I Became Telepathic.
Kurt and I didn’t spend a whole lot of time together, but the time we shared was quality.
Or so I imagined.
We actually spent most of our time with Fish, and often with Fish’s other friends. We did nothing but smoke cigarettes, freebase cocaine, and drink warm beer. Fortunately, I didn’t need much beer when I was doing so much cocaine.
Plus, I only cared about Kurt. I was crazy for him. He barely looked at me, but I spent most of my time staring at the side of his face: his long eyelashes, the tiny crinkles around his eyes. If Kurt didn’t know I was gawking, his friends probably did.
Of course everyone was a junkie, so nobody was really taking stock of the relationships in the room. Everyone was focused on the coke.
While I stared, Kurt paid almost no attention to me. He rarely spoke, he didn’t look my way, and he only smiled when the other guys laughed, usually at a sexist remark. I was oblivious.
In fact, I’d developed a super power. Whenever I smoked cocaine, I became telepathic.
While everyone was laughing about really dumb stuff, I looked around the room and analyzed the thoughts of all the other people.
Because I could do that.
At the end of the table, that woman with the dark, super skinny legs was thinking, You guys need to gimme some respect. I heard her clear as day, but she wasn’t talking.
I heard Fish: I am the most important man in the world. He didn’t say it, but I heard it.
I was as sure of these thoughts as if they’d been spoken aloud. I believed it was an added benefit of the drug. But I was only interested in Kurt’s thoughts.
I heard things like, You are so beautiful, I’m afraid to look at you.
I heard: I have never wanted anyone the way I want you.
I heard: You are my soul mate.
And I sent telepathic messages to Kurt, too: Please be with me.
I would telepathically emit: I love your eyes.
And: Be with me NOW. Please, just be with me. I craved that physical connection with him. I needed to confirm his love; sex was the only way I knew how to do that.
I sent repeated, urgent messages to Kurt without ever uttering a word: I’m falling in love with you.
One day, quite abruptly, Kurt pushed back his chair and looked at me.
“C’mon,” he said, actually speaking with his mouth.
Finally, I thought. It’s time!
I followed Kurt upstairs into a bedroom. Immediately he leaned down and bit my shirt, pulling it up from my stomach with his teeth. We did not kiss. We had sex on the floor, Kurt writhing underneath me like a venomous snake.
Afterward Kurt showed me the skin on his back, raw and bleeding. He shared these post-sex gouges and scrapes as though they were a badge. Then he walked naked, emaciated, across the hall to a bathtub with a handheld shower. He hopped in and rinsed himself off.
Kurt didn’t ask me to join him. I was so happy to have finally consummated the relationship, I didn’t even recognize that the whole experience was rather lousy.
With our clothes on, I followed Kurt back downstairs. He told Fish, “I’m gonna take her home.” Fish handed us the pipe, which we both hit, then the car keys.
Kurt and I drove back to my place in silence.
You’re so beautiful, I telepathized. I completely love you.
Kurt transmitted nothing. I went inside alone.