Touch

2 ︳

❝maybe I'm a shot in the dark and you're the morning light. ❞

— a rocket the the moon

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Three days later it rained. My bed didn't feel as comfortable as it did a few days before and I turned around, searching for the small clock that blinked in the cold dark.

01:43 am.

I groaned and flipped the covers of my body, the cold air hitting my bare legs.

The last match was lying in the empty class of water, right where I put it last night.

I wanted to take it in my hand and light it, and actually feel the warmth of the match and let it burn. But I didn't. Because I only had one left. And getting out the house to buy some more at two am didn't seem like a good idea. But I did it anyway, because no one cares if I go out in the middle of the night, no one acknowledge me anyway.

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The shop down the street was still open and after exhaling a sigh of relief, I entered the surprisingly warm room. The only person in the shop was me, and the shop's owner, who sat behind the counter sleeping. I looked around a few times and once I found some matches; I proceeded to the counter where I needed to say the words "excuse me, sir," many times, and when he finally noticed my presence, he took the matches out of my hand and said: "you shouldn't smoke, it kills you." I wanted to tell him that I didn't smoke, but I didn't have the energy to tell him that I didn't use these matches to light up cigarettes; all I did was just light them. I just paid him and right before I opened the door to leave; I turned around with a smile and said: "I don't care. Yes, smoking may kill, but so do people"

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I ended up standing by the bridge looking out to the city. Thousands of stars were shining in the dark, the sky a dark and cloudless color. There were traces of the sun, small sunbeams in every direction while it illuminated the small town and I inhaled the cold air. I had lighted a match and it felt good. I didn't know why lighting matches calmed me, it just did. It started after my dad died and ever since it hasn't stopped. It was like every time I lighted one it reminded me of him, like he was there in the palm of my hand. And I needed him more than anything else.

"Match girl," A rich voice said and I turned around just in time so my eyes could catch the sight of black eyes.  Black eyes that looked right into my blue ones. He didn't seem different from the last time I saw him at the library, the classes were there and the crooked smile. Once he stepped a bit closer to me, that's when I noticed the dry tears. I wanted to ask him, "are you okay?" but it wasn't like I could already care for someone who I just met three days ago, and especially one I haven't even exchanged words to.

So I said nothing.

"You still haven't dropped the matches, hmm?" he smiled at me, and I'll admit he was quite handsome. I didn't say anything, and truthfully, I was scared. I only turned around and looked at the city again, by now the sign of stars where gone and an almost red sun was hovering above the sky.

He didn't say much after, only when he turned around and joined me by my side.

"It's beautiful." He said, and the only thing I could do was nod.

He chuckled, the sound so light that I almost smiled, but there was still a sound of restraint in his voice, like the laugh was forced, and maybe it was. I didn't know.

He looked at me, through his eyelashes. "You don't say much," It wasn't a question, and there wasn't an answer to it. And I didn't, at least not a lot. The only words that I have exchanged were with Mrs. Jones and my mother.  

"Can I borrow a match?" he asked, and I wanted to say no, but I didn't. So I reached out to the left side of my jeans and pulled out the box of matches, handing him one. He only nodded and pulled out a fresh cigarette. I stared at him; he took the cigarette in his mouth, the box out of my hand and lighted his cigarette. I don't use them like that, I wanted to say, but he already knew that.

He sucked on the cigarette, exhaling a cloud of dark smoke. When he noticed the look of disgust on my face, he smiled and asked me if I wanted one. I shook my head in a silenced no. "They help with broken smiles," he only said. I thought about the man in the shop, and his words. "You shouldn't smoke, it kills you," and then I thought about my words: "I don't care," and right now I didn't. So I took the cigarette out of his mouth, and sucked on it. I felt lightheaded and after I took it out of my mouth, I coughed, the taste of tobacco imprinted in my mind. He laughed, "Don't worry, you'll get used to it," Instead of lighting another cigarette, I took out a match and just lighted it. And it felt good, like it always does.

"How does it feel?" he asked. And I wanted to ask him what, but I already knew what he was referring to. I lighted another one, and handed him it. He looked at it, observing the flame like I always do.

"It feels amazing. Like freedom. You know when you feel trapped inside of something you can't really get out of? It just helps. It helps with the pain and the mix of something bad; it just disappears through the air like the fire of the match." I turned away from him, looking at the city. "It helps with broken smiles too."

I could feel him looking at me, his gaze burning through me. He stood there for a long time, just looking at me, like he couldn't believe I said a word or the way I described the feeling of lighting a match.

I couldn't read his mind. No one could.

"What's your name?" he finally said, throwing the match somewhere in the air. 30, I thought, 30 left.

"Marlow," I answered. He smiled at me, this time though it didn't seem forced, just a smile, nothing more.

"Why Marlow?" and I honestly didn't know. I didn't know why my parents chose such a rare name. Maybe because my father loved unique things.  He used to tell me that I was unique, that I was Marlow, the unique girl with a unique name. But I am not unique, I never was.

"My parents were special." I only answered. I didn't want to tell him about my father that was something I never did. It was only my mother and, somehow, Mrs. Jones who knew. And I didn't exactly plan to tell a guy who just gave me something to light besides my matches, something that could kill me.

"I wish my parents were special. But they are just there, like they don't acknowledge me at all. I'm just a shadow amongst them. Nothing special, you know?" I wanted to tell him that yes, I know. I knew how it was to be a nobody, like I'm just there and breathing for nothing.  

He tucked his left arm out of his pocket, reaching to meet mine. For a couple of minutes he just stood there, his hand in the air, still waiting for mine.  And when my hand finally met his warm one, he smiled, "My name is Dakoda." 

Dakoda. Unique, was the only thing I thought. He was unique.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Marlow."

Nice,

It was very nice.

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Oh, look at me, being an asshole for not updating. I'm so sorry for the long wait. I had a case of VERY bad writer's block. But yeah, I hoped you like this chapter. Its short I know. But it's just where they finally get to know each other. The next chapter won't be taking ages. I'm so sorry again. But I just wanted to thank all the amazing people for the support, all your comments made me smile. Thank you. :) xx (all the mistakes will be edited later.)