Underneath | 𝟏𝟖+ ✓

2:00

The car radio blared music and the windows were rolled down, my hair blowing in every which direction. Erik and I had successfully made our escape back into the city, leaving behind a trail of empty egg cartons and hysterical laughs. I hadn't felt freer than in this moment right here. Erik's hand rests on my thigh and my own hand dangles out the window, feeling the breeze between my fingers. For once in my life, I felt like I was really living, that I'm truly alive. And all thanks to one person--a Stranger.

I sing along to the song booming through the car speakers with the bass so high that it massaged my bottom. I never, in a million years, thought that I'd be sitting in some stranger's car and feeling the way I do right now. I'd always thought rager parties and downing alcohol were the best way to feel high, but I'd just realized how wrong I was. Living life was the way to feel that way, no drugs could compare.

"Where are we going?" I call out over the howling wind and the loud music, throwing him a questioning glance. That devious smirk of his reappears and he just shrugs, hinting that he wasn't planning on telling me. My eyes roll and I relax back into my seat, figuring I might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.

  We cruise through the sleeping city, running through every stoplight and sign. When we reached the outskirts, Erik took a turn for the hills and onto the gravel road for The Lookout. I'd been to The Lookout only once before but the sight of all the city lights is breathtaking. The Lookout also happened to be the nightfall spot for couples, and I dreamed that London would bring me up here and pull the cheesy romantics, but he never did. Maybe Erik could make up for my self-centered boyfriend who never took me on proper dates.

We reached the top in less than 15 minutes due to Erik's persistent speeding--even though we were on the edge of a cliff. We parked at the surprisingly empty lot and exited after a relaxed moment of silence. With the stolen black licorice in one hand and a Babe Ruth in the other, I sit near the edge of the cliff, not even caring that my butt was going to be covered in dirt. I look out and admire the twinkling city lights, wondering how I lived in a place so beautiful yet could never seem to soak in that beauty.

The gravel crunches and I sense Erik behind me. He sits and his legs stretch out on both sides of me, so I take the hint and scoot back, my back colliding with his muscled chest. His arm snakes its way around my waist and I blush, leaning back into him. We didn't say anything, we just sat, admiring the view before us. Erik's hot breath pours down my neck, causing the hairs to stand up, but the heat calmed me and warmed me from the cool night air.

  Erik shifts behind me and I glance back to find him twisting open a new bottle of hard liquor. My brows furrow curiously and my lips part, "where did you get that?"

   He takes a huge gulp and then hands it to me, nonchalantly replying with, "I stole it."

  My face contorts to even further confusion and my voice raises an octave in shock, "what? When?" Erik laughs arrogantly and slips his arm back around my waist, pulling me closer to him, "I'm a lot better at stealing than you."

  My eyes roll and I take a swig. My lips purse due to the sour taste but the burning sensation relieved the grotesqueness and I hand the bottle back to Erik. He swallows another long gulp before setting the bottle on the ground next to him and then completely envelops me in his arms. I snuggle further into him as well, resting my head on his upper arm. His lips softly kiss the top of my head before he places his chin lightly on it, making me sigh in contentment. This is perfect.

  "So..." Erik trails off, his gaze shifting down to me, "what'd your boyfriend do that made you run off with me tonight?" And there goes the perfection.

"I thought we weren't talking about our feelings tonight," I hum defensively, shying away from his touch. I'm really in no mood to discuss the lying leech I called "my boyfriend".

  "Alright, fine, have it your way," he sighs dramatically, removing his arms from around my waist and instead placing his palms on the gravel, "I just think it's better for people to talk about their problems."

  My lips purse—irritated. I'd never been a big person on communication. Probably why London always felt the need to talk for me. I shudder at the thought of his name. "He's a terrible boyfriend who's full of himself and doesn't give a damn about me." I huff out and cross my arms across my chest. The thought of London, nor more especially, speaking of London, should have been my number one rule of the night. How careless of me to think I could forget him? To even try to revolt against him. I'm defeated. And I think I always will be until I truly get away.

The next question Erik vocalizes leaves me cluelessly searching my heart and brain for a plausible answer: "why do you stay?"

Just like many times before, a simple, intangible, "I don't know" is all that can echo in my mind. I stayed away from the dark parts of my mind and kept thinking to a bare minimum the best I could. Overthinking was a trap for the human mind. It made us paranoid animals that frequently chose the wrong thing to tame the paranoia. And that wrong choice cycles all the way back to the simple fact that we were overthinking. So, I make the answer truthful, but poignant enough to end the conversation, "because I don't have anyone else."

  It was the utter truth and I didn't realize how much it would choke me up. The clench of my heart caused me an internal ache, and it was easy to see through my shattering facade. But I keep still, taking shallow breaths and holding my shoulders broad. Pity is not what I need nor want. It just felt idiotic. How could I deliberately beg for someone's sympathy when I have no idea what they are going through? So I don't. I simply trudge on through the middle ground of heaven and hell and wonder which will take hold of my soul first.

  "Well..." the surrounding atmosphere shifts from a state of curiosity to a pure feeling of nothingness. Actually, it wasn't exactly nothingness, it was an indescribable mood that left us both on edge, hiding parts of ourselves in the shadows even though we felt the material of our outfits' friction together. So close, yet so far apart.