Ripped [TO BE PUBLISHED 2016]

12

"Have you ever been to this part of the city?" I ask. Andrew shrugs.

His hands are shoved in his pockets as we walk.

Christmas lights hang off of the telephone wires. Flakes of ice cover the ground and linger in the air, autumn turning to winter in a matter of hours.

"So...thanks for, you know, the dinner and stuff," I say, smiling.

"Yep." We stop in the middle of a bridge, far off from the rest of the crowd. We hover over a small lake, laced with ice. I hug my jacket tighter to me as cars whiz past.

Happiness and "holiday spirit" are suspended heavily in the air like a cloud, reminding me that Christmas is only a mere forty days away.

"I'm cold," I say, my voice blending with the dissonant sound of Christmas music.

"Me too," Andrew says, staying right where he is.

"So, what are we doing now?" My God, this was so awkward.

"Do you wanna go back to my place, or something?" he asks, shrugging. I look up at him timidly. I don't know what he means by that.

"Is that a hook-up-go-back-to-your-house kind of deal?" I blurt. Dammit, Aspen.

He cocks a grin at me, if only for a second. "If that's what you want it to be." He takes my hand in his, and we walk slowly to his car.

Warm air pours out of the car's vents as soon as he starts it. Frost bites at the windows, trying to get at us, but in here we are safe. He drives silently, the radio off. I can hear the sound of each snowflake as it hits the smooth, dark pavement.

We pull up in front of his house, a stucco covered two-storey with clean windows and walls. Three cars line the driveway already, laden with snow. "Are your parents home?"

"Probably. Let's go." He walks up the driveway, but I stay where I am, stricken. Soon, though, the warm air turns cold, and I have no other choice but to follow. Andrew stands in his doorframe, holding the finished mahogany wood open with his fingertips. Bursts of short laughter make its way to me.

My stomach turns uneasily. I feel nauseas. Family? What is that? Happiness? Togetherness? Both concepts are foreign. I'm not sure if I can face them.

"Coming?" he says, impatient. I nod, taking slow, steady steps up his front porch. Our eyes meet as I stand beside him in the doorway. He slams the door behind me, cold air whooshing in and slicing through my clothes.

"Andy!" There are four of them, all playing poker. Only one is standing up from her spot at the round kitchen table, She drops her hand facedown and came over to us. "You've decided to come back to the world of the living," she says, rubbing her beer-free hand against Andrew's arm.

"Mmm," he says, pushing her away. "We're gonna go upstairs, okay mom?"

"What? Now? You haven't even introduced me to your friend," she says, smiling at me.

"Mom, this is Aspen. Aspen, this is mom. Can we go now?" he says, tugging at my arm.

"Ashlynn. What a pretty name," she says, her clear blue eyes glazed over.

"Uh...yeah...except it's Aspen." I shoot Andrew a nervous glance.

"That's what she said. Now, come on." He pulls me up the stairs before his mom can say anything else. It takes about twenty steps for us to get to the upper level, but the hallways are short, and soon we're in his room.

"Your parents seem nice," I say, as he sits himself down on his bed.

"Right," he snorts. He leans back, opening the door to his nightstand. He pulls out a small, plastic bag, and a bright orange glass bong. He takes a pinch and sets it on the bong before lighting it. The smell of pot fills the air instantly. It's inescapable. It seeps through walls and fills all of the tiny crevices.

"You want first hit?"

I shake my head no.

"You ever done this before, Aspen?"

"Yeah. Sure I have." He doesn't question me, just hands me the bong. Swirls of smoke tint the glass. I put the top of the bong to my lips and suck in.

A distinguished, bitter taste fills my mouth, and my eyes water as I try not to cough. I push out the smoke, letting it roll off of my teeth.

"First time, huh?" I shrug. "It gets better," he assures me, although I'm not quite sure that it will.

He takes a few more puffs before handing it to me again. After a few minutes, I'm feeling it. Or, at least, I'm feeling something. A faint buzz at the back of my head.

I suck in, long and heavy. Before I even exhale, the real high hits. I expel the rest of the smoke from my lungs, smiling. Everything seems lighter. Better. Nothing seems to matter anymore. I collapse next to Andrew, his body parallel to mine.

I look sideways at him. I never noticed before just how pretty his brown eyes are. I move my fingers along his jawline. His skin is smooth, freshly shaved. He looks back at me, his fingertips running through my long, tangled hair.

"You're beautiful," he whispers slightly.

I pull back.

Beautiful?

No. He's wrong. It has to be the weed, or unsaid fragments of my imaginations.

I get up off of the bed, tripping over the short coffee table that stands in the middle of the room. I can't see clearly, my brain covered by a film of happiness and senselessness.

"Aspen. Wait." His grasps me by the shoulders. He spins me around, looking me straight in the eyes. He softly touches me, rubbing my cheek with his thumb.

He leans down, his lips pressing against mine angrily. Desperately. There is no hesitation, no questions. And I know that this isn't the type of first kiss that the story books talked about.

I try pulling back, but he holds on tight.

He doesn't understand. I'm not this type of girl. But in that moment something inside of me shifts, like a switch that illuminated the darkness.

I'm not that type of girl, no.

But I want to be.

Grabbing the collar of his shirt, I pull him closer to me. His hand slides down my back slowly, then travels back up.

He reaches for the bottom of my shirt, then lifts it slowly over my head. I don't even cringe as his hands caress me.

"Andrew!" Pounding comes from the other side of the door.

"Dammit," he mumbles, handing me my shirt. I pull it over my head quickly as he opens the door. "Dad," Andrew says, keeping the door open only a fraction, obviously pissed off.

"The Johansson's' are about to head off, so I'm going to have to ask you to care of the dog real quick," his dad says. "Is this your friend, Ashlynn?" he asks, peering over Andrew's shoulder at me.

"Her name's Aspen, dad. And I'll get on it after she leaves. Alright?"

"What time do your parents want you home?" Andrew's dad asks me. I shrug. I haven't actually ever needed a curfew.

"Alright, well. No later than eleven." He closes the door behind him, but a small sliver of outside light still splinters in.

I look up at Andrew as the sound of footsteps fade. We both know that the moment is gone. He sighs.

"I'll take you home."

The drive to my house is silent, but this time not awkward. We pull into my driveway after what seems like no time. He stops the car, and I get out quickly, not wanting to be attacked by the cold.

He shuffles behind me quietly until we reach my front door.

"Goodbye, Aspen."

"Goodbye, Andrew." He leans down to kiss me one more time.