Collaborated Damage

Chapter Five

Helen didn't always like me. She had this massive crush on Chance Carter. I'll admit, he did have a lot of things going for him; good looks, charming personality, had an actual honest to God MENSA card, and was rich, and an itsy bit possessive. (just enough so that girls were hooked on him) But he didn't have one thing, music.

His music choice was just whatever was on the radio. He didn't know the difference between passion and a dying cat. They say love is deaf, so that's probably why Helen was able to look over that fact. I don't know how she did that, but she was able ignore it.

Helen only agreed on our first date because I nagged her and because she was heartbroken because Chance only had eyes for Minnie Olsen. I still feel a bit guilty about being happy that she agreed to the date because of her heartbreak. 

Things worked out for a while, she ended up loving me as much as I loved her. I understood that she had two loves; me and music. I had the same two loves too. Everything was perfect, maybe too perfect. I didn't question it. I didn't question the marks on her legs. I should have. I should have.

You should have, you fucking selfish prick. 

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I couldn't sing. Every time I opened my mouth a choking sound would come out. Open. Cough. Open. Hack. Ant said I was sick. I couldn't be sick, could I? I wanted to sing. I wanted others to share and understand pain. I wanted the fucking zombies to feel with my music. I needed to sing. I needed to share my music, our music, to the world.

My head was burning. My feet were cold. My back was sweaty and my eyes were oh so heavy. 

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 Helen and I's first kiss was an accident, a complete utter accident. Completely.

"Blue, Blue, Blue, you make my face go red." Helen sung as she bounced on my bed. 

We were at my college dorm. I was eighteen and she was sixteen. "Helen, Helen, Helen, you make my mattress lumpy." I sung back.

She giggled and fell onto the bed. She rolled over and looked up at me. "Am I pretty?"

I sighed. Of course she was, in that frail wilting flower way. "All the time."

"Even when we fight?"

"Especially when we fight." I liked seeing her blank composure break once in a while. 

"I think you look pretty good most of the time." She told me and tucked my unruly hair back into place. 

 I made a fake gasp of shock and turned away from her. She put her bony hands on my face and turned me towards her. I guess we didn't know how close we were because our faces brushed against each others. Her button nose brushed mine and her small lips danced across mine. 

Helen pulled away from me, her face heating up into a red colour. She crawled to the other side of the bed, sitting in a corner. I could tell she felt horrible about that, she could barely handle holding my hand. I slid over next to her, slowly wrapping my arms around her.

"Hey little birdie, what's wrong?" My voice was soft and gentle. As much as the roughness of it would allow.

"W-we touched, wi-with our our lips!" She wailed, her body shaking. 

Helen was never one for human contact. She preferred the gentle strokes of the bow on the strings than her mother's hug. She preferred her fingers plucking notes than her father's kiss. She preferred her fingers brushing sheets of paper than my hair. I understood that though. I didn't like much contact myself, growing up without it.

But it made a pain come in my heart. Was I that repulsing to her? I knew I wasn't much like her; older, tattooed, pierced, and punk. We had music in common though. And many other things. Sometimes a horrible thought would come in my head, what if she was just using me so she wouldn't be alone? I would shake it away, she didn't have friends but that didn't mean anything.

"You called me birdie." She whispered. Her blotchy face shown through her hair. 

"Well, y-you told me you hated the name Helen. I love Helen, bu-but, I thought that you might like a little endearment. You know?" I stumbled over my words. 

"I messed up on the kiss didn't I? I must have done something wrong." She wiped at her nose with her long sweater.

"Of course not! It was an accident." I reassured her. 

"Can we maybe redo it?" 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

We leaned in, our lips slamming onto each other with a wet force. It was quite slobbery and honestly a bit disgusting. I've kissed other girls before, under the bleachers, at parties, before I went on stage, but this was different. They were one time things, and Helen was my life. 

"This calls for a redo," I whispered against her lips.

"Yeah."

The third was a quick peck, our teeth chipping against each others'. We kissed again, too long, not enough air. We molded our lips together, learning their indents, their tastes, and their limits. Again and again we kissed, trying to find the perfect first kiss. One was too dry, one was too steamy. All the while, my hands stayed on her face to make sure she wouldn't disappear, and hers on mine to see if I was real.

And then we found the perfect kiss. On my bed, in the dark. We couldn't see the other person, but we knew we were there, no matter how surreal this all seemed. It was perfect. Wonderful and painful, because we knew this would end. The sound of a cello on Helen's ipod played on, setting a sleepy atmosphere. 

We the pulled apart from each others embraces and lay down on one side of the bed. We weren't touching, other than the tips of our fingers in the center of my bed. We fell asleep like that, the next day I woke up with a note taped to my bedpost explaining why she had to leave. Holy shit how her parents were pissed. 

But I would take that night filled with mistakes and a bit of bliss over anything else.