VEINS

O N E (reckless)

For a mature audience.
Sexual and verbal content.
You have been warned.
...

I first tried when I was five. Shoving pills into my mouth by the dozens, swallowing them down fast. I guess I thought they tasted good. I didn't know what I was doing at the time. My Aunt walked in, and she gasped. She picked me in a big hurry to the hospital down the street.

Doctors were all over me. I remember bright lights and masked faces. Their hands running along me with needles and tubes. I remember staying still, frozen in panic. They pumped my stomach and the next morning they let me go home.

I was fine the next day. The doctors were amazed, as was my Aunt. I remember her hugging me tight when we got home. I remember looking up into her glassy eyes. Her throat was tight, but she managed to whisper softly, "Dayla, you could have killed yourself."

Little did she know that I couldn't have. I couldn't have killed myself no matter how hard I tried. I know this now.

…

Chris lips purse into a sly smirk, his green eyes resting on mine. "Ready Dayla?" His voice hums. The moon light bounces off his short black hair as he towers over me. I smirk back, looking up at him, eyes trained on his. He knew I was ready. I hold up the toilet paper in my right hand. He holds up his black spray paint.

It's nearly one in the morning, the cold air of October pinching my bare arms. My loose dark maroon shirt swaying in the light wind. My long blonde hair up in a messy bun. And my black skinny jeans hugging my cold legs. I was born to be a hell raiser, for death can't seem to touch me.

I throw the toilet paper over the school fence that reaches just about ten feet high. He follows by tossing the spray paint up and over somehow gently.

I watch him eye the fence. We've been friends for two years, ever since I've moved here. We had art together junior year, and have been inseparable since.

Before he starts to climb the fence, his eyes meet mine and he smiles wickedly. "Wait until the kids here about this." I shake my head, laughing at him.

He has this idea that him and I are going to grow old together, whether that be in jail together, running the streets together, or settling down together, it doesn't matter to him. But he likes to think the things we do, we'll tell 'the kids.' Of which is the part where him and I have kids. He's foolish.

I roll my eyes at him. "You know I'm never going to have kids." I tell him, as I've told him time and time again. He rolls his eyes back at me.

"Well, you think that because you obviously haven't met my dick just quite yet. Always saying no Dayla, when it's just begging you to say yes." His voice is deep, seductive.

He walks over, his hand slides around the lower part of my back. We've been together for almost six months now. His hands are warm against my cold skin.

I laugh softly, then lean in and wrap my hands around his neck, pulling him down to my lips, quickly changing direction and kissing his cheek instead to mess with him.

He quickly kisses me back, but barely catches the side of my cheek. I look up at him with devious eyes. I slowly lean up, his lips slowly meet mine. I feel his mouth part and I begin to kiss harder. His hands slide down to my back pockets.

I taste his lips a little longer then pull away, biting my lower lip. "Are we going to do this or what?"

His eyes grow with intensity. "You're saying yes?!" He exclaims.