I will always believe he isn’t human. He is a perfect angel.

I still remembered how he gently gazed at me the first time we met. I was in rehab for the umpteenth time and things that were revolving around me were getting more and more insignificant. I had kept vehmently silent when he questioned me regarding my addictions. Nonetheless, he persisted trying to know me better.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach whenever his presence lingered around me. I needed a break from him. So, I snuck into the toilet, taking out a small pack of crack hidden in my flabby pockets. Maybe it’s just an infatuation – I convinced myself.

Crack is still my best friend.

A loud and firm knock on the door jolted me out of my senses. I quickly slipped my prized possession into my pockets and flung open the door.

“What the hell are you doing in there? You took such a long time taking a dump?” the burly security guard growled. She grunted  while I strutted past the crazy figure of woman.

I plopped into my chair as I wondered where he went. The whitewashed walls swallowed me as I looked around unassumingly.

“Miranda,” a soft voice hovered. “Why is there white powder on your face?”

The reflection in the mirror that I accidentally made me instinctively draw my palms to shield my face.

Damn.

Caught again.

I bolted out of the room with my hands still covering my face – not because of I  was afraid to show him my insecurities but rather, being afraid to just look at him in the eyes. He was a magnet and here I was creating all the repulsion between him and myself. All the toilet cubicle doors were locked and occupied and my desperation to escape fantasy was prominent.

I turned back, feeling extremely hopeless. Just then, he grabbed my hand and pulled me closer. He whispered, “I will never let you carry on like this. You will break free from this cage and the demons that are haunting you will die at your feet.”

I shivered.