Hide Your Anger, Give Me Your Mouth

Later that night, after the initial rush of shooting up ebbs off into felicitous euphoria, they fuck passionately, the storm raging outside.

Their skin collides like night against day, a furnace of slippery erotic bliss.
Afterwards, they lay upon their backs, nude, staring airily.

Johannes can't tell if the ceiling fan's on; everything's wobbly.
Before I turn twenty one Sierra broods I want to die in some brilliant---
Don't say that. I love you.

She stands up. I'm going to take a shower. Tomorrow we should leave.
We're so close to New Orleans.

Johannes's eyes flutter, slipping dreamily. Whatever.