What happens when you can't even recognize your own parents, but you're able to identify the most notorious playboy in school? //
Asher Thomas lives in a world where she isn't able to recognize people's faces, including those of her parents and even...
After school, I go for a drive. I step on the pedal, cruising around aimlessly. I could end up on a cliff, and I could care less.
I end up stopping at a local mini mart. Before I kill the engine, I already know what I am here for.
The bells chime as I push through the door, but the sound is muted, barely reaching my ears. I feel as if I am in a trance, my mind no longer in control, but my feet and my heart and my tongue. They guide me to the back. They guide me to the freezer in the back.
I pull out one beer. Then, another. Another and another and another and now I have an entire pack in my hands, brown glass bottles glistening with condensation. Smiling up at me, almost laughing. They knew I would came back, it was just a matter of how long.
I walk up to the cashier, the pack in my arms. He smiles at me, but I have no reaction. Instead, I dip my head, search for the card. I pull out my fake ID, feel the plastic slide through my fingers. I haven't touched it in a month.
Change was nice, but change didn't last. Nothing ever does.
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The girl on top of me is kissing my neck, working her way down my chest. I've long since forgotten her name, and like the others, she's just another faceless way to forget.
I try to enjoy it. I try to relax, get back into the groove I've long since left, but like Asher, it's gone. I don't enjoy this. In fact, I despise this.
It's the fifth night that I've tried to return to my old ways, but in my case, bad habits don't die hard – they vanish, and they don't recur.
The girl suddenly stops, looking up at me from under her lashes. Her fingers are resting on the hem of my shorts, and she's frowning. "You have a bit of a problem ..."
Letting out a groan, I sit up. I should have seen this coming. "Not the first time," I reassure, handing her her shirt. She pouts, but doesn't argue.
Once she's dressed, she turns to me. "Has this been happening for a while?"
"A few nights, yeah." I look away, but I can't find the option to be embarrassed. I found something much more than this. Of course I'm unsatisfied.
The girl stands from the bed, looking quite pitiful. Funny. Before Asher, no one pitied me.
"Hope your night gets better," she deadpans. She isn't used to this either – Aaron Blakely, sex god dethroned. Without this side to him, is Aaron even Aaron anymore?
I nod, watching her leave. There's a party raging downstairs, but suddenly, all I want is a nap and a game of Monopoly. I close my eyes against the flood of memories, because reliving them does nothing but add onto the steady onslaught of pain. It's been weighing down my shoulders for days, with no intention of letting go.
I wish she didn't lie. I wish she didn't find someone else and leave me for dead. I wish everything were the same, and I am not stuck at this party, unable to even get a boner. She reshaped me and molded me out of clay when she was with me, but now with her gone, her sculpture is crumbling to pieces.
