Lover of the Light Page 2
She holds up my Manchester Orchestra album. “There’s a star by this one?”
Laying back, the dryness in my throat becomes unavoidable but I feel too heavy and tired to get up and do something about it. “Yeah, I put a mark on my favorite songs on each album.”
“Can I…”
“Go ahead.” As the music fills the dry air of my messy room, Audrey makes herself busy by flipping through old yearbooks and stops when she finds a pipe. “What, do you want to smoke?”
She shrugs, as if that answer could possibly give me a clear meaning of what she wants. “Okay,” she clarifies.
I pack a bowl and let her take the first hit. The weed isn’t the best, but I don’t care about it much.
Heavier than before, I start to think about life and wonder how long Audrey will make it here. We don’t have a Nike store on every corner. There isn’t a bus to take around everywhere. The closest mall is thirty minutes away and it has three stores. The girls at school wear sweatpants and slip-ons religiously, and you can’t get cell phone service anywhere in this town.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Audrey asks, and I realize for the first time that I’ve been staring at her.
I blink away. “Like what?”
She passes the paraphernalia my way. “Like I’m an alien. I’m not going to, like, pass out from boredom or run away because I haven’t had a frappuccino in 3 hours.”
“I wasn’t-”
“This place isn’t so bad, Blake.”
I’m quiet.
"Is it too loud?" she asks. She turns around and I notice the flannel cotton shirt she has on has one button undone that it didn't before we left Casper Gray's party earlier.
I make observations like this, but I can't even pass gym class without getting a C- because I always forget to bring my shoes.
I shake my head. "Turn it up."
Music about knowing true friendship helps calm my nerves as she drops down on the bed beside me.
I take a hit. I lift the bowl and look to her as the smoke hits the back of my throat.
Audrey's eyes are low, and she looks like she's a little too drunk to think clearly. The eyeliner under her left eye is a little smeared, but she still looks pretty with the shadows on her face. Her strawberry-red, brown hair is a little frizzy, but it still looks soft and smells like vanilla and lavender. It's not even a cheap vanilla, it's sweeter but not so pungent.
She doesn't need to get high, but we’re here and we’re already doing stupid things.
She blows smoke between her lips slowly and soundlessly, and I find myself licking my own as I watch her.
"How old are you?" I mentally palm my face once I realize what I've said.
She looks up at me, smirking. "I’m almost seventeen. Why? You going to tell me that you're really thirty?"
I clear my throat, averting my gaze to stare down at my red and black plaid ruffled sheets. "No, I'm seventeen. I was just curious."
She looks around the room again and lays back to rest on her elbows, biting her lip as she scans her eyes over the shelf above our heads. "Do you like baseball?"
I shake my head, leaning back on my elbows to rest beside her. "My dad played. I did for a little while, but, I can’t..."
She tilts her head back. "Can't?"
I nod, not really in the mood to elaborate. Everything is a little hazy, and I keep looking at her lips and her cheek. I open my mouth, and I forget what I mean to say.
I notice a lot about Audrey for the first time in the minutes I spend openly analyzing her.
I note that she has three freckles of different shades specked along her left cheek, and that the tip of her nose has a slight button shape. The yellow light from the lamp illuminating my room allows me to note the length in her eyelashes, and, as if she couldn’t be anymore beautiful to me, I feel as gone as I did the first time I saw her tonight.
Not only is she the first girl I've ever invited in my room, but she's also the first girl to sit on my bed and it's all I keep thinking about.
I'm not an amateur.
I've kissed girls, and then I've done things―other things with them. Sex and girls don't make me nervous. She does.
I don't want to use Audrey.
I mean, I do. But I don't want to give her back.
I want to kiss her. I mean, fuck, I want to do so much more than that. But tonight isn't nearly enough, and I'm afraid that if I get to kiss her now I might not get to do it again.
Maybe it's because I'm an idiot, or maybe it's because I'm drunk. Maybe it's because I'm high and I'm typical teenage-boy-minded. Maybe it's because Brightside's lips are too close to think, but it seems worth risking when I catch her looking at my lips too.
I close my eyes and whisper, "Fuck it."
Chapter 4
March 17th, 2012
Unknown
I close my eyes and I whisper, "Fuck it."
I open my eyes, and Audrey's beneath me. She's twisting her fingers into my hair and she's breathing through her nose while she kisses me relentlessly. I'm swallowing her moans and I'm trying to keep quiet myself, but Manchester Orchestra is still screaming at me in the background and I kind of want to scream too.
I close my eyes and I can't open them fast enough. Her breath washes over me, and I dig the tips of my fingers into the soft, pillow-like flesh above her jeans. Her teeth close around my bottom lip, and I push my hips against hers.
I haven’t done this before.
I haven’t gotten lost in the body of another person, and I haven’t been eager to feel every inch of someone I never met.
My head is screaming.
Slow down!
I open my eyes and she's straddling my waist while her fingers work to undo the buttons on my shirt. I'm trying to help her because she isn't moving fast enough. She's laughing, and it is already my favorite sound in the world.
I realize that I’ve been laughing too.
She kisses the skin of my chest, and I stop breathing.
Audrey takes off her shirt, and suddenly I'm air-hungry. Her bra is purple and there's a black bow on each strap.
It's cute. I tell her she's adorable.
I slur. I don’t try to correct my voice, we’re past this.
I nip along her chest and she starts heaving. I groan and she starts giggling.
Fingernails pinch the flesh beneath my forearm, and I hook my fingers around her jeans and underwear. Audrey tells me not to judge her. I tell her I would never.
I close my eyes and I'm not sure about any of this. I'm seeing my world through clouded half-closed lids and my heart is pounding in my throat. I'm so fucking thirsty, but I think I want Audrey more than water. But I'm sixteen and maybe I'll feel like this with a lot of girls in my lifetime.
I doubt it.
Brightside is pushing me away, and I'm trying to tell her that I’m not finished. She's laughing and telling me that she isn't either. She's struggling to undo the buckle on my belt, but this is funny to her because she seems to laugh at everything. I'm laughing now, and this is kind of what I imagined heaven to feel like. Laughing without having to try.
Audrey's hands are on me and I'm not laughing anymore. She kisses the skin below my ear, and I shut my eyes because this is all going to be over too soon and I can't do anything to stop it.
I look at the bright side when I roll us over and she wraps her legs around my waist. She tells me to go slow, and I tell her I wouldn't have it any other way.
I open my eyes, and I can't hold my head up. I'm drunk and this feels too good for words. I can't push hard enough and I can't get deep enough. I bury my nose in Audrey's beautiful hair and kiss the skin below her ear. She tells me that I feel amazing and I tell her that she feels better.
I close my eyes, and pressure builds within. I can't keep a steady rhythm because I'm chasing after greater heights now. I try to tell Audrey before it happens, because for some reason it feels like she should know, but I get lost when I lift my head and she locks
her lips with mine. I forget about everything that matters, and I sink into her when my release comes.
I roll over, and I can't open my eyes long enough to see Brightside one last time. I want to so bad, but sleep is suffocating me and I'm hanging onto the image of the last time I looked at her with her hair splayed around my pillow and her lips parted.
I find her hand beneath a mountain of blankets and I hope that she'll still be here when I open my eyes again. I say her name, and blackness envelops me.
Chapter 5
March 17th, 2012
9:30 a.m.
There's a sweet moment before I open my eyes, before I register the internal pounding and before I have any recollection of the previous night's events transpired, when all I smell is weed and vanilla. My ears are ringing, my head is stinging, my stomach feels weak, and my limbs heavy. I don't want to wake up, but alertness is involuntary.
The first thing I see when I open my eyes is the rain, heavy and thudding against the window. Fat drops seep through the crack of the slightly ajar window, and I launch myself off of the bed to shut it before my bedroom carpet floods.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the paraphernalia on my nightstand, and then I remember that there was a girl in here last night. In my room. On my bed. With me. Beneath me.
I turn around and my stomach hurts at the sight.
She's not there anymore. My bed is empty. My covers are a piled up at the end of my bed, my sheets ruffled. No Brightside.
I try not to feel disappointed. I mean, fuck, why would she still be here?
I find a towel to throw over the puddle of water beneath my bedroom window and go to the hall bathroom. I try to find something to cure the persistent pounding in my frontal lobe, but all I find is a bottle of chewable aspirin. I take five of them and attempt to control my racing heart, but my anxiety is becoming one with me. I can't seem to get a grip on reality.
This has to be what death feels like.
"Happy Saint Patty’s Day!" The scream nearly makes my heart jump from my ribs, and I have to hold onto the bathroom counter for support. Hailee is standing in front of me, covered in green and smiling sloppily. She's wearing striped green leggings, green slippers, and a glittery green tank. Her hair... that's green, too.
I clear my throat, kind of wishing she'd go away because I really have to pee. "Hailee, are you even Irish?"
She shifts on the soles of her flats, and I frown down at the girl my brother claims he loves who smells like aerosol and beer, and it's not even ten o'clock yet.
"No, dude." She smirks and points to the fake four leaf clover tattoo on her cheek. "Everybody's Irish on St. Patrick's day. Are you coming to the parade with us?"
I furrow my brows at her. "There's a parade?"
She takes another step into the bathroom and extends her hand up to touch my neck. I immediately cower backwards, furrowing my brows at her. "Sorry." She drops her hand, staring at my neck. "Um, what is that?"
"What?" I straighten out, naturally panicking.
"On your neck." She leans in until her nose is practically touching my neck. This girl has no concept of personal space. "Oh em fucking gee! Blake!"'
Her scream startles me, once again. I jump backward and clutch onto my neck, getting angrier at her vagueness by the second.
"What?!" I yell, backing away from her because Hailee is undoubtedly the strangest girl on the planet and maybe I don't trust her not to crack and shank me with my own toothbrush one day.
She gasps, her eyes widening as if she's spotted a bug. "And your back!" She grasps onto my shoulder. I feel a small ache, and start to make the connection at where her astonishment is coming from. The girl. "No way... you made the moves on the new girl!" She shoots me a knowing grin,
"He did what?!" My brother's voice comes from somewhere else inside the house, and I feel my cheeks set aflame with embarrassment as Hailee tries to assess the condition of my skin.
Shit.
Hailee gasps, pointing to my shoulder. "Blake, did you―"
I shake my head vehemently, backing her out of the bathroom. "No."
"Just tell me if it was her."
I keep shaking my head. "No. Go."
"Blake, I won't tell―"
"No." I slam the door shut as soon as I have her backed into the hallway, and my migraine reaches its peak. Weakened by the pain in my head and a hangover-induced heaviness in my limbs, I slide down to the bathroom floor and bury my head in my hands.
"Blake, there's nothing to be ashamed of!" Hailee calls from the other side of the door, banging on the wood relentlessly. "I have one night stands with your brother all the time!"
I don't miss the way she says “one night,” and it doesn't fail to make me flinch, because I'm thinking about Audrey's smile as soon as she says it. I feel my teeth sink into my bottom lip and the fire in my cheeks spread to my ears as the embarrassment fades to anger.
There's pang after pang of regret filling my gut, and viciously whirling thoughts circling in my head. The previous night floods back to me slowly,
It’s too much, and I hate it.
Brightside's smile. A laugh. Another smile. Another laugh. So much laughing. Her telling me that I should smile more. Me telling her that she should too. Flirting. So much flirting. Taking a shot of Trent Cole's jaeger and watching her nose scrunch up in disgust. Watching her sing Fans, and not being able to control my own laughter. Trying to make an excuse so that I wouldn't have to let her go.
Mustering up the courage to kiss her. Rasping for forgotten air when she kissed me back. Looping my fingers between locks of hair when I tried to pull her closer to me. Seeing her smile when I ducked my head down to kiss her back.
Suddenly, the air in the bathroom is too thick to breathe. The tightness in my chest is unbearable, and the consequences of my decisions are coming back to me in the aching form of regret.
I don't let myself think anymore, don't try to remember. She's not here. She left without me knowing, so it's not supposed to feel this bad that she's gone. Maybe she thinks I got what I wanted, that I don't want anything else to do with her. Maybe she just had to get home. Maybe she was just disgusted with herself, or maybe with me.
I tug on fistfuls of hair between my hands when I wonder if she'll smile for me when she sees me again, because I don't know.
What I don't know about her, and last night, and tomorrow: it's all killing me. I think I lost New Beginnings, but I don't know. I don't even know her fucking phone number.
I cover my mouth with my hand and shut my eyes against light that suddenly stings, too bright.
"Fuck."
Chapter 6
March 17th, 2012
11:46 a.m.
My mom comes home from work with an exhausted look on her face and a thirty pack under her arm. The woman who saves lives ruins her own with liver abuse, and I'm not going to spend my Saturday waiting around for her to get drunk enough to yell at me.
I throw on a green shirt and the same jeans I wore last night, and ride with Chase and Hailee to the parade.
I split a joint with Hailee while Chase focuses on driving. Hailee makes us listen to the Naked and Famous, which is kind of catchy but a little too girly. She plays Young Blood and we blow smoke out the cracked tinted windows in Chase's Crown Savanna.
A song about an unforgettable girl worth writing songs over starts playing when we reach the parade in Town's square. Chase has to park down the street, but it's fine because I'd much rather walk than stand around a bunch of screaming assholes who are bead-greedy.
People flood around me as I walk down the usually-vacant street behind Chase and Hailee, gabbing and yelling, dressed like leprechauns and slurring like drunken idiots. Everybody looks happy, because they're fucked up or too young to understand that St. Patty's Day is a bullshit holiday.
There is country music everywhere, so I find my iPod in my back pocket and scroll through my playlists. I stop mid-walk when I see something new, something unexpected.
It's filled with the best kind of music.
I can't stop smiling after that. Not when I trip on my shoelaces and almost faceplant the sidewalk. Or when a random drunk girl knocks into me and spills her drink on my shirt. Or when Trent Cole pulls my earbuds out of my ear and yells so loud that it hurts, and Chase says my neckline looks like a cheetah.
Especially not when I look across the street and my eyes are met with Audrey Sawyer’s.
She looks tired and hungover. She looks beautiful, but she doesn't look pissed. Not even close. Warm brown eyes are on mine. Cheeks are tinged pink from the cold, and her hair is blowing in the rain-scented wind. The guy next to her shakes her shoulder, and I remember her telling me she has a brother.
Before she looks at him, she lifts a hand, slowly at first, before shooting it up in the air to wave at me.
It's kind of the best thing to ever happen to me.
Chapter 7
March 19th, 2012
8:20 a.m.
I don't hate much.
Hate is a strong word, but from the bottom of my heart, I hate country music. I hate drug dealers and rapists and lagging Wi-Fi. I hate ear wax and scratched CDs. I hate guys around me who claim they didn't choose the thug-life―the thug-life chose them. It's stupid: they're not thugs, they're hoosiers.
I really hate my car.
I'm driving down a road that no one ever really goes down unless they're in the mood to break the law and speed, but I go down it because I can't push my stupid car over thirty. It's a rusty, orange station wagon, and it's my worst fucking nightmare.
Today, my car decides that it hates me, too.
It starts when I must push harder on the gas to get up this stupid hill that I must turn on to get to highway B. I can feel this bitch shaking beneath my hands, like it's ready to explode or something. I push harder and harder, but then it starts groaning. So, I finally ease up on the gas pedal, and then it just dies.