Let Them Talk

(Five)

My alarm goes off at 4:15 and I silence it as soon as I can, shaking the exhausted feeling from my arms.

***

Bare feet on wood floors, the scuff of clothes, the thin sound of a tap being turned on and then off.

***

The furnace kicks on, whirring within the walls and under the floors. I find a thermostat and dial it down-- the heat makes me drowsy and I can't give in to sleep yet.

Watching the clock only seems to make it run slower-- I know because I've watched it all night, fidgeting nervously, heart spinning right through my chest.

***

I heard mom come home earlier-- jewelry clinking, heels clicking-- but even still, going out the window'll be safer than through the front door.

***

The latch turns, the screen pops out, and I drop quietly onto the grass.

Frost seeps through my socks as I pull on a pair of shoes.

***

October slices straight through the Cold Valley Colts hoodie I'm wearing, prickling my skin in a thousand places. My breath mists in the dark, wreathing around my head. It's too cold for crickets- the only sound is my breathing.

The morning is a little early for the sky to be a ripple of pink and yellow taffeta; I'll have to be content with darkness fraying where the stars are.

Saplings lining the road next to the sidewalk swing in the breeze, leaves shushing and rattling. The world feels vaguely surreal in the morning-- it doesn't feel like part of actual existence.

There are a few cars parked by the pier, but I can't see anyone near them. There's a tiny light on the actual structure itself, but even that's uncertain- a phone screen or part of my imagination? Cold sand folds under my shoes, the grains sticking to my feet.

Sand ridges and hardens into concrete- the pier, slicked with water, acidic with the smell of salt and seaweed. The ocean itself is glassy still, more like a lake or a pond than a space more vast than continents.

"You said you invited someone or something?"

Voices, floating directionless around me.

"Like, an artist? Because we have plenty of those-"

I clear my throat. "Not an artist. And I'm not sure if I was directly invited, either."

"Not invited? Goddamnit, Blaze, what did we tell you?" the same girl as before snaps. "And it's a boy. You're totally throwing off our egalitarian gender balance."

"But he's not going to be painting, so say it doesn't count..?"

I shiver. What was that about sleepy voices being the most attractive? Suddenly it's not so freezing.

Motion in the dark. "Hey, there he is." A girl wearing what's less clothing and more strips of fabric flashes a light in my face. "I'm Rhine, knockoff version of Rihanna. Lennon is the sexy Frodo," she points into the dark, toward the vague light of a phone. Her eyes narrow, studying me. "And you've met Blaze, obviously."

I shift uncomfortably- "We've met, yeah. Before he told me to come here, I mean."

The subject (e.g. Blaze) of the sentence drifts into view, clutching a paper cup of coffee like it's the only thing keeping him alive. "You figured it out," he says, smiling lopsidedly.