Troubled // l.h.

Sex

"And this is how it starts..."

Sex- The 1975

When I was a little girl I'd never imagined leaving my hometown - for good. Of course, I'd go to college, but there wasn't a part of me that believed that I wouldn't go back. Now, I'm sure I won't be. 

Maybe it's the fact that the accident was still fresh in everyone's memories there, or that the road it happened on was practically the only one in town. But as I looked out from the windows in my dad's penthouse, all the lights in New York City seemed a little brighter than they usually did and I understood that there really was no turning back.

I rested my head against the cool glass, the flashing lights and pounding music of the party my friends were hosting in my name was giving me a headache. The smell of alcohol-filled bodies and various drugs filled the air, causing me to cough to get it out of my throat. Taking a deep breath, I looked back down on the city that never sleeps.

"You said you wouldn't leave me. You promised, Len," Kian's voice was still fresh in my mind. The voice mail was made only moments before it happened.

 

There were too many bad memories there anyway; from the slide in the park where Jeremy Brooks had  dared me to kiss him in freshman year (and when I didn't, he told the whole school that I came onto him,) to behind the elementary school where I got high for the first time. 

And, just like it did all those years ago, the memory blindsides me, leaving me breathless and gasping for air.

The smoke was curling, undulated in the cold night air, being breathed in then blown back out by the mouth of the first boy I ever loved. The sight of it fascinated me and repulsed me at the same time. 

"How many cigarettes have you had today, Cal?" I asked, the smell of the tobacco he lit earlier lingering on his fingers as his thumb traced my lips. He rolled the cigarette around in between his thumb and forefinger in the other hand. He considered it for a moment before wrapping his plump lips around it once more, taking a long drag that seemed to last forever.

"Three, I think. Packs, that is," he laughed, his chocolate eyes hooded and bright. The hand tracing the curve of my lips stroked my cheek before making a journey down my throat and past my collarbones, down my arm until it reached it's destination of my hand, intertwining our fingers. "Do you know what that means, baby girl?"  

I shook my head no.

"It means that I'm going to die someday, Lena."

He looked straight ahead, his eyes hard as he looked out at the small town where we grew up, barely enough light being given off by the few streetlights to see the local park. His sharp jawline was accentuated against the red flannel he decided to wear today, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The muscles in his forearm rippled as he draped his arm across my shoulders, curling me into him. 

"But aren't we all going to die someday, babe?"

He smiled and turned to me, his eyes instantly softening as they studied my figure, perched next to him. He brought his face down til our noses were barely rubbing against each other, small, teasing touches between our lips. The moonlight caught the angles of his face, smoke still curling out from his mouth. 

"You won't."

And I believed him.