milk [ oneshot ]

milk

she takes a sip of milk when an unwanted image of a being comes to mind.

her throat may be sore, but she doesn't let it bother her. in fact, it's rather healing.

"great party you're having," the brunette teased the older boy, twisting a curl of his hair in her thin finger. she could see the neon colors flash in his hazel eyes, which looked darker than normal. "but, duty calls, and i must go."

he was a few inches taller, and kept his jungle of hair tamed with gel from the drugstore. he played acoustic guitar during his free time, a hobby he stole from his late father, and had a scratch on the side of his lip from an accident years ago. his skin was the perfect olive shade, and he wore a purity ring shamelessly.

"so soon? just a few more minutes," the boy pleaded as if to start a game of back and forth, pulling her close enough to start slow dancing with her, despite the fact there was loud music played in the background and there were sleep-deprived teenagers everywhere. his mom was somewhere he didn't know, nor did he care enough to know. this was his night, or one of them, at least. his mom's always out, and this means there's always something happening at his house.

when he softly placed his cold hands on her lower back, this brought back a memory from months ago with someone she'd rather not name, and a sudden hit of misery collided with her chest, specifically her heart. she takes a small step back, and she could hear his own heart fall into disappointment. "no, really. i'll be back for the next one."

he playfully shaped his lips to pout like he was a child wanting chocolate, but it didn't work. she escaped his grip, pressed a kiss on his warm cheek, and he watched her fade into the crowd of people he knew hardly any names of but were in his house anyways, whether it was to blow off this week's stress or feel alive after a bad separation. it was hard to comprehend how much she added to a party's level of fun.

outside, a cool breeze flew right through her red flannel that was purposely big on her. she liked the feeling of goosebumps forming on her smooth skin. her chapped lips became more dry as she walked down the imperfect sidewalk, her hands playing with the old cigarette she kept in her right pocket. no, she doesn't smoke. it was a one time thing. turns out, her pink lungs don't mix with a cream stick of suicide.

she recalls that day every time she touches it. he was a bad influence—she's aware—but it didn't stop her heart from racing every time he'd place his hand on her shoulder, or under her shirt. they were together, like any other day, and were hiding away at a creak nearby the town they resided in. it was a cool summer night, and they finished skinny-dipping in the water.

he pulled one out from his ripped jeans, and asked if she wanted one. at first, she didn't know what to say. she's always been curious to what it felt like to inhale smoke in her lungs, however, the world portrayed smoking as a terrible thing. despite this, though, she took one from the pack he had, and afterwards realized she hated it. so, that was her first and last cigarette.

dear god, remembering this made her feel the awful feeling of heartbreak, and she craved the white drink even more. the farther she was away from his house, the closer she was to hers, and this meant the closer she was to the treehouse, which meant the closer to her medicine, her cheer-up, her relaxation.

her lips curved into a half-smile. although things ended weeks ago, she still wasn't sure whether to cherish the moments, or destroy them with every blunt she hits. she settles down in her bungalow, brings her legs close, and drags her nose across the plate she keeps hidden in her room when she's not using it. a dollar bill is shaped into a thin cylinder, and she takes a deep breath before going through each straight line.