You pull up your truck in front of the house—second time in a row this week; just far enough so that the neighbors wouldn’t notice as much. I’ll go out with the boys tonight, I told mom, knowing very well that I’ll go home with bite marks again that will keep from wearing my sando even when working out.

I lightly slam the door and as your musk reaches my nostrils, I am once again reminded of a smell so familiar yet so strange at the same time. You hold my left hand, rested on my lap as you drive the stretches of Mabalacat City, occasionally pinching my stomach saying I gained weight knowing damn well you liked gripping my love handles as you get inside me.

“Saan tayo?” we asked each other but it did not really matter. I took one for the road this time and washed it off with Listerine so that you would not notice. “Kumain ka na?” you asked knowing fucking well that I won’t do that before the deed. This is euphoria that I hated when I am with you—

The aftercare of offering drive-thrus every night and the morning after, the euphoria of you getting inside me while I hear your moans, I whimper louder when I sit on you; the euphoria of seeing your temple nerves while we do it, your eyes growing smaller and eye bags deeper from a whole day’s tedious work, the euphoria of knowing how sudden, temporary, and fleeting this is; the euphoria of knowing about your Europe trip, your past, but not your name. The euphoria of wanting but not much at the same time.

You have become my west coast and drug, my pleasure and the blemish on my shoulder from sucking and biting or both. You are painful and safe at the same time.

As cliché as it might sound, I’ll keep coming back until we turn each other into ashes.