Just a random little drabble, this. It's rated M only because of graphic drug abuse. I don't own Twilight, and no harm is intended.

Suddenly, she was there. Little brown haired girl. A few strands of her hair had fallen down over her eyebrows. She would have said it was a mess. I would have said it suited her. Both were true. She had the fresh, vivid color branding her cheeks. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but from other reasons than intoxication. They were red because she was crying. The tears flowed over her cheeks, but she didn't make any attempts at wiping them away. None of her usual eye makeup was there to smudge, only grief.

Her lips were quivering. If I'd closed my eyes, I could have felt them kissing me. First on the forehead, barely, almost not touching the skin. Then on the cheekbone, moist, careful, fond. I could have heard her tongue wetting them, felt her hair in my face as she leant in to kiss me by my ear. The sound of her lips tasting me like one tastes wine. Then on my mouth. First, she would have kissed my lower lip, then touched the upper lip with the tip of her tongue. Only delicately, so I would feel insecure. And I would have smelled her fragrance as she was devouring me. She was beautiful.

But I didn't close my eyes.

She didn't close hers, either. She saw me open the little package of plastic and aluminum with my teeth, and saw that I poured the contents into the spoon with the bended shaft. I poured the acid over it. She saw that I added two milliliters of water into the mix. Flicked the lighter, held it under the spoon and waited for it to boil.

I saw she was hurting. The beautiful eyes should never have to see this. I could hear the words like one, coherent sob. Words that almost didn't reach reality. She asked if he didn't mean more to me that this. Gesticulated. Looked like he would move her feet in my direction, closer, but couldn't do it.

I saw myself toss it all away and run over to her. Hug her hard and tell her it was all okay. Comfort her, ask for her forgiveness. Tell her that my only valid motivation to live was to wake up beside her. Bury my face in her neck and feel the scent of her. Tuck her hair behind her ear and stroke her cheek. Hear the small sounds, mewls, she doesn't know she makes before she wakes up. See her turn around and lay her arm around my neck and smile before she opens her eyes. I could hear myself tell her how important and vivid that is to me. The amazing, honest and bottomless eyes that carries the whole eternity of life within them. All the disappointments and concerns. All the sleepless nights one can count in them. The relief that there exists, when she has been worried, and I can tell her everything is okay. I can hear myself tell her that I love her, without lying.

Then, I heard her sob again. Desperately, almost on the verge of hysterical. It was boiling in the spoon. I stirred in it. Dropped a little wad of cotton into it. Filled the syringe. Cooled it in the water. Folded up the sleeve of my shirt, up to my elbow and tightened a rope around my left arm. Kept it tight with my teeth. Poked the vein carefully and flexed the arm. Jabbed a hole into my skin.

"Do I really not mean anything more to you than this?" she shouted.

I got a hit at first attempt, saw the blood mix with what was left of the fluid. I let the rope go with my teeth. My eyelids got heavy, covered my eyes slowly, while I responded with a low, monotonous voice;

"No."

It probably doesn't mean anything, but I'm not sure I heard her footsteps down the hall.