I adore pain. It's an addiction that has me salivating at a mere brush with it. Like any addiction, this enslavement, how much does it really cost? To have it poison my veins - I am its most willing sacrificial lamb. Sure, my hand was at risk but I did not fold. "All in!" I placed my stakes with the universe hiding behind a royal flush. The lengths I would go to get my next hit; to my own demise, connection is the greatest fuel for my addiction.

With technology being so ubiquitous now, connection can certainly get weird. I have friends whom I've never even met! Though, this isn't the first story of my best friend from miles away. In the ones and zeros of Cambridge databases, lies the tale of the beginnings of our friendship. Though life was simpler back then. From haphazard video calls, to murdering voice notes, it's awfully dystopian to imagine a reality without Lola. I might not even have gotten an A in the ‘A' levels but enough with the superfluous information. Though I'm not sure what connection really is; therein time and space; are fragments of the warmth that filled our chest. The intrinsic beauty in feeling safe despite the miles between us; there is a certain fondness that always finds its way back to me. With nothing to lose, I followed this cookie trail to Charles de Gaulle airport to visit a mellow sunshine in human form.

Lola had always lamented about her inevitable awkwardness if we ever met. For someone who had filled my life with light, I wanted to ease her racing mind, even if that meant silencing my own piranhas of anxiety. To my dismay, the insides of my throat grew to be replaced by sandpaper during the flight. Still, the responsibility of closing the disconnect between us chipped away at me. Through immigration, I meticulously catalogued the silly happenings into my mental list: things to laugh about with Lola when we met and don't die coughing. In retrospect, someone collapsing in the queue should've been my sign that a royal flush was imminent.

Seeing Lola in the flesh sent my brain into a factory reset. All the programming that I coded to ease her mind had been wiped. "I can't believe you're a real person." Lola chimed amusingly. Honestly, I didn't know whether to laugh or roll my eyes. "Well, I thought it was obvious after the third tea spilling session" I pushed through the pain to mock jokingly. With that, my system had rebooted to restore all my mental notes. As we started our quest to Lola's place, I began my ramble about immigration; I even forgot the fire in my throat. Her face was blank, lost in thoughts, only to blurt out "I still can't believe you're taller than me!" I shook my head exasperatedly in amusement. 

Eventually, we got seats on a bus just as I exhausted my capacity for verbal vomiting. I took the opportunity to rejuvenate with my favourite IV line - music. In silent agreement, we sat shoulder to shoulder reposed. As my instrumental solace began to diffuse into my veins, Lola hooked her arm with mine, rubbing her cheek against my shoulder. The adorable cat put her head on my conveniently higher shoulder, though I can't imagine my bony frame being comfortable. Still, I placed my head on hers. It tickled my insides to feel her guard being let down, perhaps incessant blithering was effective.

Certainly, it seemed that way as the rest of our day went smoothly. From bickering over "crimes" against bread to my fervent information dumping in the natural history museum, Lola seemed to be at ease despite her anxious predisposition. Then again, she was responsible for a ball of energy bouncing around Jardins des Plantes, enthralled by museum displays and flowers. Much to her relief, I ultimately wore myself out, my stomach growling ravenously. Queuing isn't delightful, especially while freezing, famished, and sick. I paced back and forth like a sad puppy repeating "I'm hungry." upon each return to Lola in the queue. 

I swear I heard Lola breathe a sigh of relief when I got my toasty crêpe. We munched down after finding some seats along Panthéon; with every bite; a desperate attempt to warm my core. However, with every relentless attack of wind, my counters grew futile as warmth left my soul. Lola looked at me with pity as she offered to warm my icy hands with hers. With my crêpe in one hand and Lola's in my other, I demolished the rest of my treat.

Before the day came to an end, we sat on the sofa with Lola's mother, freshly brewed tea warming my palms, making plans for the following day. Unsurprisingly, only I woke up on time, taking my breakfast drowsily. The even earlier bird - Lola's mum - bid goodbye, leaving me and Sleeping Beauty on the couch. For someone with trouble sleeping, her placidity seemed ethereal as I sipped on my chocolate milk, wondering when to wake her. This tranquility was disrupted by my panic when my drink spilled onto my hoodie. Lola's eyes fluttered open only to wave at me sleepily. I waved back, pointing at my stained clothes, drawing a languorous laugh from her.

Finally awake, I attempted to pull her up from the couch. "Why are your hands so cold?" 

I giggled. "What do you mean, I'm always cold. How are you so warm?"

Lola gestured, lifting the blanket "It's warm here." 

I clambered my way under the blanket, cuddling with Lola. "Not your feet too!" As we got cozy, I found myself dozing off, a sight too complicated to explain if her mum returned to us asleep, even if we were just friends. In an attempt to drive the claws of sleep away, I lifted my head to find Lola staring back at me. I took a moment to note the details of her face, an occupational hazard of drawing realism. Absorbed in my analysis, I froze when Lola gave me a peck on the lips. 

And again.

And again.

My body melted into her lull and softened as she smiled against my lips. What did I have to lose, right?

As the days flew by, we fell deeper into this mirage. The line between our friendship and this chimera of a connection blurred. We had sorely underestimated how much further we could fall when the illusion shattered beneath our feet, not for me but for the angel. As I bid farewell at the airport to return home, the implosion was nebulous. My betrayal vapourised her wings and sent her plunging to her death. 

The fallout; I walked myself right into it when I responded to her. Foolishly, in my pursuit of keeping her at ease, I failed to consider the worries she kept locked up. For an angel who had offered her warmth to a cold blackhole; if I had truly seen my best friend, I should've stopped to see the fears that had driven her to such lengths: losing me. Instead, I jumped in, enabled her to build a fantasy. Grappling with reality, the repercussions of my reciprocation sent me into a freefall - my best friend would never return. I built the tower of cards with Lola at the very base, knowing my hand would be met with a royal flush: the evanescence of this connection. Yet, that was the high I was chasing, wasn't it? The enslavement to this mortal madness; the urge to shoot pain up into my veins, I had chosen to jump into blood. So the price for my drug? The permanence of our friendship.

Welcome to an addict's dystopia.