That night, after I left the bathroom and Becky took me home, I took a shower, and while taking the shower, the fog that rose as the hot water drops bounced off my skin seemed to suffocate me. Every single water drop felt like a brick and the fog seemed like a thick blanket of heat.
I wonder what it would've been like if Ian and I talked things through, the worse part of having a best friend is the fights. It's like the other side of the war shot the last guard standing beside me, going through the pain of dodging bullets, ducking behind trees and bushes, and cleaning wombs with lake water all diminished into the taint and sorrowful air, now you're the one dodging those bullets fired by your antagonists, sidestepping twigs and healing your wombs with lake water.
The worse part is knowing that they're slipping away right underneath your feet, the person who kept you steady and awake at midnight, the person who played his guitar as the strings bounce off hope and fearlessness.
I now lay here awake, the daunting thought of Andrew and his withdrawal nightmares, the thought of human life in the hands of my mother in a jail cell, the thought that I'd be alone forever. It's haunting.

Steadily placing myself off my bed I eye the phone on my nightstand. Should I call Ian? Should I mend fences? Should I be with him tonight, if not romantically then the thought of a person with comforting hands on your head and pulled into his chest, your head laying there and the tears wetting his shirt as he hums the soft words to you,
"Everything will be okay."
Sounds just fine.
With hesitance, my finger traces the outline of the numbers. The phone starts humming. And humming, and humming until it stops and the computerized sound of his voice whispers,
"Hello?"
Letting out a deep breath, my words slowly drift off my tongue with a soft,
"Hello."
A silence falls over the line.
"What do you need?" I hear his voice almost distraught,
My lips tremble. "We need to talk, Ian."
His breath comes out steadily through the phone line, it almost feels as if he's here with me right now.
"Not like this." He says,
"I'll pick you up in about five minutes." The phone goes silent then. My heart pounding softly and my breath smooth. A tear slips out of my eye as I place it back on the nightstand. I stand there staring at the blank wall.
Sooner than I realize, I've been staring at the wall for the past five minutes because then I hear the sound of Ian's truck park, and the slam of the car door as he gets out. He knocks. Twice. Before the second knock, I open the door. His eyes are puffy and watery. Swallowing my spit I walk out the door, the cold cuts through me like a knife. We walk to his car in silence, and when we get in, it's even more silent without the wind-blocking out the awkwardness. He just drives off without saying anything. I lean my head against the window, I think the high of the molly is wearing off. The darkness outside the window feels like an escape. The smell of Ian's car makes me feel good, the warmth it brings me is nostalgic. I think back to December 21, 1993, when we went to the drive-in movie theatre to watch "Christmas Vacation" the music was playing loudly, Ian's voice over it as he sings obnoxiously.
Our conversations.
Our laughs.
Our eyes interlocked.
We finally get to his house, his parent's car isn't there either which is odd because usually their cars are all parked in the driveway. Ian opens the door and rushes inside, leaving me.
How can he be mad at me? He's the one who kissed me and then told me he had a girlfriend already. I hold in my breath while opening the door, Ian stands by the door waiting for me. Biting my lip as I walk to his door, he opens it and gestures me inside.
Looking around, his parents are nowhere to be found.
"Where are your parents."
"I don't wanna talk about it." He responds with a rasp in his voice.
I sit myself down on his couch and he hangs up his coat, he walks over to the love chair and places himself down. Ian raises his eyebrows.
I hesitate before I speak but Ian interrupts. 
"Look, Bailey. I'm sorry about what happened on Christmas Eve. It was a complicated thing."
His words are like little knives being buried around my heart. My shoulders rise and my jaw clenches.
"I was hurt, you kissed me in a moment when I was vulnerable," I tell him, my eyes water and my legs shiver uncontrollably. Ian sighs and sucks air through his teeth, his foot taps down on the floor.
"I know." He whimpers. My teeth press down hard against my bottom lip and my arms tense.
I don't say anything. All I do is nod my head.
"I wrote a song for you." He says grabbing his guitar.
He strums the same chord repeatedly until his pick strums three other chords that create a vibrant sound that harmonizes in my ears. His voice echoes out in a soft melody of hums that leaves me awe-struck. His voice is beautifully captivating, a tone of rasp follows as he sings each note.
"I remember it like it was a movie,
how all our favorite characters were a symbol of our friendship,
The horrors of us drifting dawned on us every night,
We would laugh until our stomach hurt, and our eyes watered.
I'd listen to your words, and it all makes sense.
You are for me.
Oh, you are for me." Ian stretches the words beautifully and his soft and raspy tone corresponding with the chords on his guitar is like a reality shift. 
I grow a smile listening to his singing. It brings me back to old times when things would go, he would read his poems and sing them to me, I'd give him good synonyms for words he'd use. Correct his notes. Although they were perfect to me, Ian was a perfectionist and took his writing very seriously. 
"You make me feel like I'm at home,
Yes, you do,
You are good for me." He finishes with a few strums of different chords.
My smile is huge.
Clapping as he comes over to sit with me.
"You are good for me, Bailey." He says, his face close to mine. I lock a gaze with him for a moment.
"And that's what I need right now. I need someone good for me. And that's you." His voice gets deeper and he inches towards me. Our eyes meet again, and I can smell the vodka in his breath he's been drinking earlier. At this moment, everything around us seems to dissolve, it's just me and him on a couch. Close to each other with wanting eyes. That's the funny thing about love, it can hurt so bad but feel so good sometimes, this is good love.
The next thing I know, his lips meet mine, he holds it there for a second and I move my hands to his back as our tongues swivel around in each other's mouth. His hands trace my thigh up to my neck and he pushes his lips against mine harder and deeper. Moments of tiny breaths in between, he moves down to my neck and starts kissing passionately, my hands snake around in his hair and he lies me down on my back and reaches for my lips again. His lips are like a magnet to his. He bites my bottom lip and moves to the center of my neck where he starts brushing his tongue in a circular motion around my neck, my breath is heavy as he starts taking off my shirt, he kisses down my neck to my chest and then down to my stomach, where I then slip off my shoes with each foot as he starts taking off my pants and underwear. His lips move closer to my vagina, my head jerked back onto the edge of the couch and his fingertips slowly move up my thigh area. While giving gentle kisses around caresses my genitals with his soft lips. My breath gets heavier and he starts going faster and intensity rises. Little gentle bites tickle, but it feels so good, and the faster he gets, the more my neck strains back. He circles around once more and goes faster while I groan while he thrusts his lips with more passion and then the tingling sensation releases as he continues and then comes to a firm stop. It was like the feeling of falling feathers that finally touch the ground, and more sensation reaches as he moves to my stomach and up my torso back to my neck and presses his lips down on my neck. Once more, he moves back up to my lips, and parts his way through my mouth with more passion and devoting his transparency with me. While getting lost in each other's mouth he rises back up and falls over to the other side of me, his breath heavy and warm. We both lay there with the still sound of the air-conditioning in the back, but all I can hear are our signs of breath. As we lay there, not a thought crosses my mind. I'm empty and blank right now with nothing to say but Ian is good for me.
He is.
And he may be the only person I have left.
My only soldier on the battlefield.
He dodges bullets for me.
And I do too.
We're good for each other.