Light poured in through the open curtains. Natalie drank it up until her body was glowing.

I wasted away in the corner of her room, curled up in a chair and half asleep.

“You want coffee?”

“I hate coffee.”

“Iced?” She ignored my previous comment.

“I could use some alcohol.”

She swiveled, her hair flying madly. Natalie rolled her eyes. “Real insensitive, Erin.”

I leaned my head back to stare at her blank ceiling. “I like you better when you’re drunk.”

She bit the inside of her cheek and tried to ignore me.

Stretching, I stood and combed my fingers through my hair. I walked over to Natalie until I was standing in front of where she sat on the edge of her bed. Natalie was vulnerable, the kind of girl who would pretend she had a gun.

I reached for her hand, moving slowly. Her nail polish was chipped.

“Nail polish didn’t work?”

“No,” she said almost angrily. “God, I could not have picked a more clichéd bad habit, could I?”

Natalie’s comment made me smile one of those half smiles, like you were trying to hold it in.

Suddenly, she gripped my wrist. I flinched and she loosened her hold. “Let me see your arm,” she whispered. I groaned and threw my head back but lifted up my left sleeve.

There were scabs covering the skin and some patches still thin and stinging. I stood still as Natalie counted.

“Two new ones in a week?” She was trying not to sound disappointed for my sake. It wasn’t really a question.

“Yeah,” I said shortly.

Natalie’s fingers drifted to the most recent.

“We need to put a bandage on this one. It’s close to bleeding.” She dropped my arm.

I laughed, uncertain. “C’mon, it’ll be fine.”

“No,” she called from the bathroom.

My hand instinctively found a clear patch on my arm and started scratching anxiously, my anger building. Natalie dropped the bandage roll when she entered the room, prying my hand from my arm.

“Jesus, Erin, this is self-destructive. They could be putting you in a mental hospital, you know.”

“I don’t think you would let that happen.”

Knowing she wouldn’t, she stayed quiet as she wrapped the unnecessary bandage around my arm.

“Do you remember what you said when they wanted to put me in that rehab center?” Natalie asked.

“Of course.” I looked down suddenly. “‘I can make her okay.’ I said it over and over.”

Natalie kept her eyes on me like I was some guardian angel. My breaths felt heavy. I wasn’t an angel sent to fix everything. I was the one who always messed everything up.

“Can you?”

“Of course.”

My mind flew back to that day at the hospital, the sickening waiting for someone to say she would be okay. They never did. The doctors huddled around her mother, sending me glances to tell me I wasn’t supposed to be listening. I was the last person allowed to talk to her.

“Alcohol poisoning, you idiot. Couldn’t it be something legal at least?” I had said.

Natalie bit her nails. “They’re putting me in rehab.”

“What?” Those five words were deafeningly loud.

Natalie wouldn’t cry. She just kept biting her nails.

“I can make her okay,” I said to the doctors as much as I said to her mother. I said it over and over.

I can make her okay.

I sat next to Natalie on her bed, crossing my legs. “What did it feel like?” I wanted to ask her that day in the hospital.

She paused. “What did what feel like?”

I stared at her sheets. They were wrinkled and covered with coffee stains. “What did it feel like to be dying?” My voice sounded so blank.

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“What did it feel like?”

Natalie bit her nail then caught herself. She hugged her knees. “You know when it’s so dark that you can’t tell if your eyes are open or closed? That’s what it felt like.” Her voice faded, and she slid off the mattress, heading to the bathroom.

When she was out of the room, I took a deep breath and dug my fingernails into my arm like it was the only pain I could feel.

“Start drinking decaf, Natalie.”

I heard her sniffle as she lay down by me. “What?” She covered her eyes with her arm like the ceiling was too bright to look at.

“That’s the first step in making you better.” My arm stung and I had to keep taking deep breaths. “Switching to decaf coffee is the first step.”

“Wow, you have a lot of prejudice against coffee, don’t you?”

“It’s not like that.” Drinking decaf instead of caffeinated coffee is like drinking water instead of alcohol.

“You have a second step yet?”

“Making it up as we go along.”

I want you to stop, I thought. I couldn’t say it out loud. There were so many things I couldn’t say out loud.

I swear our bad habits have been getting worse since we met each other. I can’t fix them. They are just these little tics in our bodies we can’t get rid of. We can’t get rid of each other, it seems.

You are so beautiful and so much more, and maybe if you realize you aren’t half as bad as you think you are, you can get better. I couldn’t say that out loud either.

She was glowing. It wasn’t too dark to know if my eyes were open or closed. My eyes were wide open and I was looking at her, and she was just lying there like she was the sun. Still, she was so small that the light would drink her up as quickly as she could get drunk.

“What does it feel like?”

“Hmm,” she mumbled, tired.

“Right now, what does it feel like?”

Natalie sighed. “Like it’s so bright that I can’t tell if I’m awake or asleep.”

“You’re awake.”

We always looked out for each other’s bad habits, and this was her worst.

I think she was my worst habit. She was late nights and wasted days. She was broken headlights and getting lost. She was taking every bit of me, and I was okay with it. Sometimes, when I was around her, everything would feel broken.

You know when it’s so dark that you can’t tell if your eyes are open or closed? That’s what it felt like, but I couldn’t say it out loud.