Fatal Flaws

I'm halfway through unpacking when the faint jingle of keys in the door catches my ear. I freeze, holding my breath, watching it slowly creak open.  A tall, thin girl strides in, shutting the door behind her.

"Hey roomie, I'm Skylar," the girl squeals, rushing to where I'm standing, mouth open, staring at her. Without warning, she embraces me in a giant bear hug. Her thin, frail arms wrap tightly around my upper body. Inhaling, a strong, overwhelming aroma of vanilla surrounds me.

After several long, awkward minutes, she releases me, stepping back. We both stand quietly, observing and studying the other. She's nothing like I'd expected, considering her attire and choice in music. I assumed she'd be like the girls back home who dressed in all black. They were a group of seven, all dressed alike, with heavy, dark makeup and facial piercings.  I never got to know them, considering they only talked to each other. Despite this, there were plenty of rumors floating around, like they worshipped the devil and practiced dark magic. I doubt it was true, but they didn't help curb the gossip. I think they got a kick out of people being scared of them. But she isn't like that at all. I don't sense anything dark or scary from her. 

Instead, her positive, cheerful personality radiates warmth and happiness.  Not to mention her beauty, she's drop-dead gorgeous. With short shoulder-length shiny jet black hair, curling at the ends, shaping her face. The dark color of her hair goes great with her pale, porcelain-like skin, which is smooth and flawless. Despite the perfect hair and skin, her most unique feature is her eyes. They're piercing blue, with a hint of darkness residing in them. 

Looking away from her face, a tight black suede mini skirt hugs her wide, curvy hips, accompanied by a black leather halter top. Which barely hides her round, firm breasts, eager to pop out. Black fishnet stockings cover her slender, long legs, ending in black lacey combat boots. I'd never be able to pull an outfit like that off, but it's stunning on her. Glancing down at my casual, comfy clothing, I become self-conscious, regretting my choice in apparel. 

"It's nice to meet you, I'm Bex." I stutter, trying not to look intimidated by her beauty. Not seeming to notice, she smiles before walking toward the nightstand. My eyes follow, glued to her in a trance at how she carries herself. Each graceful step appears as though she's prancing through a bed of clouds. Bracing her breasts firmly with her arm, she bends, opening the drawer. Various objects clang together as she rummages around.

" I hope you don't mind. It's not something I do all the time, just when I need to calm my nerves or concentrate on something," she smiles, retrieving a rolled blunt from the drawer, before closing it back. "You can hit it if you want? I don't mind sharing," she asks, a sly grin across her face, showing her pearly white teeth. Fishing around in her bra, she pulls out a small pink lighter. Clicking it twice before the flame erupts, lighting the end. I've never seen someone look so graceful sitting there smoking weed, surrounded by smoke. Another dark cloud escapes her lips as she exhales, before offering it to me.

Staring at it, it looks tempting. I haven't smoked in a long time, or done any drugs for that matter. I wasn't a hard core druggie, but I enjoyed being high. It didn't matter what it was, marijuana, pills, or even cocaine. I dabbled in it a few times, I wasn't shy. I blame drugs and being high for my reputation and past actions back home. 

After everything happened, I worked hard to get sober. It was a long, painful struggle to find myself. But the thing about sobriety that people don't understand is that getting clean is only one of the steps. Remaining clean is a fight that you battle every day. Addiction runs deep in my family. Most of my distant relatives are either strung out or in recovery. Not to mention that temptation is everywhere, and not just drugs. I bet I'd either be dead or in jail if I hadn't gotten clean and cut all the toxic people from my life. Starting over from scratch nearly killed me; I never want to do it again.