss if she knew where he was or what he was doing, why he was late for work, surely she would know, and she did.

She told me that Quin was trying to join the military.

My heart hit the wall as if it had been shot from my chest with a cannon, my mouth was speechless but my head and my heart had a lot to say.

Fuck him. Fuck him for making me fall in love with him when he just planned on cutting out anyways. Fuck him and fuck the military and fuck him for not just telling me. 

It felt as if I had never been angrier, ready to fight him as soon as he walked in the door for managing to absolutely break my heart in less than a week.

I wasn't going to let him go, I'd die first.

After I had a little time to cool down I remembered that we had only been together for a few days at this point and it was absolutely none of my business what he did. Regardless of how I felt it was his life If he wanted to leave, if he had to, that was his, not mine, but I promise I wasn't going to stick around to watch him die. I couldn't.

As soon as he walked in the door and I saw him, raw, stressed, tired and probably nervous, he tried to tell me what was going on but I already knew, and I was already hurt. He looked at me as I tried to walk away from him and he said "If the military means we can't be together, I won't go, just let me know."

I knew right then that he was mine, and I refused to lose him to the military or anyone else, and I wouldn't make him face anything on his own again. If he wanted to join the military, I guess I'd just have to do it with him.

I decided in an instant that I would do anything and everything for or with him, I'd stand behind him in every decision he made from now until the end of time.

Closer

My heart dropped into my stomach and I felt all but speechlessness.

I wasn't sure if I was ready or not. It hadn't been quite a month since my break-up. My sleep schedule, my eating, and my emotions we're the definition of unstable.


I thought that I had to make him wait. If I didn't he was going to feel like a "rebound" and if he didn't feel that way, I sure as hell would.

I told him that I would be ready in two weeks, I wanted to clean myself up if nothing else.

We spent the entire day together. Talking, laughing and joking like we always did, but this time we talked about other things to, families, lives, struggles and everything in between. Learning, memorizing.

It didn't stop. The next day was the same. We spent countless hours sitting on my couch talking about the troubles we had faced, where we were and where we thought we were going. We talked about love and losses, about life and sadness, about work and friendships.

Suddenly the night was not so young anymore, two lonely people, with hopes of something new sitting beside one another, contemplating what was supposed to happen next. that is exactly when he told me he loved me,

Shocked, surprised, heart racing, the only word that could escape my lips was "why?"

I couldn't remember the last time something as wonderful was real, but it was.

Everythng he had ever said to me was real, no matter ho hard I tried to dismiss it,

Almost There

That night I went bar hopping with with a friend of mine. 

Every time I had drank before it was to drown something. To make it impossible for my anger or sadness to surface under the weight of tequila and Long Islands. That never worked. 

This time was different. At first I was drinking because I "owed" it to my friends. I had been neglecting them, or so I had been told. I needed to make time for both Quintin and them, so I did, even though I didn't want to. Once the alcohol started to course through my veins, I remember feeling happy, I had never been drunk and happy before, and I was enjoying it, I had never really been happy at all. I'd had a lot of false happiness, marijuana educed euphoria, and alcohol based energy, but never real happiness. To feel content with life before the influence of mind numbing substances was new to me, and to feel anything with them was even newer. 

Quin and I were texting the entire time I was out with friends. He kept trying to tell me that he could wait, and that I should enjoy my time with her, and I was, but we were at a bar, and she was out hitting on guys, and talking with the friends that had met us there and I was talking to him. Neither of them understood at the time that just being in the same building as her was enough for me. I watched her dance and laugh and throw shots of liquor at the back of her throat. She was having fun, and so was I. 

I kept drinking, I wasn't drowning anything, I wasn't hiding from anything, I wasn't escaping. I was just enjoying. Enjoying watching the people around me dance around, stumbling with no fluidity in their movements, watching my friends smiling and laughing with me and each other, and definitely enjoying this new guy who thought I was intoxicating.

I was happy, and high, and drunk. 

After last call we started walking back to the house where we were supposed to be staying. I was about a mile straight down the street. It didn't take me long to remember that the gas station was just a few blocks ahead of me, and even less time to remember that it would be Quintin standing behind the counter. 

I wanted to see him more than anything else in the world, and I didn't want my friends to be around for our interaction. So, I ran. Drunk as hell, I started lightly jogging toward the gas station, just to put a little distance between me and everyone else who was walking. When I got to the door, I had only put about a minute between me and the rest of the group.

As soon as I swung the door open and stepped inside of the store every word that was in my head had been lost. so I just smiled and he smiled back. 

My friends had made it into the store by that point, we bought out Gatorades, and I was suddenly being rushed out the door to finish making our way home,  

That split second of contact wasn't enough for me. I wanted more, needed it.

I decided that I couldn't be with my friends any longer. i needed to be home, to be alone. so I could talk to Quintin as I wanted without any inquisition from nosy friends. 

They didn't need to know the things we shared, or the way we talked, it wasn't for them. It was for me. It was for him.

I made it home, and I asked Quintin if he would come over when his shift ended at six am, but he told me that he couldn't come over if I was drunk. I assured him I would be sober by then, and he promised that if I was still awake he'd be there. I fell asleep before that. 

When I finally woke up, around eleven am, I texted him to let him know that I was awake and ok, 

He asked if I still wanted him to come over, and I did, of course. 

I let him know that I hadn't changed or showered and that I still smelled like tequila and an ashtray. He responded with "Alright, be there in 10."

As soon as he walked into my apartment, we exchanged hello's and I apologized for the condition of myself and the room we were in. He sat down next to me on my couch and said..

"I want you to be my girlfriend, I'm not sure if you're ready for that, and if you're not, I'll wait."

How it Started Pt. 3

I spent the next few days trying to think of another reason I might need him to come over, to spend time with me outside of work.

He was trying too, but in a more subtle way. He told me about the handyman business he was running and gave me one of his magnetic business cards. He also let me know that he could do other work too. He could do everything and anything I would ever need.

As it turns out, I DID need some handyman and other work done.

I needed the brakes in my truck replaced, I needed a light fixture installed in my living room, and I was sure my grandma/landlord/downstairs neighbor needed something too.

The next night, when Quin was working, I made my way into the gas station to ask him for the things I needed.

We started texting the net day, casually, and about the work that I needed done. Flirting just a little in the background.

That weekend he came over to install my new brake pads, and I had never been so nervous. We pulled my truck into my next door neighbors garage and I sat on a small camping cooler, high a hell, watching, and talking, and joking, just as if we were working without the constant interruption from people who couldn't remember what kind of cigarette they smoked. It was smooth and goofy, and way too much fun.

He left as soon as my brakes were installed. We had had a great time, but it wasn't good enough. I wanted more, needed it.

I invited him back the next day to install a light fixture in my living room and to help my grandma with moving some furniture and some other lifting. I knew that the longer I could keep him around the happier I would be. Even if I did have to pay him.

He spent hours with me that day, laughing, and joking, and working of course. I couldn't bring myself to be away from him for even a second if I had the choice, so even though I was paying him for his services, I worked right along side of him.

Both of us were genuinely smiling for the first time since we could remember. I felt as if the world had been lifted from my shoulders. As if all of the sadness and anger I had been carrying since the beginning of my time was suddenly weightless.

I couldn't get enough of it.

After he left late that afternoon he texted me, messages that I will never forget.

Quintin: "You're a really amazing person and absolutely the sweetest girl I have ever met."

Logan: "You're too good to me."

Quintin: "You deserve to hear these things, unfortunately I am not able to tell you in person yet."

Logan: "Tell me what?"

Quintin: "How positively intoxicating you are."


...and that is how it all started.

How It Started Pt. 2

Nothing. There was absolutely no reason for me to believe that Quintin cared about me or how I felt. It wasn't his job to care. I knew that and so did he, but he cared anyway, even though he didn't want to. He was hurt, and only because he hurt me. Neither one of us understood what was happening. I couldn't comprehend why I had asked him to stop upsetting me instead of "making" him. He had never learned how to respond to gentleness instead of hate. We were scared, nervous, and hurt in ways we hadn't been before, but we couldn't bring ourselves to treat each other the same as every person before.

Some time passed, tense and dismissive.

A week later I found myself with a flat tire. Newly single, tired, and broke, I needed someone who not only had a tire that I could have but also would do it for me,

I asked Quin. He said he could help me if ! could wait until about noon the next day. I could, so I did. I waited until just past noon, as to not seem so eager. Because he was working midnight's, he fell asleep before I messaged him. I was disappointed that I had missed him, I waited too long.

Even though I was very unsure of him, the last interaction we had was not pleasant, I knew that I wanted him, desperately, and unconventionally. I wanted to be around him, to look at him, to hear his voice. I wanted to be a part of whatever he was and I didn't understand why. He tried to make it clear that he didn't are about me, but there was still something there. I didn't know what that something was, but I needed to.

How It Started

There is this instant connection that I thought only existed in movies and novels but it is real. 

The absolute convergence of two separate souls, braiding into one, in a split second of eye contact. 

It felt just like a moment of suspended reality, the room becoming a tunnel of just him and I. Nothing else existed and nothing else needed to. 

I knew at that moment that something was different, but I was mean, and I knew he was meaner. 

We carried on with or less than pleasant lives separately for months, conversing only when we had to. Our manager started to schedule us together once a week, for only three to four hours. Every moment spent together behind the counter of our mediocre gas station was suddenly a little less awful, and a little more fun. We we're both dismissive and standoffish, but we laughed, and smiled, and more often than not smoked way too much pot to be useful. We clicked as cashiers, we made an excellent team, and we left it at that, coexisting. 

Fast forwarding to the end of November, we we're working, everything was less than ok for me, I had left my abusive boyfriend of three years just a week earlier. I was sad, and angry, I hadn't slept in days, and I hadn't eaten in longer. I was in one hell of a mood. Ready to fight and ready to cut anyone down for anything and everything. I didn't need a reason and I didn't want one either.

I tried to laugh and smile with Quin anyway.

We started to "spit shit" about the people around us like we had always done. I was starting to feel better about everything around me, As soon as my anger had all but left me,, my ex came into the gas station. I was feeling as "ok" about it as I could, gritting my teeth as Quin rang in his pack of Marlboro's, and grinding them as he asked me about something that I can't remember. Then he was gone, and I was fine. 

A few minutes later, after a bit of analyzing, Quin told me that he had never seen two people act so pleasantly toward one another after a break up and he "bet we'd be back together soon."

Rage hit me in that moment harder than any person ever had or ever could, I wanted nothing more than to spit every drop of venom from my mouth directly into his face. I wanted to hit, and kick, and scream, and cut him down for not understanding that I had spent the last three years in Hell, and how hard it was for me to get out. To let him know that is was gut-wrenching for me that he assumed that I would ever go back now that i was gone. But I couldn't.

I had been hurt, very hurt, but I didn't want to hurt him back. That was new to me. I was all but famous or hurting people far worse than they could ever hurt me. Instead I told him that he was upsetting me, but I wasn't going to yell at him, and I wasn't going to get mad. I just need him to know that he was hurting me.

Quintin reacted poorly, with anger, and he asked very sharply, "What makes you think I give a fuck about your feelings?'