The metal railing is cold against my bare skin. City sounds cloud the atmosphere and the streets below are busy. Rain threatens to spill from the sky, but the pavement is dry for the time being. Everything is so alive, but everything feels so lifeless.
            I comb my fingers through my mess of light hair and tug at the ends of his pale blue shirt. The fabric rests awkwardly on my body, but I try to hold in the scent of his cologne, the feeling of him and all the lies he tells so convincingly.
            Last night’s memories have made a home in my mind. They glow with a film cast over, reflecting innocence we wish existed. Each moment glares at me no matter how hard I try to not look them in the eye. My fingers trail down to my wrist absentmindedly, where a rim of red stains the skin. He said he was sorry, over and over again. The memory stares at me.
            Only twenty feet away, he lies under headache-inducing snow white sheets that smell like perfume – not mine. His body leaves an impression in the bed, but the mattress doesn’t sink down where I lay.
            I hear a yawn and shuffling feet.
            Arms grip my waist from behind and I relax into his body. Heat radiates from him, making my body feel weak. My legs wobble, but he keeps me upright. He spins me around, kissing my forehead. I don’t know why, but I shake him off and walk to the other side of the apartment balcony. He just feels like a bad mistake.
            “Hey,” he whispers in his morning voice. More forcefully, he says it again. “Hey,” his tone stops me, and he grabs my wrist, making me flinch. His hand immediately loosens and guilt consumes me.
            “I’m sorry,” I say, turning to him and rolling the cuffs of the pale blue shirt down.
            He blinks. “It’s okay, everything is okay.” He looks at me so sincerely that I have to believe it.
            Nodding, I turn back to the railing of the balcony and lean forward into the rusted metal. He doesn’t dare to touch me again, just rests his arms near mine. I can feel fire burning between us. It has always been this way.
            The day I met him was the day I gave up trying to cover scratches with band aids. I knew that loving him was signing a deal with the Devil. I knew every day after, it would hurt. He was a sinking feeling in my body and a cigarette stain on the sheets. He was regret. Loving him would be the worst mistake of my life.
            I move closer to him, trying to kill the fire. I’m not ready to lose him. That’s the problem.
            I turn and kiss him because that’s all I’ve ever known how to do.
            Kissing him hurts. He’s gentle, but kissing him makes me feel vulnerable. It reminds me of when I didn’t feel so dead, reminds me of all the stupid things I did and how I’ll never be that way again. When I lost all that, I lost any walls I had built up. He can hurt me so easily and rip open old scabs. I don’t bother with band aids.
            He pulls away, breathless. I keep him close by tangling my hands in his hair and pray he doesn’t see how red my cheeks are. Smiling softly, he closes the space between our bodies by wrapping his arms around my thin back. It’s hard to think I was ever cold with the amount of heat coming from his body.
            My arms and shoulders are tense, holding on to him for dear life.
            I’ve learned to love the person that destroys me.
            Part of me always hopes all this is, is infatuation. That one day I’ll wake up and be able to leave without looking back. If this is love, if this is what it takes to love him, I don’t know if I can stand it.
            It feels like my entire body is bruised. Every kiss leaves black and blue galaxies growing on my skin. Each time he tucks my hair behind my ear, every second he rests his head on my stomach, it takes away the innocence.
            “What do you want to do today?” he whispers. Before I can answer, he kisses me abruptly and picks me up, spinning me around. I can feel him smiling so hard into the kiss and for a second I forget all of last night, all of every day before, and then we are just there, happy and in love.
            Then it all comes rushing back like the wind threatening to throw me over the edge of this balcony. I’m so used to headaches that I can barely feel the one that begins. I swear just thinking about him gives me a headache. I need aspirin because the only cure for love I have found is in over-the-counter drugs.
            Letting my arms fall limp at my sides, I pull away from him as gently as I can. “I think I’m going to go take a shower,” I say, my throat feeling dry. He doesn’t seem to notice that I never answered his question, but he rests his forehead on mine, keeping us close. His hands run down my arms, stopping at the raw skin on my wrists. I don’t dare move.
            Releasing his grip, he lets me go, but I still don’t move. He’s next to me again seconds later with a pack of Marlboros and a lighter. Back when we met, he said he would stop smoking when he found someone who gave him reason to. I guess I could never be that. I guess I could never be his something to live for.
            “Want one?” he questions as he pulls one for himself out of the almost empty pack. I nod.
            “Thanks,” I say weakly as he hands me a cigarette.
            We used to share cigarettes, lighting a single one and passing it back and forth. I would take a drag hand it back to him, smiling stupidly. Sometimes he would take the cigarette straight from my lips and laugh when I coughed.
            He’s an addiction, like nicotine in the cigarettes he smokes, but this day is just another Sunday morning in the city, waking up next to him. I inhale chemicals and exhale the idea that this is a mistake. 
            I try to tell myself not to feel anything.