+A Few More of Your Least Favorite Things+Conor Oberst+One+I Believe That Lovers Should Be Chained Together

Oh, bloody hell.
I'm sitting here. Drinking, as if that will solve anything. But it does, in a way. It sort of numbs me. It makes the pain of repetition leave, until the hung-over morning. But it just makes everything more repetitive. Wake up, go to work, get drunk, pass out, be given ibuprofen by Cassie, go back to sleep.
For some reason, I always come to this spot. It's nothing special, just a normal bench, in a normal park. But there's something about the way the paint chips on this bench, the way the moon shines over the treetops, the way the grass is soft enough to lay down on, that draws me to it. But it doesn't feel the same tonight, there's something missing. The cool familiarity is replaced by something totally unfamiliar. Something alien and strange.
And there is. Something strange, I mean. There's a boy, discreet and silent as he walks nearer and nearer to me. It's strange, because no one ever comes here. Not after dark. An occasional teenage couple, looking for a place to fuck in private, but that's the extent of it. But this guy isn't a teenager. He's at least twenty, as old as me. Hes coming nearer. I'm starting to get scared. What if he's a murderer? Or a rapist? I shake these thoughts from my head. So what if he is a murderer? I can hold my own, even if I'm drunk. And I have a cell phone. Wait, where is my cell phone? I reach into my pocket. It's not there. Damn it. I can't believe I lost it again. Angry thoughts cloud my drunken mind, and I almost forget about the murderer/rapist that is steadily approaching. But then a shadow falls over me, blocking the sweet moonlight that I cherish.

....
I lose my fear of him instantly. He's beautiful. But a tortured kind of beauty. His eyes, with dark circles under them that match my own, shine in the faint glow of the night sky.
He speaks. "Can I sit here?" He gestures to the bench where I am half-sitting, half-laying down. I nod, and sit up. He gives me an odd little half smile, and sits down. He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. "Those can kill you, you know," I say. He looks at me, I stare at my feet and wish I hadn't disturbed the silence.
"That can, too," he says. My gaze follows his to the vodka bottle in my hand. I laugh bitterly. "I know."
"What's your name?" I'm startled slightly. Why does he want to know my name? I'm just the drunk girl he'll sit and smoke with for one night. A one night stand without the sex.
"I'm Rebecca. But I'm not Rebecca, I'm Becky, or Becks. I mean I am Rebecca, but-" I look up at him. "Do I make any sense?"
He smiles. "You make perfect sense, Becky, my dear."
I smile shyly back at him, thanking whatever god that may exist that it was dark out and he couldn't see me blush.
"I told you my name, so now you tell me yours," I proclaim, fueled by confidence in the form of alcohol. He lights his cigarette. His face is distorted slightly by the flickering orange light. It's odd, seeing a light like that, when I'm used to the silvery kind from the moon and harsh street lamps. "I'm Conor," he says, cancer stick in the corner of his mouth. The smoke drifts toward me, and I wave it away.
We sit in silence. A pleasant slience. Just enjoying each others company in our state of drunkenness. Well, I'm drunk. I think that he just has a drunken attitude. But I like it, it makes me feel not-so-different, not so isolated.
"Are you an alcoholic?" he asks, breaking my thoughts, my observations. "A drunk," I correct him. "What's the difference?" He's very curious. I think it's interesting. "An alcoholic is someone who goes to meetings and lives in shabby apartments that they try to make homey. A drunk is more of a starving artist type." He nods, as though he understands every word I say, when in all honesty, I don't. But I'm drunk, leave me alone. "What time is it?" I say, finally growing tired of the peaceful atmosphere, and just tired in general. Conor checks a watch on his arm. "Late." I dont ask him again. I need to get home.
I try to stand up, but the alcohol has made me dizzy, and I stumble. He grabs my arm and steadies me. "I'll walk you home. You're too drunk to go by yourself. If you run into the street I'll have a guilty conscience," he says. I can hear his smile, though in the dark I cant see it. I tell him my address and we walk, my arm around his shoulders, his arm around my waist. Not in an intimate way, just in a way as to where I dont fall over.
But it's nice.
We talk on the way there, and I mention Cassie. Conor asks me who she is. I smile sleepily when I say this: "Cassie is my lover, my best friend, my sister, and my mother. But you'll come to know her as my room mate."
He nods again, he does understand, I can tell. Its good to finally have someone understand.


...
Message, rate, *coughMAKEMEBANNERScough*, wow I seem to be coughing a lot. Perhaps I should go to the doctor..