THEY first lock eyes in the alleyway of a bar. It's sticky. Summer. 11:52 PM on a Friday.
There's a dumpster and a decaying raccoon between them. A buzz comes from the establishing swing sign hanging just around the corner and blue light beams off of it and sets them both aglow.
The rusty back door overflowing with the laughter of Sawyer's friends and a sea of stranger's stutters shut behind him as he steps outside for a smoke.
Cruel fate is their mutual friend, but she's never let them meet until now.
Sawyer is happy.
Carmen is not.
And that's the way it is and always will be.
"How're you?" Sawyer says courteously, a small smile twitching up on his lopsided lips. Fuck me. Hope there's nothing in my teeth.
Carmen wraps her lips around the rim of the beer in her hand and takes a long sip. It sours her taste buds, but she swallows it down with ease. She likes the feeling it brings; the obliviousness she can concoct to ignore Sawyer's stare.
The world is smeared like lipstick on a mirror when she's drunk, and it's better that way.
"Fuck," Sawyer suddenly whispers, nose wrinkling, "Fuck! What is that? What the fuck is that smell? Christ."
"Something dead." Carmen turns her head toward the low-lit streets flashing with the beaming headlights of traffic and closes her eyes.
The chilled neck of the bottle presses against her bare collarbones and cools her down.
"Poor thing. Hell of a place to die, huh?" Sawyer scoffs. He perches a cigarette between his lips and pats his pockets for his lighter. It's inside, in the chest pocket of his thicker jacket. The one he stripped and threw behind a barrel singing karaoke with Teddy. He curses and tips his head back, "Shit. Shit, shit. Hey, sorr- can I have a light?"
Carmen reaches into her pocket and tosses hers to him.
He catches it and quickly cups his hand around the waving flame he strikes in one go.
"Keep it." Carmen says.
"Mm," Sawyer quickly shakes his head while he takes a drag, inching closer with the lighter held out. Smoke fogs out from his nose and he empties his mouth to talk, "I prefer to bother beautiful girls in alleyways and make small talk. If you let me keep this, I'll never get laid again."
He wants her to smile. In fact, he's expecting her to. Those lines always work. Girls always find his stupidity, his most charming nature.
His cheeks heat as he waits for her to take it. To match him.
She looks clever.
It might be her high-arched, serious brows or how sharp the corners of her lips are, or maybe it's because she never slouches and prefers silence over speaking, but people always think Carmen is clever. Foul-mouthed. Bratty. Prudish. Determined. Cocky.
Truth be told, she doesn't know what she is, but she knows she's not indulgent in Sawyers of the like.
She ignores him and turns her back once more.
"Are you one of them?" Sawyer laughs when he's nervous. It doesn't help that he's halfway to hell off whiskey.
He tucks the lighter into his pocket instead.
"One of them beautiful girls in alleyways that hates small talk? Yeah."
"Ahh, you're one of them."
Carmen doesn't say anything for a moment. A long one. Not until she realizes he's still lingering closely, inhaling the smell of her perfume and tracing patterns in the floral tattoos up her neck.
"One of what?"
Sawyer smirks, out of sight. He looks down and kicks a bottle cap underneath the dumpster, "What's your name?"
"Why."
"Oh, cause I'm a polite normal person who really hates awkward silence," He swallows another chuckle and softens his voice, hoping to come across as friendly as he wants to be, "What's your name?"
"If I tell you my name, then will you go away?"
"Probably not."
"Carmen."
"Fuck off," He groans lowly, "That is so perfect."
"Is it." She dryly says.
"Yeah, 'cause you're one of them beautiful, miserable girls. Of course your name is Carmen. All Carmen's are like this, you know."
"Really?"
"Mhm. Just like all Sawyers are confident losers who live with roommates well into their twenties." He nods with pouty lips.
"You're sure honest, aren't you?"
"No. Rambly." He bounces his knee, rubbing his tingly nose, "Especially around beautiful women– that's my third time calling you beautiful in about two minutes isn't it-"
"Third time. You're blushing as well."
"Am I blushing?" The tips of his ears warm and he pats his cheeks.
"A bit."
"Okay. That's okay," He peels his hand off of his cheek and waves his hand. He could never do anything about it, why try now. He leans against the brick wall next to her and takes a longer drag that burns his throat, "So, why are you so miserable, Carmen?"
"I'm not."
She is and she knows it.
"You are and you know it, you're polluting the air with it. You don't even smile. What's that about?"
"Because I won't smile at you, that means I'm on the ledge? Are you a bit full of yourself?"
"Oh, absolutely. I want you to smile. I want to make you smile. It's my mission now."
"If I smiled, then would you go away?"
"Not a chance." He hiccups, "Think I'd fall in love with you, to be honest. You're already so beautiful, I reckon a smile would shatter me-"
"That's four."
"Yep. Four. Not stoppin' either. I feel like I should run with it now. It can be our... inside joke." His dauntless attitude glimmers in his eyes, "A funny story to tell our kids, twenty years down the line."
Carmen notices how quickly he says things. Like a loaded gun waiting to fire. Like he thinks things and just says them out loud.
She remembers when she used to do that.
He must not see many consequences.
He must be happy.
I shouldn't kill that.
"Maybe." She says, plain and so.
He smiles again.
This time, she smiles too.
It's forced, but he doesn't know it, and he never will.
"Can I have your number, Carmen?"
"Sure, Sawyer."
