One Shot.

And she said it again, this time no tears in her eyes, “I never asked you to be my hero.”

My reply was too simple that it was rude, “I never asked you to be my friend.”

I can remember the last occasion she told me those words but last time wasn’t as bad as this moment. There are no tears in her eyes, no smile on her lips, and no room in her heart for me.

She was doing drugs. Not the cheap kind, not the marijuana, not the crack, but the real stuff. The stuff you never heard about because you got to be rich to get those drugs, and she was rich. Her eyes are glazed over yellow and her hair in shambles. Bags under her eyes, and scars on her arms showed that she did much more when she was in ‘happy’ mode; much more than she could handle sometimes. I was her hero, like it or not. I was her savior, passing the world by just for her. I was her knight in shining armor, although she didn’t notice yet. I am, not ‘I was’. She is mine to behold and mine to heed.

Not that I hated it that way. She will always be my escape, so each one of us got something out of our relationship. She’s my getaway from the world that hates me. She’s my exit from the people that ignore me. She’s my only entry to a haven. She is not perfect, but who to say anyone is? Not to say that I was any much better. I, who never kissed a girl, who never saved the day, who never did anything exciting; I, who’s as dull as a pillowcase. We’re all calamities.

I memorized the time she begged me to be her friend. It wasn’t like she didn’t have friends of her own. She had millions compared to my few but she wanted to be my friend. She said I looked like I needed a friend, a girl like her. “I wouldn’t be attached,” I told myself but each day I found myself loving a part of her. It’s not that silly school romances where the guy writes the girl’s name all over his notebook. It wasn’t that stupid love that depended solely on how she appears. She brightened my day. It was as if, even if we were in a room filled with people, she would be the bell of the ball and was still about to socialize with everyone as though it were a one on one conversation. No one ever felt left out. I never saw the people around us darken out as I saw her across the room and I never felt that we were the only two in the room. She was my excitement and I was her relaxation.

He abused her. I don’t know why she stayed in the relationship and allowed it to happen but she did. I was always the one to heal the bruises, the one to kiss the blood away, and the one to wipe the smile off that boy’s face. He didn’t even deserved to be called a man, nonetheless a boy. That was the time she told me, “I never asked you to be my hero.” She needed me and she knew, right then. I was to stay in her life, no matter what. With that statement, she smiled. Her first smile in weeks and tears formed in her eyes.

We were like two small children; hugging in a corner from a huge monster we called Life. And Life, well he brought more scary things. He brought lovely Hope, old maid Reality, bittersweet Love, grim stone Death, and aged Responsibility. We were able to take on most of them, Hope being the easiest of all, but sometimes also the most difficult. We learned never to give up Hope. Hope was our souls. She was the only way we smiled and laughed. The divine maiden confirmed that happy endings were sure to come, but right now her prediction is still not right.

I am going to tell, I need to tell, it’s for her good. I, alone, can not stop her addiction to the inhalants and powders. She will beg me, but I need to fight. But maybe I am doing this for myself. Am I? Do I only need to stop her because I depend on her life? I depend on her laughter? On her smile? On her voice? I depend on her. There isn’t one small part I don’t need of her. I need everything, from her small irritations to her strange humor from puns. I need it because I’m captivated.

I remember the first day she introduced me to puns. We were in the car and the radio was on…some news channel. I don’t remember that but I do remember everything else. She was wearing a thin summer dress that reached mid thigh and yellow high heels. She smelled like peaches. I? I, who was a dork, was wearing a plaid button up shirt and jeans with tennis shoes. I was driving and she, like a cherub closed her eyes and faced a window. We didn’t have to talk. Talking wasn’t always important.

Then the radio said, “News alert! There is a serial killer on the loose in the bay area, please keep windows and doors locked and watch out for any signs of the man…” and she started laughing. I didn’t get her at first. I mean who would express amusement when there were deaths. I stared at her while her sweet laughter filled the car. When she calmed down, she said, “Think of the words as ‘News alert! There is a cereal killer on the loose in the bay area, please keep your cupboard closed and watch for any signs of spilled milk!’” I understood but I guess I had to hear it first than let her explain it out to me for me to find any humor in the joke.

She understood and told me to go to a beach. I drove her there and she expressed her disappointment when she told me to sit in the passenger seat. She took over and drove to a wide field. From there she took me to a tree and sat under it.

“This isn’t a beach,” I said.

“Yes, it is. It’s a beech.” I loved her sense of humor that day. She had this wacky weird sophisticated hilarity that it took brains to understand.

I don’t know how she found the drugs nor do I know when she started them…but I was her way out. I was going to make this stop. I held out my hands for a small embrace. She required one and I wanted one to help me stand strong. Her hands are still holding the drugs, so before I let myself put my arms around her I take her hands and throw the bags to the floor. I had to hold her tightly like she’s about to disappear. I can’t lose her. She’s so much more than a friend.

With my face in her hair and her tears falling on my shoulder, I tell her, “Don’t do them. Don’t use it. You don’t need it to be happy. I don’t use drugs and I’m happy. I have you. That’s all I need. Quit for me and if not, quit for your parents, or if not quit for your child. You don’t want him to be born with disabilities, do you?” She got pregnant but what can I say? We’re already 25 years old. The father of the child left, not wanting the responsibility and she couldn’t kill something alive. She didn’t want to be a murderer or assist in it.

She doesn’t answer so I say the only thing that comes to mind “You smell like peaches.” Those are the first words I ever said to her. I guess it’s because a pretty girl like her never talked to me that I was so tense. She only blushed when I told her, but this time she clutched on to me tighter. My shirt was wet where she cried and her breathing became louder.

When she’s alright again, I let go. Her eyes are red and her whole body is shaking unconsciously but she still looked beautiful.

“I brought you flower,” I whisper to her ear. Her hands are around my neck and mine around her waist. We aren’t hugging anymore, but we aren’t exactly letting go.

Her eyes wander around as if looking for a vase but it’s in my pocket.

I let go and she does the same, afraid that if she hangs on, I would freak out. I reach into my pocket and bring out the white substance. Flour.

She smiles. This is the first time I see her smile in months.

I am her hero…on my own accord to keep me sane.

She is my friend…or so she thinks.

It’s now or never. Maybe there’s still room. A smile causes room. We’re meant to be and although we never dated and I never kissed her, in no way on the lips, on no account on the cheeks, we’re still meant to be, “Will you marry me?”

She kisses me.